Archive of Our Own

JUNIOR YEAR, HIGH SCHOOL

Steve sighs from relief as he peels his sweaty shirt from his skin, slapping it over his shoulder as he steps inside the blissfully empty locker room.

He drags his feet to his locker and pulls it open, his body exhausted and already starting to ache. It’s a Herculean effort hefting his gym bag out of his locker, sapping enough of his energy that after he dumps it on the bench in the center of the room, he flops down beside it.

He reaches into the side pocket, pulling out a plastic bag to put his soaked t-shirt into. It’s followed by his shorts and his socks.

Usually when practice is particularly exhausting, he lays a towel down in his car and rushes home so that he can have a bubble bath, but after their humiliating loss last week, Coach warned them that they’d be doing suicides today. Steve knew he’d be too sweat-soaked for a towel to protect the leather, so he came prepared.

He slips on his shower shoes and pulls out both towels he bought from home, groaning when he stands to go and hang them up on the hooks outside the communal shower.

He finally peels his underwear down, shoving them into the bag with everything else before he picks up his shower caddy and shuffles his poor body into the shower.

As soon as warm water hits his skin, he starts feeling better. Finds the second wind he’s going to need to get home as he goes through the motions of shampooing and conditioning, lathering up his body with the honey-scented body wash his mom gave him after she decided the scent was too sweet for her. Something his teammates would definitely tease him about if he brought it into the shower.

Then again, that’s not the only thing they would laugh at if Steve was in the shower with them. Now that he’s old enough that any southern growth spurts are seeming less likely by the day, and he’s probably never going to pass the hump of 3 inches, he’s had to get proactive when finding reasons to avoid the locker room.

One upside is that he’s steadily ingratiating himself with Coach on the days he doesn’t go straight home, thanks to his eager willingness to pack away any equipment after practice, and if there’s nothing to pick up, thanks to the over-the-top compliments Steve gives him while asking him for tips on how to improve his game. Coach saw right through Steve at first, considering how last year he used to just run out to his mom’s car the second practice was over, but Steve thinks he’s on his way to wearing him down. The fact that Steve’s desire to stay afterwards varies depending on his desire to shower probably doesn’t do him any favors, but he is his father’s son, and he intends to use his genetically-given gift of schmoozing to his advantage—he missed out on captain this year, but he’s confident that he can become Coach’s preferred pick by the end of the year.

Tommy keeps calling him a suck-up, but Steve’s pretty sure he’s just jealous. And honestly, he’d much rather be called a suck-up than something worse.

The splash of the water bounces off the tile, reverberating throughout the room. Steve feels at peace as he stands with his head tipped forward so that hot water can cascade down his back, savoring the solitude until the water starts to go cold and he reluctantly turns off the tap.

His shoes splash against the tile as he goes to fetch his towel, reaching for the smaller of the two first—some microfiber headwrap thing that his mom ordered from a catalog. Not something he’d ever be caught dead wearing, but that always makes his hair look extra shiny once it’s dry.

Once it’s secured, he reaches for his second towel and starts wrapping it around his waist. He’s about to tuck it tight when he hears a bang from somewhere in the distance.

He startles, frozen in place as he listens out for any ensuing noises to let him know if anyone’s approaching.

He waits a beat and then another, but when he gets nothing but silence, his shoulders slump with his relieved outbreath.

He runs a hand down his face, suppressing a giggle at himself, before he reaches for his second towel and—

He blinks at the empty hook, brow furrowing before he slowly drops his gaze and groans.

“Dammit,” he sighs.

His fluffy towel lies in a puddle at his feet, directly on the shower floor. Soaking up the water, already teeming with athlete’s foot, presumably. His nose scrunches in disgust when he bends down to pluck it up between two fingers. There’s no way he’s putting it on his body now.

He hurls it at the bench in the center of the room so that it lands with a wet thwack.

Forlorn and towelless, he reaches for his caddy and climbs out of the shower.

He makes his way back to his locker, the slap of shower shoes echoing in the otherwise silent room.

“Where the fuck is it?!”

Maybe Steve has been judging deer too harshly for how they stare down blinding headlights instead of running, because after jolting from fright and sending his caddy flying across the room, he’s frozen in place when the door into the locker room bangs against the wall. Can do nothing but stare in horror as Eddie Munson charges into the room, making it all of two steps inside before his blazing eyes settle on Steve and he comes to an abrupt halt.

Shit.

Steve congratulated himself on his preparedness too soon, because he should’ve predicted this.

He walked past Mr. Cavanagh’s class—the dedicated detention room for the day—and saw Andy knock Munson’s bag off his shoulder, then watched as Chance scooped up three notebooks that went flying before Eddie could even notice they were missing.

He’d always been careful with that sort of stuff—messing with people. Knows better than to get his hands dirty. He never came up with the ideas, and he never really did anything that could get him in trouble, but he’d offer up advice on how to give the torment a bigger bite. He gets his knack for management from his mom. She dominates her book club, while Steve dominates the social order.

Or dominated. He’s been trying to keep it in the past tense ever since he went on a few dates with Nancy Wheeler, and after their third date, she said she didn’t want to see him again. She was sweet about it, but Steve could read between the lines. She thought he was a bad person. A bully.

Steve shouldn’t still care, because it’s not like he doesn’t have a load of other girls sniffing around him at all times. But Nancy was different. She was kind. She seemed like someone who wouldn’t laugh if she saw him naked. She ended things right as he was developing actual feelings for her, so it stuck with him. Having her turn him down because he’s too much of an asshole.

So he’s been trying to step back, look the other way rather than egging his teammates on.

He rolled his eyes when, as he was getting changed for practice, the pair opened up the last locker on his line. The permanently empty one that people steadily fill up with errant socks and underwear over the year so that they can torture themselves with the smell and pretend like it’s an act of brotherhood.

He tried to resist, because on top of his attempt at self-improvement, they’ve all been easing off Munson since the art project thing.

But it was catnip to him.

Plus, he knows the younger guys look up to him, and he was in the mood for the ego boost that came with him sharing his secrets and getting wide-eyed stares of wonder in return.

He waved them into the storeroom, pointing out the small vent above the shelves. Told them that it was impossible to find stuff hidden in there, and it smelled like death all year round.

He felt like he’d done a good deed for the day.

He knew that Munson would come looking sooner or later.

Now, he’s stuck in place. Can barely breathe.

A problem Munson doesn’t have, apparently, his chest heaving with fury, the sound of his panting too loud for the silence.

But it’s not loud enough to cover the deafening sound of Steve’s conditioner rolling across the floor—a scratch that seems never-ending while he stares at Munson, and Munson stares back. Right until the conditioner rolls to a stop, right up against the toe of Munson’s sneaker.

It seems to knock Munson out of his daze, and Steve watches helplessly as his eyes narrow, like he’s only just now realizing who he’s found.

Then, like a scene he has lived in so many nightmares, he watches as Munson’s eyes reflexively flick down, then back up to his face. Before they widen and he looks back down, processing the sight. Munson’s Adam's apple bobs before his face splits into a wry grin. There’s an instant shift in his posture, his shoulders relaxing, everything about him instantly looser. Liquid. He looks like a predator preparing to play with his food.

“Fancy seeing you here, Harrington,” he purrs.

His voice is enough to finally shock Steve out of his own frozen state, and he races over to his locker, rips it open, and tries to hide as much of his body behind the thin door as he can. He reaches in for his underwear, only to blink at the empty space in front of him.

He cups a hand over his dick, keeping his eyes down as he yanks his gym bag off the bench and shoves it back into his locker. Only then does he pull out his pair of clean underwear; he’s in such a frantic state that he nearly trips in the process of trying to get them over his feet with his shower shoes on. Once he finally manages to get his briefs on his body without braining himself on the tile, he stands up straight and meets his own eyes in the little mirror inside the door. “Fuck,” he hisses before yanking the headwrap off and throwing it on top of his bag.

He feels like he’s going to be sick, but he pushes it down. Manages to keep his hands steady as he takes a step away from his locker to retrieve his caddy.

He jumps again, startled for a third time when he sees Munson standing right beside his locker, holding out his caddy.

Steve doesn’t meet his eyes when he takes it from him, putting it in his locker.

He swallows thickly, head practically in his locker, when he says, “Your stuff is in the storeroom.”

He stares down at his gym bag with unseeing eyes, just waiting for the sound of Munson’s footsteps moving away from him.

But when he counts to ten and he still hears nothing, he takes another deep breath and comes out of his pathetic hiding spot. He pushes the locker closed so he can stare directly at Munson. He’s relaxed as he leans against the row of lockers and still grinning, but his eyes are dark. Full of so much malice that Steve nearly flinches when he looks into them.

But Steve refuses to back down, refuses to back away. He looks him in the eye and folds his arms across his chest. “Your stuff is in the storeroom,” he repeats, giving him the benefit of the doubt, in case Munson didn’t hear.

Munson just tilts his head and narrows his eyes, his mouth still stretched in a smile.

“And how would you know that, Harrington?”

Steve gulps, and instead of answering his pointless question, he walks around the bench so that he won’t have to pass Munson when he stomps to the kit room himself.

He can hear his footsteps, slow and almost threatening, as they follow after Steve. He’s in the process of climbing up the pallet rack when he hears Munson come to a stop in the doorway.

He can feel Munson’s eyes on him as he gets his knee on the second highest shelf and reaches for the vent. The pallet rack creaks under him when he has to jostle the cover free, but it’s easy to yank off once he gets a good grip. He fights the urge to cover his nose and instead reaches into the vent, slapping his hand around until he’s sure he’s got all three books. He shoves the cover back on and climbs down, before holding them out to Munson.

They’re covered in a year's worth of dust but otherwise unharmed. Munson gives him an unimpressed look.

Steve rolls his eyes, pushing past him to get back to the locker room so he can grab one of the fresh towels. He sits down on the bench and starts the process of wiping each notebook down until they all look better than new. All while Munson looms over him.

He wads up the towel and aims for the laundry basket; he feels a burn on the back of his neck when he misses.

He shakes it off and takes another deep breath before he picks up the books and stands, holding them out to Munson.

Steve keeps his eyes on his hands, but he can feel Munson staring at his face. He swallows again.

Finally, Munson takes them from him, and Steve feels a degree of relief. He goes the long way around the bench to get back to his locker, which proves to be the wrong choice.

Munson gets there before him and leans up against it. Steve takes a step back, towards the back wall, and Munson gets this...thoughtful look on his face as he drags his eyes over Steve’s body again.

“You know, I’ve gotta confess something, Harrington.”

Munson waits for him to respond, but Steve only blinks at him, too scared to speak.

He hums, must take Steve's silence as an invitation to continue. “I’ve been wondering about what you’ve got down there for a while now.”

Steve sucks in a breath, and Munson raises his eyebrows, waiting for a response. Steve holds his tongue.

“Maybe the imbeciles,” he says slowly, dragging two fingers along the front of Steve’s locker, “that you get sweaty with haven’t noticed, but I have. I’ve noticed you running to your car and laying down a towel so you don’t ruin your precious seats; I’ve noticed you cleaning up after everyone and twiddling your thumbs to look busy when you get done too soon; I’ve noticed you asking your coach for pointers and rolling your eyes when he’s not looking.”

He takes a step forward, and as much as Steve wants to back away, he stays firmly in place. Clenches his jaw.

“So maybe they’ve missed it, but I’ve noticed how you’ve been skipping out on the crucial soapy bonding time for a while now.” He comes to a stop with only one locker between them, leaning his shoulder up against it. He licks across his teeth, eyes dragging down Steve’s front, down to his briefs. “At first, I thought maybe you were a much nicer guy than I ever considered, and that maybe your dick was just so big that you didn’t want to make anyone feel bad.” He sucks his teeth and tilts his head. “But we both know you’re not that nice, don’t we?”

Steve’s fingers twitch at his sides.

“So then I asked myself, what could perfect little Steve, the living, breathing Ken doll, possibly be hiding? And I’ll admit, this one’s a little ridiculous, but for a while I was convinced that you were just,” he whistles, waving his hand through the air, “totally smooth down the middle. Nothing down there but plastic. Because it would make sense, don’t you think? It would explain why you don’t have the balls to get your hands dirty with your basketball buddies, and why you don’t call them out even when you know they’re going too far. It would explain why you walk around like your shit don’t stink; why, even though you’re nice to look at, there’s something so…” He narrows his eyes and purses his lips. Taste-testing his words to find the sharpest combination. “Shockingly sexless about you. I mean, I don’t mean to be rude, Harrington, but you inspire as much titillation as a piece of cardboard. Honestly, I don’t think even a dog would hump your leg.”

Steve’s mouth opens, ready to protest, but then Munson raises his eyebrows expectantly. He snaps his mouth shut again.

“Alright, you caught me. I just wanted to hear you defend your allure by bragging about how many dogs have humped you.” Steve scowls at him. “Anyway, I eventually came to the very boring conclusion that your dick was probably just weird. Normal, run-of-the-mill, boring sort of thing. Maybe it was super bent; maybe it was super dark from how much you jerk it; maybe it was a little on the smaller side.” Munson’s tongue darts out, wetting the seam of his mouth as he looks down pointedly, then up into Steve’s eyes. “Can’t say I ever imagined this, though.”

Munson reaches out slowly, giving Steve plenty of time to slap his hand away, but Steve just stares at him. He doesn’t look away from Munson’s face even as his hand goes lower, as it comes towards him. Even when he feels the tips of two fingers tuck under his waistband. Munson stares right back as he pulls the elastic away from Steve’s body, waiting to see if Steve will do anything. Steve swallows but otherwise remains perfectly still.

Munson tips his chin down, leaning forward to get a better look as he stretches Steve’s waistband even more. So that he can see him. “Looks more like a clit than a cock, don’t you think?”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, reeling back at the same time that Munson lets go, making the elastic snap against Steve’s skin. He hisses.

The calm he’s been trying too hard to maintain starts to slip, and he feels his hands start to shake. “You watch me a lot, Munson?” He sneers, but the bite of it is neutered by how his jaw shakes, his teeth chattering together.

Munson’s smile flickers before the intensity starts to fade. Until it’s something smaller, full of something else Steve doesn’t recognize.

“Hard not to, Harrington.”

The way he says it makes something in Steve’s chest catch. There’s a small gasp of something inside him, something that glows at the tender caress of his tone, but then Munson’s grin is back, more menacing than before. The glow dies. Whiplash.

He lunges for Munson, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him against the lockers.

“Shut the fuck up, Munson, or I’ll—I’m gonna—”

Munson grabs onto his wrists and squeezes. There’s something terrifying in his eyes, something Steve’s never seen before, but that makes heat zip down his spine.

“You’ll what, Steve?” He asks, level, controlled. So unlike the version of Eddie Munson that Steve’s gotten used to, the one that crows dramatically just to get eyes on him.

Steve takes a deep breath and tries to rein in his desire to yell, to be loud and spin out. He tries to match Munson’s tone when he hisses, “I’ll fuck you up.”

Munson snorts, and then he’s squeezing Steve’s wrists even tighter, jerking on them so Steve stumbles forward, into him. His knee bumps into Munson’s, his wet shower shoes squeaking against the floor. Munson realizes his weakness at the same time Steve does, and before he gets the chance to brace, Munson shoves him just enough for his feet to slip.

But Munson doesn’t let go, doesn’t let Steve fall backwards. Instead, he spins them around and slams Steve’s bare back into the locker, his wrists pressed back on either side of his head.

Steve grunts, jaw clenched. Refuses to show pain when Munson leans in. Presses right up close, one leg wedged between Steve’s thighs in the scuffle.

He looks at Steve like he’s the joke in a Christmas cracker. Steve can feel it when he exhales.

“I’d like to see you try,” Munson says softly, looking at him in a way that makes Steve feel uneasy. “I think it would be cute.”

His eyes scan over Steve’s face, his eyes, his cheeks, his throat, his lips, his eyes again. It’s almost warm, somehow. The touch of it. A burning bulb, a flashlight inspecting him. Standing onstage naked, unable to hide anything. Exposed in a way that is both terrifying and arousing in a way he can't comprehend.

Steve’s stomach churns, a stone sinking. His eyes widen, his breath catching. Heart thumping so hard he’s scared that Munson will see it through his skin if he looks down.

Munson squeezes his wrists one more time before he lets them go so that his arms drop limply to Steve's sides. Munson takes a step back, spins on his heel, and picks up his notebooks.

As soon as he’s not looking, Steve rushes to his locker, pulling it open and practically shoving his head inside. He stares at his bag with wide eyes.

He doesn’t move, scared of what he might do. Just stays perfectly still as he listens to Munson’s footsteps as they make their way back to the door.

The hinges squeak, but he doesn’t step through. Instead, he calls out.

“Hey Harrington?”

Steve doesn’t leave his hiding place, shoulders hunched. “Yeah?”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Steve spins around, nearly knocking his head on his locker door in his haste to make eye contact. He presses his forearm against his hip casually, so his hand hangs loosely over his crotch. Doesn’t want Munson to see the bizarre fear response his body is having to whatever just happened.

“You’re not?”

Munson’s face stretches into another slow grin.

“Your secret’s safe with me, big boy.”

Steve doesn’t expect Munson to stick to his word, so he fakes sick as soon as he gets home, laying it on thick enough that Mom agrees to let him stay home on Thursday. She even cancels her plans so that she can look after him again on Friday.

He intends to keep it going through the weekend, angling to get all of next week off, but by Sunday afternoon, her mother-henning turns to genuine concern that has her contemplating calling the family GP for a home visit. Dad manages to talk her out of it, but come nighttime, even he’s starting to worry about Steve’s confusing set of symptoms. When Steve fakes a coughing fit and Dad starts looking for his car keys to take him to the emergency room, he realizes he needs to stop.

So on Monday morning, as much as he wants to keep lying, he has a miraculous recovery.

He hopes that even if everyone knows, the chatter will have died down, hopefully replaced by a new scandal from the weekend.

But when he walks into school, heads swivel to look at him, whispers starting up as he walks past.

He ducks his head down, hands shaking when he shoves them in the pockets of his jeans. His neck feels hot from stares, his eyes stinging from humiliation. He tries to breathe through it, watching his feet as he walks the familiar route to his locker.

He shouldn’t be surprised that Eddie Munson told everyone, because as much as he hates to admit it, he knows he deserves it. He has no right to feel betrayed, but it doesn't stop the feeling from settling in his stomach.

He thinks about all the shit Dad said to him last year when Steve came to him in tears about how he wasn’t getting any bigger, and they ended up having what was both a very reassuring but very awkward conversation. About how there’s nothing wrong with being small, and that size doesn’t matter, and did you know that the Romans thought that small penises were actually superior to big ones? Or was it the Greeks? You’ll have to ask your mom; she’s the one who knows about that stuff. But—anyway, there’s nothing wrong with you, okay, Stevie? I promise you, one day you’ll meet the right person, and it won’t even matter.

He yelps when an arm is hooked around his neck, a solid body ramming into his side.

That was fast, he thinks, expecting to be shoved into the lockers, maybe pushed to the ground.

But instead, what he gets is Tommy pulling his head down so that he can mess up his hair.

“Harrington, you dog!”

Steve shakes him off, chest heaving when he looks at his face. Sees that he’s smiling.

Tommy grins at him, leans in closer, and lowers his voice a fraction so that everyone around them can still hear when he says, “How was she?”

Steve is saved from answering by the bell ringing, able to shake him off so he can rush to homeroom.

He hunches down in his seat, casting curious eyes over the room.

He’s huge, someone whispers, and Steve’s head whips over to two girls sitting behind him, huddled over the same desk. They giggle when he makes eye contact, covering their mouths with their hands. Enough to let him know that they’re talking about him.

He stares ahead, eyes wide.

Apparently it’s like a third leg, the girl continues.

Steve gulps.

He spends all of lunch waiting around the corner from Munson’s locker, pacing back and forth. Keeping his head down whenever people pass him and start whispering.

With only five minutes left, he finally hears the jingle of a chain, the heavy stomp of combat boots.

He jumps out from his hiding place, grabbing Munson by the bicep and dragging him into the janitor’s closet before he even knows what’s happening.

He pulls the chain, turning on the buzzing yellow bulb above them.

“Why did you do it?”

Munson blinks, his face going from a look of panicked confusion to amusement when he sees that it’s Steve in front of him, mouth stretching into a grin.

"Why, hello, Eddie. Nice to see you. I hope you had a wonderful weekend, because I sure did. Didn’t you hear?” Munson says, making his voice all high and chipper in what Steve thinks is supposed to be an impression of him.

Steve narrows his eyes, puts his hands on his hips. “What, that apparently some college chick sucked my ‘boloney pony’ behind Benny’s?”

“Dammit, why does no one ever get the details right?” Eddie sighs, turning to slap his hand against the wall for emphasis, shaking his head in dramatic disappointment. “She was sucking your horsedick outside a Jiffy Lube.”

“That’s—it doesn’t matter, Munson! Why did you tell everyone I have a huge dick?”

“I told you I would keep your secret.” Munson puts a hand over his heart, batting his lashes. “And I promise you, Harrington, I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

His eyes narrow.

“What’s the catch?”

Munson tilts his head, looks confused. The first genuine emotion so far, Steve thinks. “The catch?”

“Well…yeah,” Steve says with a shrug. “I mean, you hate me, so why would you do this for me?”

Munson takes a breath and opens his mouth, exhales, and closes it again. His mouth twists to the side, his eyes going carefully blank. But just for a moment, because then he’s smiling again. Such a quick change that Steve wonders if he imagined it.

“Consider it an act of charity. My own version of a shirtless car wash to help a little jock in need,” he says, casting a pointed glance down at Steve’s crotch.

“God, you’re so full of it,” Steve groans, rolling his eyes.

Eddie tuts. “Now now, Steve, is that any way to speak to someone who did you a favor?”

Steve scratches the back of his head, looks down at their shoes and sniffs. “Yeah, well, uh—thanks, I guess.”

Munson claps a hand on his shoulder, and Steve looks up from under his lashes. Sees the same carefully blank look in his eyes when he says, “Believe me, Harrington. It was my pleasure.” He takes a step back, his backpack knocking into the shelf, smile back in place. Except it’s different this time, unlike any other smile that he’s ever directed at Steve. “We members of the abnormal dick club need to stick together.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth popping open. His eyes dart between Eddie’s face and his crotch.

“Wait, you too?!”

Eddie ducks out of the room before Steve finishes asking the question, right before the bell rings.

Steve stares at the space Eddie was just taking up, his heart racing.

He’s not the only one.

SENIOR YEAR, HIGH SCHOOL

Steve tries to offer an apologetic smile to the girl he was just kissing, but he thinks it must come out closer resembling a grimace.

Her lip gloss-smudged mouth opens when she tries to call something after him, but Steve can’t hear her anymore over what sounds like hundreds of other voices.

His dick twitches, got so excited when her hand started trailing down his body. So excited that he had to pull away.

While his body is excited, he’s pissed. He’s pissed because it’s the second girl he’s rejected, the second girl who wanted to sneak away with him and ring in the new year with a quick fuck.

He fights through the crowd, wiping away the sticky residue smeared over his mouth. He’s drunk, but he could be drunker. Too drunk to speak clearly, but not drunk enough to be stumbling.

Everything is loud, but it feels good. Surrounded by noise, surrounded by people. He doesn’t want to talk to any of them, though, because all anyone wants to talk about is how they’re planning to change in the new year and how everything is going to be different.

Steve doesn’t like listening to it because it sounds like bullshit when other people say it. He is actually going to change. He’s determined. He’s going to be better.

He fights his way to solitude until he's stumbling out onto the back patio. It seems the universe is laughing at him because there, like a ghost, is Eddie Munson.

Steve hasn’t seen him in months, not since he failed senior year and seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. Rumors abound about what happened to him, but here he is. Standing on the back patio at Howie Dobson’s party.

Steve is mad. Has been mad at him ever since he walked into the locker room, ever since he spread that rumor.

But then Eddie Munson breaks out into a blinding grin, and Steve stalls. At that point of drunk where his brain can hold one thought at a time, struggling to remember anything that happened before.

He was mad; he knows that, but now Eddie Munson is grinning like he’s happy to see him, and it’s so startling that Steve’s rebooted.

“Harrington!” Eddie cheers, cigarette burning between his lips and beer can in his hand. He spreads his arms wide. “Long time no see, man. How are you?”

Steve takes a step towards him, feeling caught off guard. Eddie just laughs and takes his cigarette from his mouth, gesturing Steve in for a hug. He thinks this might be the first time he’s ever touched Munson in a way that isn’t tinged with violence.

“S’good to see you.” Eddie says, and then his arm is wrapping around Steve’s neck, squishing his face into his shoulder, so that he can get his cig back to his mouth and inhale. While there, Steve sniffs him. He smells nothing but smoke, too cold for anything else.

Once Eddie releases the grip on his neck, Steve takes a step back, trying for distance, but Eddie stops him from getting too far. He sets his beer down on the snow-coated handrail and uses his free hand to grab Steve by the jaw.

“How’ve you been, Steve? You look good. Still so nice and clean-cut.” He takes another drag of his cigarette, still holding onto Steve’s jaw. When he exhales, it’s directly into Steve’s face. Eddie’s grip is too tight, doesn’t let him flinch away. Maybe it’s just because he’s horny, but something about it feels kind of...hot.

Steve frowns. “I’m, um—”

“Um?” Eddie repeats, and Steve blinks up at him, expecting him to continue, before he realizes Eddie is teasing him.

“I’m mad at you,” he says uncertainly, can’t remember why anymore. But it feels right, saying it, so he says it again with more conviction. “I’m mad at you!”

Eddie squeezes his cheeks so that his lips squish out like a fish.

“Me? You’re mad at little old me?” He moves his hand up and down, moving Steve’s lips. “What have I ever done to you?” He looks amused when he inhales again. His eyes are blown black, something Steve can recognize even though his brain is melting into soup.“I’m just trying to catch up with my good buddy, and you’re mad?” He says, voice tight, before he exhales directly into Steve’s face again. “That’s not very nice.”

Steve shakes his hand off, but Eddie doesn’t seem offended. Instead, he reaches for his beer again and has a sip, shooting Steve a wink. Steve feels…dazed.

“Yeah…Yeah! I’m, um—”

“Um?” Eddie teases again.

“I’m mad at you.”

Eddie nods sagely, stubbing his cig out in the snow. He hums. “Yes, okay, and I would love to hear more about how mad you are, but,” He waves to the pitiful outdoor furniture collection—a sun-bleached, past-perished white chair and a wicker armchair that looks like it’s seen better days. “Why don’t we take a seat?”

Eddie throws his body into the armchair, grinning up at Steve. So smug.

Steve eyes the white chair, already picturing the legs bowing under his weight. He chews on his cheek in thought. The image of Eddie winking pops into his mind unbidden, only for a second, but it’s enough to finalize his decision.

“Come to daddy,” Eddie teases, patting his lap. Obviously joking, but—

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, hidden by his hair, when Steve climbs into his lap, legs spread to straddle him.

He takes Eddie’s can from him and downs it, then leans over to put it on the ground. Eddie blinks up at him, his eyebrows still raised, but he’s smiling now. His hands rest on Steve’s thighs, stroking up and down.

“Nice and comfy,” Eddie says, blinking fast. Almost looks a little confused when Steve doesn’t disappear from his perch on his lap. He squeezes Steve’s thighs. “Now, what were you saying?”

Steve pulls his eyes away from the sight of Eddie’s hand on his legs, confused but not exactly surprised by the heat he feels.

“I—huh?”

“Come on, Harrington. You were telling me how mad you are at me. Come on, let me have it. Let me know what I did wrong now.”

Steve wracks his brain, trying to find the answer, but all he can think to ask is, "Why did you disappear?”

“S’that what you’re mad about?” Eddie asks with a raised eyebrow. His hands keep rubbing up and down Steve’s thighs. The wind is cold when it cuts across the patio, and he wriggles closer to share warmth, so one of Eddie’s hands goes to his hip. “You mad that I didn’t stick around so you could bully me some more?”

“Don’t—I didn’t—don’t say that.”

“You didn’t what?”

Steve frowns and shakes his head. He’d bet money that Eddie is more fucked up than him right now, but he seems to be handling it better. He’s still capable of being a little shit, while Steve is struggling to form a single thought. The wind blows again, and he unthinkingly wriggles even closer. “I, um—”

“Um?”

Steve whines. “Stooop. I’m trying to think. You’re just, ugh. I can’t focus.”

“Yeah?”

Steve stares down at Eddie’s hand on his thigh, the other on his hip, and opens his mouth again. Nothing comes out, but his throat clicks.

“Wanna hear a secret?”

Steve looks up, eyes wide. He’s always loved secrets. Hates it when people know his but wants to know everyone else’s. He nods.

Eddie smiles at him. Big black eyes. They’re so shiny. His lips are shiny too when he licks them. “I’m, uh, finding it kinda hard to focus right now too.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so mad first, hmm?”

Steve opens his mouth, then shakes his head. “Can’t remember.” Eddie just hums, his fingers sneaking under the back of Steve’s jacket, under his knitted sweater. Cold against the small of his back. Drawing patterns. “What, um, what’s your secret?”

Eddie’s fingers travel higher, then lower, feeling out the small of his back before he strokes over the dimples at the base of his spine. He groans. “My secret?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie puts both hands under his sweater so that his fingers can interlace, thumbs resting in the divots. “My secret is that these are kinda infuriating.”

Steve huffs, leaning back but not getting out of Eddie’s lap. He takes Eddie’s wrists and pulls his hands from his lower back. He means to pull Eddie’s hands off him, but his drunk brain doesn’t for some reason. Instead, he guides Eddie’s hands back to his hips.

“Tell me the truth,” Steve says, and there must be something in his eyes that makes Eddie listen, because his eyes are fixed on Steve now, and he’s not smiling.

“The truth? Aren’t you being a little demanding?”

“You asked me if I wanted to hear a secret!”

“You’re cute when you get mad.”

Steve flushes. “I—um.”

“Um?”

“Your secret.”

“My secret?”

“Please.”

Eddie leans in, mouth so close to Steve’s. “My secret is that I still think about your little cock.”

Steve’s breath catches. He should—he should do something, probably. He should—

What he does is lean forward and look down at his lap. What he does is wonder what Eddie thinks about it, before the thought disintegrates.

“Now come on, you wanna give me a secret back?”

His touch is so light that Steve shivers, swallowing thickly. It feels so good being touched.

“I, um—”

“Um?”

“I don’t have any secrets.” It’s a lie because, while Steve definitely has secrets, he’s struggling to remember anything about himself when he has hands on him.

“Everyone has secrets, big boy.”

A gust of wind howls. Steve doesn’t feel any colder, but he still huddles forward reflexively. Presses himself against Eddie’s chest. With how he’s slouching, his crotch presses against Eddie’s stomach, ass in his lap.

“I—”

Eddie’s hands slide up under his jacket, squeezing his waist, before they move back to his hips. He’s staring up at Steve expectantly, and Steve wants to speak, but it’s hard to think. Distracted by Eddie’s attention.

It’s funny that Steve has never really noticed how pretty he is. It feels so obvious now; he can’t believe that he hasn’t thought about it before. Eddie kinda reminds him of his nana’s porcelain doll collection, except not creepy. Or, maybe a little creepy—but in a nice way. A nice kind of creepy.

He’s got the same full lips, the rosy cheeks, the curly dark lashes, and the big dark eyes. Almost black right now, all pupil. And Steve’s sure if he could get Eddie to use some curl treatments, his hair could also dry in little ringlets. But Steve likes his hair more than a doll’s. He reaches out and touches it, surprised by how soft it is given how messy it looks. Thinks he prefers it this way than to his vision of it all glossy.

He looks like he’s glowing. Steve thinks he might be sweating, but he looks like he’s been dipped in sunshine. Eddie clenches his jaw, and he doesn’t look mad, doesn’t look like he means to, but it’s enough to scare Steve into speech.

“My secret is,” he pauses, licks his lips. Looks down at his lap again. “My secret is I liked it.”

“You liked what, sweetheart?”

Steve’s breath catches. It feels so good, hearing Eddie call him that.

“I liked it. What you said to me.”

“I say a lot of stuff, Harrington. Be more specific.”

Steve whines softly and shakes his head. “Don’t call me that.”

“No? What should I call you? Sweetheart?”

Steve whines, bucking forward. Like his body can’t handle the overwhelming joy of being called such lovely, lovely things. He rocks his hips again. Eddie’s hands don’t move. Don’t squeeze; don’t stop him. Steve knows he shouldn’t do this for some reason, but he can’t remember why.

“Baby? Honey?”

Once he starts, he can’t stop, because then everything starts to feel good. The words from Eddie’s lips, the feeling of Eddie against him.

“Darling? Angel? Baby boy?”

Steve moans, grinding down harder against him. Can feel something stiff underneath him.

One of Eddie’s hands moves, finally. Reaches around to palm his ass. Rather than holding him still, he rolls his hips up and pushes Steve down so that his ass drags against him harder.

“Come on, Steve, tell me what you liked.”

“Liked—liked it when you called it a,” he gulps, lashes fluttering when he looks at Eddie. “Called it a clit.”

Eddie’s smile stretches wider.

“Oh honey. Isn’t that sweet?” He squeezes his other hand between their bodies so that he can feel between Steve’s legs, cupping around his small bulge. “Is this your little clit?”

Steve whines.

The hand on his ass slides across, pressing on the seam between his back pockets. “If this is your clit,” He squeezes Steve’s cock—his clit—and cocks his head while he presses harder. “Does that make this your pussy?”

Steve chokes on his spit, bucking against him. “Oh my god,” he gasps.

“You like that?”

Steve nods frantically, trying to push back into his hand when he rocks his hips faster. He can feel a bulge underneath him. It feels kinda—kinda big. Almost. Steve frowns because that can’t be right. Eddie said he was like Steve. That they’re both small. He must be drunker than he thought, or Eddie’s balls must be ginormous.

The thought doesn’t stay in his head long, because then both of Eddie’s hands are grabbing his ass again.

“Tell me, Steve, have you ever put anything inside?” He pulls Steve impossibly closer, pins him to his chest so he can rut against his ass more firmly. “Ever had anything stretch out your little cunt?”

Steve gasps. That's—that's not a word he says. He feels shocked and—and so horny he thinks he might die.

“God, look at you. Who would’ve thought? Just a little slut, huh? Grinding yourself against anything you can. Doesn’t even matter that it’s me, does it? Bet you’d hump anyone who offered to play with you.”

Steve is—he’s not sure he’s even alive anymore. He nods, even though he can’t fully comprehend anything. He just moans.

“That what you want? You want me to finger your little pussy?”

“Want it,” Steve breathes. “Want my—my pussy. Play with my—please.” He has to fight to get the words out, heavy on his clumsy tongue.

“Oh, you poor little cockslut,” Eddie coos. “Was that why you were such a little bitch in school? Always so grumpy because your pussy was empty?”

Steve’s eyebrows pinch together, wanting to nod but too focused on rolling his hips, rubbing himself against Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie squeezes his ass again before his head drops back. Showing off the long line of his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple, before he says, “I used to dream about fucking you.”

Steve feels like he’s been dipped in oil. Filled with heat and golden all over, a sizzle down his spine.

He reaches for Eddie, cupping his jaw to make him lift his head. Looks into his eyes when Eddie confesses, “Used to stare at your ass in school. Thought about pushing you over, getting you on all fours. Wanted to get my cock in you and watch it bounce while you moaned for me.”

He squeezes Steve’s ass again, even harder this time. The thought of that, having something inside him, has flitted through his mind a few times, but never seriously. He never imagined the details.

He can picture it now, though. On all fours with Eddie behind him, fucking him on his own small cock.

“You could. I'd let you,” Steve says, even though he’s still—even though he hasn’t fully—he doesn't know how he feels, can’t make sense in his brain. But it’s true. If Eddie took him upstairs right now, Steve would do it, would let him.

“Jesus,” Eddie groans, leaning his cheek into Steve’s palm, lashes fluttering.

He looks—fuck, he really is—

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, not sure if the words make sense, but they’re so desperate to come out that he can’t stop them.

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch together, mouth open. Coated with confusion even as he keeps guiding Steve in a rough grind.

“Can’t believe I never—” He cuts off with a moan, tucking his chin to his chest and curling his shoulders. Releasing the sound into the space between their bodies for safekeeping. “Beautiful.”

Eddie puts a hand on his lower back, crushing him forward before he thrusts up. It’s so good. It’s so good. Steve’s brain is—he feels kinda like a... like—like a hotdog, maybe. A little bit. Like all his thoughts and his everything else have been mashed together, and he can’t separate anything out. A whole bunch of things all squished together, making something good.

He opens his mouth, wants to tell Eddie why he can’t talk right now, wants to tell him, Sorry, I’m a hotdog, but the thought of Eddie looking at him after he’s said it makes his cheeks burn.

So, maybe he’s not a hotdog. He—he’s sexier than that, hopefully. Like one of those, uh. The lollipops with the spirals. So many colors, everything all twisted up. He can’t remember anything from before, and if he thinks too long, he’ll get a headache, staring at the center of the spiral. Sweet. Makes his mouth ache with an emptiness he’s lived with for so long but is only noticing now. Makes him want to lick. Suck.

There’s just—something wrong with it. The wrong color, the wrong flavor. Something sour mixed into the swirl, stopping him from enjoying it fully. Too bitter against all the sweet.

Steve brings his other hand up so that he’s holding Eddie’s face in the hollows of his palms. He opens his mouth, needs to spit it out. Wants to get it off his tongue.

“I’m sorry about then,” Steve gasps. “All of it. I’m so—I don’t know why I—”

Eddie skates a hand up his spine, under his sweater. Bucks up against him. “Wanna know another secret?”

“I’m—” Steve blinks; he wasn’t done with his own. Still has more he needs to drool out, but he loves secrets. He nods.

“I had a crush on you in school.”

He’s smiling when he says it, like maybe it’s funny. Maybe he expects Steve to laugh.

Steve blinks at him, information swirling, eddying.

Inside, the countdown starts.

TEN

NINE

Steve surges forward, both hands cradling Eddie’s jaw to keep his head still as he kisses him. Doesn’t care that he’s early, couldn’t stand to wait the extra seconds.

SEVEN

SIX

Eddie pulls back, which is bad. It’s so evil and so cruel, but he looks so nice. He looks so nice squinting up at Steve, and Steve wants to look at him more. But kissing. Kissing is better.

FIVE

So as soon as Eddie asks, Am I dreaming? Steve pulls him back in.

FOUR

Steve doesn’t care if he’s dreaming. Doesn’t care if they’re both dreaming. It feels good and he feels like a fairground and everything is incredible.

THREE

TWO

Eddie tastes so nice. Steve wants to kiss him forever. He tastes like nicotine and bitter and sour and yucky, but it’s still so nice. It’s so good and Steve loves it. He’s going to cum, maybe. If they keep going like this. If Eddie keeps holding and squeezing and touching him, rutting up against him. Steve’s going to cum.

ONE

Inside, people cheer, and it makes Steve glow. Feels like he’s got a party of people cheering him on, encouraging him towards the finish line. He grinds down firmer, fluid motions, like a—a sexy dolphin. Grinding down on Eddie as a drunken rendition of Auld Lang Syne starts up inside, nothing but noise.

There’s a pop behind him, a sizzle.

He pulls back, momentarily still, and turns to watch as a first burst of color is splattered against the black canvas.

Eddie’s hands squeeze him so tight it hurts in a way that makes his tummy flip. Tight enough that in the morning he’ll have purple fireworks on his hips to match the sky.

He turns back to Eddie, ready to start rutting against him again because he’s so close and he wants to join the fireworks, ready to combust and take his place in the sky and turn to glitter. Wants to kiss him while it happens.

But Eddie holds him still and blinks up at him with pitch-black eyes.

Steve is about to surge in, deserves to be kissed while he cums, but—

The back door bangs open.

Steve jolts back at the same time that Eddie shoves him off, so that he ends up in a crumple on the frosty floor. His desire to cum is snuffed out by shock. He blinks, trying to bring himself back to reality as he watches people erupt from inside, spilling out onto the patio and down onto the grass.

There’s a hand in his vision, waving in front of his face. A hand that wants to meet Steve’s hand. Like a playdate, he thinks. Giggles as he’s hauled to his feet.

Eddie Munson and his big black eyes stare at him as a crowd forms around them, everyone coming to watch the show in the sky.

Steve knows—he was angry earlier, he thinks. Angry at Eddie.

Now he’s just angry because his butt hurts, and he wants his hand and Eddie’s hand to continue their playdate upstairs, maybe. Find a room. Let their hands make nice, so their bodies can follow. Or something.

But Eddie is just staring at him like he’s been shocked, like a spooked animal. There’s a vague splinter in Steve’s mind—from the stick of the lollipop, maybe—of the roles reversed, a flash of himself as the deer, scared stiff. Eddie’s black eyes, bright as high beams.

Eddie tries to shake Steve’s hand off, and it feels like he’s digging something out of Steve with a melon baller. Steve pulls their joint hands behind his back, refusing.

Eddie looks so nice when he’s irritated. Steve should irritate him more.

The Etch-a-Sketch of his brain must get shaken because he can’t remember how he gets inside. Outside again. Inside again, but a different inside. He knows his hand is still on a playdate, though.

Except the playdate ends, and his hands are returned to his lap where they can play with each other. He wants to complain, but his words are gone. A letter bracelet with the elastic snipped, nothing but a handful of beads.

The inside he’s in rumbles, and he’s moving, and before he can worry about playdates anymore, he’s out.

FRESHMAN YEAR, COLLEGE

Steve’s a beer and a wine cooler down, approaching the beer pong table and planning to get a lot more drunk, when he sees something out of the corner of his eye and freezes.

It’s not an uncommon experience—something he’s done many times, at many different parties. Thought that he saw him, only to be proved wrong.

Except—

Except this time he’s not wrong.

Because Eddie Munson is right here, in Steve’s frat house, chatting to someone. That same lunchbox he had in high school hanging from two fingers at his side.

It's the first time Steve’s seen him since Howie Dobson’s party.

Dad always orders Negronis when they go out to dinner, and because Steve is the person he is, he had his first sip of one when he was still in middle school. Dad always made them seem irresistible, because while Mom loves trying out different cocktails before they switch to wine, Dad always wants the same thing. Steve grew up thinking that they must be the best thing in the world.

And then he had a sip and, on the spot, decided it was the worst thing he’d ever tasted.

That’s what he felt like after Howie Dobson’s party. He felt like the personification of a fucking Negroni. One part gin, one part Campari, one part vermouth, and that inside him became one part humiliation, one part anger, one part…something he’s still not sure how to name.

Humiliation, because in all his years of drinking, he’s never behaved like that, how he did at the end. Whining about holding hands.

Humiliation, because he still remembers everything before the end. Remembers grinding on Eddie Munson like a rabid dog, admitting to private thoughts that he’d only let himself have late at night. Remembers kissing him, and how much he wanted to keep kissing him.

Humiliation, because while the whole getting home part is a blur, he remembers the next morning. He remembers waking up feeling surprisingly less hungover than he expected, only to find Mom and Dad hovering over him. He remembers the lecture he got about how a friend had to drive Steve home. He remembers Mom being horrified, because God knows how long your friend had to wait on the driveway for us to get back from the Ackerman’s party, because you were too drunk to pass him your house keys.

Anger, for the same reasons as before. Anger for Eddie, not for that night, but still from junior year. Anger for the rumor.

Anger for the reputation he has, the reputation he can’t escape now that it’s gone on for so long. Anger at his past self, who thought it was a good thing and fed it willingly, walked into school wearing his tightest Levis with a gym sock stuffed down his briefs.

Anger mostly for himself, that he did the things he did.

The thing he’s scared to name, for how he hasn’t been able to forget it. The words Eddie used and how much he liked them. Words that plague him when he touches himself, when he considers reaching back but never does. Words he hears whispered in his mind when he’s about to cum, that make him whine through his teeth while he humps his pillow.

The Campari is the strongest taste, his anger the easiest emotion to handle, so that’s what he feels when he sees him. He tastes the bitterness on the approach.

He storms away from the table, right over to Munson, who turns away from the girl he’s talking to and stares straight at Steve, a slow grin spreading on his face.

“Big boy!” He crows. Just like last time. “Long time no see.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps, coming to a stop so that he’s standing close to Eddie. “What are you doing here?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, then raises his hand, wiggling the lunchbox. “Working, and you?”

Steve huffs, then looks around. Sees that while it’s not like everyone is looking at them, enough people are eyeing them curiously, wondering what one of the newest frat brothers could have to fight with a drug dealer about.

He huffs, grabs Eddie’s wrist, and drags him after him. Passed the string of neckties that was tied across the bottom of the stairs at the start of the night to stop people from going up, but is now lying on the floor.

Eddie doesn’t put up a fight, surprisingly; he just lets Steve drag him up to his tiny shared bedroom.

Steve lets go of him, and Eddie steps into the room properly, humming as he looks around.

“Love what you’ve done with the place, very original,” he says as he eyes the centerfold over Steve’s roommate’s bed. Then he sits down on Steve’s bed—Steve’s not sure if he knew it was Steve’s somehow, if it was just a guess—and puts his lunchbox on the nightstand. He leans back on his hands. “Any reason you dragged me up here, Harrington?”

Steve folds his arms and takes a deep breath to calm down.

“You ruined my life.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you?”

Steve balks. “Wha—what did I ever do to ruin your life?!”

Eddie gives him a flat look. “Yeah, okay, little Miss Let’s trip people in the cafeteria. Let’s throw balloons filled with piss at some guy's van. Let’s steal someone's clothes when they’re showering after gym so they have to run around naked.”

“That last one happened to Fred Benson, not you,” Steve tries to defend. “And it’s not like I was the one who did everything.”

Eddie stands up off the bed and takes a slow step towards him. Steve’s not scared of Eddie Munson or anything, but he automatically takes a step back.

“Do you even hear yourself, Steve? You weren't the only one? That doesn’t fucking matter. Everyone worshipped you; they would’ve listened to you. You could’ve done something, but you just stood by and watched.”

Eddie takes another step forward. Steve takes two steps back.

“I spent weeks working on that painting of my uncle, and your friends stole it before I could hand it in. They destroyed it and threw it in a fucking dumpster! It was important to me, but that didn’t matter, huh?”

Steve bumps into his desk, can’t take any more steps back, and then Eddie’s right in front of him. Boxing him in.

“That wasn’t me,” he pleads.

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, well, you didn’t do anything to stop them, did you?”

Steve inhales shakily, shoulders tense, up by his ears. He shrinks back against the desk when Eddie leans in. New Year's, Eddie’s hands on his hips, his ass. His tongue in his mouth. His lashes flutter, expecting it to happen again. Expecting Eddie to kiss him. But—

Eddie scoffs, pulls away. There’s this look of disgust on his face before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“But,” he starts, opening his eyes and sliding a smile on his face. He moves back an inch, but he keeps Steve trapped. “I’m trying to let that sort of shit go. Why should I still get upset over it when you obviously don’t give a fuck about all the damage you did?”

Steve opens his mouth, wanting to protest. Wants to tell Eddie that he does care, that he’s been trying to make up for it. That he knows now, how much harm he caused. But Eddie’s nostrils flare, looks like he might attack if Steve tries to defend himself, so his mouth snaps shut. Eddie grins again.

“No point living in the past, right?”

He stares at Steve, raising his eyebrows as he waits for Steve’s agreement. Steve swallows and nods his head. Stutters, “R-right.”

Eddie stares at him, scans Steve’s face, before he moves to take a step back, like their conversation is over.

“But!” Steve blurts out when he turns away, and Eddie whips back to look at him.

Steve’s words die on his tongue when Eddie snorts. “What, have you got some sort of speech you want to give about how I ruined your life?”

Steve blinks at him, shrugs a shoulder up, and Eddie shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. He turns away from Steve properly then, walks back to his bed, and drops down to sit.

“How about this: you apologize to me, and then I’ll let you air your grievances, okay? And, depending on what they are, maybe I’ll apologize to you.” He pulls a pack of tobacco out of his pocket and crosses one ankle over his knee. He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a pack of rolling papers, a line of filters. When Steve makes no move to approach, Eddie looks up at him expectantly.

Steve stumbles forward, away from the desk. Watches Eddie’s fingers as he pinches tobacco onto the paper, rolling it up in a practiced motion. Steve wants to taunt him, say something about being too cheap to spring for pre-rolled, but he doesn’t think that’s going to do him much good.

He stands uncertainly in the center of his room. “I’m, um—”

“Um?” Eddie mimics, looking up at Steve through his fringe, smirking, holding a filter in the corner of his mouth before he tucks it in.

Steve opens his mouth to continue, then jumps when there’s a giggle in the passage outside. He rushes to the door, turning the lock. Just in case. He turns back to Eddie and finds him sitting back on the bed, tucking his cigarette into his pack and starting to roll another one. Steve watches his hands as he works, waiting for him to finish. Waiting for his attention.

Eddie glances up at him and snorts, muttering something under his breath before shaking his head. Once he’s done, he tucks it behind his ear and leans back into his hands. He drops his leg so that his knees are open again and raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says softly.

Eddie cups a hand around his ear. “Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear.” Steve opens his mouth, irritated, goes to repeat it but louder, but then Eddie shakes his head. “Actually, why don’t you come closer?” Steve stares at him until Eddie nods, looks pointedly at the carpet between his spread knees.

Steve exhales slowly before taking cautious steps closer, until he’s only a foot or so away.

He opens his mouth again, but once more, Eddie cuts him off. “Closer.”

Steve edges even closer, until he’s almost standing in the spread of his knees. He folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, giving Eddie a look like, good enough?

Eddie’s lips purse, eyes narrowing as he hums, then shakes his head.

“Actually, I think you should kneel.”

“Kneel?!”

Eddie nods, stuffing his pack back into his pocket and spreading his legs even wider. “Come on, Harrington. Prostrate yourself before me. Beg for your forgiveness so I know you mean it.”

Steve could fight, but honestly, he doesn’t want to anger Eddie any more than he already has. Plus, he’s pretty sure he deserves it.

Plus, plus, he’s just starting to feel kind of…weird. Kinda hot, kinda tense. Like he might start vibrating at any second, so he wants to get this over with.

He grumbles the whole way down, until he’s on his fucking knees, staring up at Eddie Munson’s smug face.

“Now, let’s try again.”

Steve grinds his teeth. “I’m sorry, okay?” The words are sour when he forces them out, even if the sentiment is true. He is sorry. He’s been sorry since senior year, since he had his own moral reckoning after Nancy gave him another shot and then broke his heart properly. But it’s not like Eddie was there to see it; it’s not like he could have any way of knowing how far down the food chain Steve fell.

“Sorry for what?”

Steve stares up at him. There’s an old part of him that fights to the surface, eyes flinty. A part that wants to curse, spit. Hiss at him. But Steve forces it down; he isn’t that person anymore. “I’m sorry I was an asshole.”

Eddie lunges for him, fast enough that Steve leans back, but Eddie grabs the back of his head before he gets too far. He tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair and tilts his face up.

Eddie leans over him and cocks his head, considering the image of Steve Harrington, pathetic at his feet. Steve sweats, left hanging as he waits to hear Eddie Munson’s verdict.

Eddie twists his mouth, almost looks like he’s—like he’s gathering spit.

Steve’s lips part in a gasp, thinking about it. About Eddie forcing his mouth open, spitting on his tongue. It’s—it’s a disgusting thought. Or, it should be. The weird feeling starts to grow, starts to seep into his thoughts.

But then Eddie lets go. Cutting Steve adrift before he leans back, and Steve can’t help but feel a strange sense of disappointment.

He sighs and looks down at his lap to hide his pink cheeks.

“I—look, you don’t have to believe me or anything,” Steve tries again. “But I’ve changed. Or, I’ve been trying to, at least. Because I know. I know I was—I was a lot of bad things. I would do anything to go back and do it all differently.”

“Do what differently?”

“All of it. Everything. Everything I did to you, and to everyone. And, I’m just—I’m sorry.” He crushes the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Come now, you can’t get out of this by turning on the waterworks. It doesn’t matter if you feel bad, Harrington. Think about everyone else.”

“I know!” He yelps, then softer, “I know. I’m—I’m just really sorry. I hate myself for the things I did, the person I was.” Steve looks up even though it makes his teeth hurt. Wants Eddie to see he means it. Knows that he looks pathetic but doesn’t care. “Your painting was really beautiful, and I’m so sorry that I ruined it.”

Eddie’s nostrils flare with his exhale, the smile gone from his face. He considers Steve in silence, eyes roaming all over him looking for a chink in the armor, a flicker of insincerity. As much as Steve wants to look away, he holds fast.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he can’t deny the glow of relief he feels when Eddie nods once.

“Could use some work, but I’ll let it slide this time.” He takes a deep breath, chest puffing out, and on the exhale, it’s like his anger fades away, replaced with an unsettling grin. Eddie reaches out and twists a lock of Steve’s hair around his finger, tugs gently before letting go. “Now, do you wanna tell me what your little tantrum downstairs was all about?”

Steve looks down at his lap, feeling cowed enough by his own apology that he feels a little silly for being so mad. He runs his fingers through his hair, rights it, then looks up at Eddie. “It’s just that you—”

“You can get up, you know,” Eddie says, flippant almost, as he pulls the smoke from behind his ear and sticks it between his lips.

Steve doesn’t move for some reason, strangely distracted by watching as Eddie pulls out his lighter—some Zippo type, covered in an American flag with an eagle on the side. Eddie inhales before he looks back at Steve and sees that he hasn’t moved yet, seeming almost as surprised as Steve is of himself.

Eddie leans forward, elbow to his knee, before he exhales slowly. Blows smoke right into Steve’s face. He waves a hand, and Steve thinks maybe it’s to try and wave it away before he realizes that Eddie is telling him to stand. Dismissing him.

Steve scoots back, pushes himself to his feet. Tries to style out his little stumble, hoping Eddie didn’t see it. The snort from behind him tells him that he wasn’t so lucky.

He folds his arms again, shoulders curled forwards, then turns back to Eddie.

“That rumor you spread ruined my life.”

“What rumor?” Eddie frowns, exhales again. “The one about your dick?”

“Yes, the one about my dick, asshole!” He stares at Eddie expectantly, waiting for some sort of guilt to become visible, but Eddie just stares back at him.

“…Care to elaborate?”

Steve stumbles over the starts of words in his indignation. “Wha—you told everyone I had a huge dick, and it has haunted me ever since!”

Eddie leans over, tapping the ash into the full ashtray beside Steve’s nightlight. “Still not seeing how having a big dick is a life-ruining problem, Harrington.”

“I’m a—” Steve cries before he takes a step closer, lowers his voice and hisses, “I’m still a virgin because of you!”

Both of Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up and he freezes, his roll-up burning away as he blinks at Steve.

“Well? Anything you want to say?” Steve asks, hoping that Eddie finally understands, that vindication is near.

But Eddie just whistles and pulls his cigarette back to his mouth. And then he laughs.

Steve squawks.

“What the fuck? Why are you laughing?”

Eddie manages to get a handle on it, but his shoulders are still shaking. The damage is done. “Sorry, sorry. Just—fuck me, man. Never thought that I’d have more notches in my bedpost than King Steve.”

Steve bristles.

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses. “I hate that name.”

Eddie nods in mock sympathy. “Right, of course. Sorry, big boy.”

Steve has to look away, mouth open in indignance. He digs his fingers into his own biceps to stop himself from swiping at Eddie when he turns back. “You’re such an asshole.”

Eddie’s mouth is set in a shit-eating grin, his eyes sparkling. Like maybe he doesn’t understand how he ruined Steve’s life, but he’s a little pleased to find out that he did. That he managed to get his own back, in a way.

“Honestly, Steve, I’m still not seeing the issue here. I did you a favor, remember?”

“A—a favor?” Steve gasps, fishmouthing as he searches for the right words.

Before he gets the chance to find them, Eddie stands. Stubs his half-smoked rollie out in the ashtray and turns to Steve. “You got a bathroom?”

“A—huh? Bathroom?”

“Yeah, baby. A bathroom? Need to piss.”

Steve reels back, is so thrown by the name that he just waves absently to the door beside his chest of drawers, leading to the tiny half-bath he and Patrick share with the adjoining room. Eddie presses his palms together and does a little bow before he’s—he’s turning away from Steve, pulling the door open like the conversation is done.

Steve blinks after him, taking a second for his mind to return to his body, and then he races after him.

Before Eddie can unzip, Steve charges at him, shoving him into the wall. He grabs onto the collar of his jacket and glares at him, nostrils flaring.

Eddie doesn’t look intimidated, his eyes filling with mischief as his hands come up to settle on Steve’s hips, squeezing softly.

“We've been here before,” he practically purrs. “Was this all your way of asking for a repeat performance, Stevie?”

Steve sputters, takes a step back before he prods his finger into Eddie’s chest.

“Because of you,” he grits out. Has to lick his lips. “Because of you, everyone in school thought I was huge. They expected it. I always thought that maybe, if I met the right girl, we could get to know each other first, and then I could,” he cuts out and groans, pinches his face up and shakes his head. Tries to lock his vulnerability away. “I could tell her, and—and maybe it would be fine! But once everyone heard about what you said, that was all they cared about.”

He takes another step back, runs his fingers through his hair as he takes a deep breath. He waits to see if Eddie is going to tease him some more, but when he looks back, Eddie is just watching him. He’s not smiling, face thoughtful as he listens. He nods, waiting for Steve to continue.

“I’d go on a date, and as soon as we started kissing, they would just reach for my lap. Wanted to see it for themselves. Wanted to take a ride on the—the fucking Harrington Horsedick, or whatever. And, I mean, there was this one girl, and I thought maybe she wouldn’t…” he shakes his head. “But, um, that—that kinda blew up before we ever got that far.”

He runs his fingers through his hair again, can’t help it, even though he can feel it getting greasy from all his touching. He scrunches his nose against the humiliating tingle in his nose.

“And the worst thing is that it followed me here. There are enough people from school who go here that it spread instantly.”

Steve jumps when there’s a hand on his elbow, squeezing him softly. He glares over at Eddie but lets Eddie pull him closer until they’re standing in front of each other again. Eddie takes a hold of his wrist, pulling his hand away from where he’s picking at his cuticles. Steve inhales and pushes through.

“I mean, I dunno why I’m telling you all this extra stuff, but it’s—it’s been hell, man. Fuck, it was so embarrassing! I had to speak to the heads of my fucking frat and tell them about my dick and how the rumors weren’t true, just so that they wouldn’t do any hazing shit that would force me to get naked in front of everyone.”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, and Steve just shakes his head.

“So, I mean. Maybe you meant well when you said what you did, but,” he looks up at him and his shoulders slump, “I’m guessing that’s not true, right? You weren’t really trying to do me a favor.”

Eddie winces, and it’s all the proof Steve needs, makes him take a step back, even when Eddie reaches to try and pull him back. Steve just shakes his head and leans against the opposite wall of the small bathroom.

“Shit,” Eddie sighs. “Look. Okay, yeah, you’re right. I guess I was kinda hoping that it would bite you in the ass, and that, I don't know, maybe it would piss you off. But I honestly didn’t expect people to just—believe it so easily.” He takes a step closer and rests a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”

Something unknots in Steve’s chest, finally hearing that. It was a comfort sometimes, the thought that Eddie was like him. When Steve would get angry, he’d tell himself that maybe Eddie wanted someone to say something like that about him, too, so he never could’ve predicted how it snowballed for Steve. So he does feel a flash of disappointment hearing that he was wrong, but still.

He doesn’t need anything more, but Eddie keeps talking.

“I mean, shit, Harrington. I honestly never expected that it would catch on the way it is, and I really am so sorry.” He squeezes Steve’s shoulder, rubs up and down his bicep. “But—can I be honest?”

Steve narrows his eyes; he doesn’t like his tone. Hesitantly, he nods.

“I really don’t think you should be embarrassed in the first place. There’s nothing wrong with your dick.”

Steve scoffs, hackles rising back up. “Oh, fuck off.”

But Eddie reaches for him, cups his jaw, and forces him to make eye contact. “I mean it. There’s nothing wrong with being small. And sex isn’t all about penetration, right? You don’t even need to use your dick to have good sex. Who said you even have to be the one to stick it in, anyway?”

Steve cocks an eyebrow, clenching his jaw. He hears Eddie’s voice in his head, from before. I used to dream about fucking you.

Eddie laughs. “I just mean—well, you have a mouth, you have hands. You have, uh, other holes.” His cheeks flush. Steve wonders if he’s thinking about the same thing, if he even remembers the details. You want me to finger your little pussy? Eddie clears his throat. “And, I mean, some people are actually into that thing, right? So, just—you really shouldn’t be so ashamed. In my opinion, at least.”

Eddie says it so earnestly, his eyes so wide and warm.

Steve’s anger leaves him in a deep exhale, and he shakes his head with a small laugh.

“Right, well. Thanks,” he says, giving Eddie a matching smile. He really is so nice to look at; Steve’s not surprised that he’s managed to hook up with people despite his downstairs situation. Steve cocks his head, curious. “So how do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know, how do you have sex if you’re like me?”

Eddie blinks. “...like you?”

Steve frowns. “Yeah? Like you said, about how us guys with embarrassing dicks need to stick together?”

“Wait, hey, I would never have said embarrassing.”

Steve rolls his eyes with surprising fondness. “Yeah, okay, I know—you don’t need to give me another pep talk. But come on, how do you tell people you’re hooking up with what to expect?”

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it. He presses his thumb to his temple and rubs two fingers across his eyebrow, like maybe he’s been hit with a sudden headache.

“Uh, actually, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Eddie opens and closes his mouth again, then reaches down to cover his crotch with his hand. “I still really need to piss, so can we maybe…after?”

“Oh, shit! Yeah, of course. I’ll just…”

Steve walks out of the little bathroom, but he leaves the door open, perching on the edge of his desk while he waits. It’s kinda weird, sitting there and listening to the guy he’s spent so long being mad at, pissing.

As Eddie’s stream starts to taper off, he hears a door open. Except it’s not the door to his room, which means—

“Woah, dude.” He hears Argyle’s voice coming from the bathroom. “Impressive hog.”

Steve pushes off the table, mouth open in shock. Steve thought Argyle was the nicest guy in the house, someone he could maybe tell his secret to in time. Didn’t think he was the sort of person who would mock someone about their dick size.

He storms into the bathroom, ready to defend Eddie, only to stop.

His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Eddie smiling at Argyle, dick in hand and not offended in the slightest. He looks over at Steve, and his eyes widen before he pulls his boxers back up.

“Fuck you, asshole,” Steve hisses, before he storms right out.

“Fucking…dickhead,” Steve mumbles, scuffing his sneakers in the dirt.

He’s been in the backyard for the past twenty minutes trying to calm down. Right at the bottom of the garden, far enough away from the bonfire that no one can hear him muttering angrily to himself as he kicks up clumps of grass, then guiltily stomps them back into place.

Whatever, who cares. He knows some of the guys in the frat already think he’s weird since he bought a new TV for the house in exchange for not having to go streaking with the other pledges. Who cares if they think he’s weird for talking to himself in the garden?

Enough people saw him yelling at Eddie, so with any luck, they’ll just think he’s on something.

He’s just kicking the trunk of a tree when he hears a twig snap behind him, and his shoulders tense. He’s had enough time alone to stew, his anger cooling down to almost room temperature, but it heats up a little now that he has company.

“Hey,” says a voice from behind him. A voice that undeniably belongs to Eddie Munson. “Been looking for you.”

“Keep looking,” Steve huffs. Kicks against the tree harder, then sucks his lower lip into his mouth because fuck, that one kinda hurt.

Eddie sighs, and Steve watches in his peripheral as Eddie comes around to lean against the tree he’s busy kicking, lunchbox at his hip.

“Look, Steve, I really didn’t mean to make you think—” he cuts off with a nervous laugh, and Steve’s head shoots up, eyes narrowing.

“What? That you had a dick like mine? That’s funny, is it?”

Eddie instantly goes silent, guilty. Steve feels a curl of satisfaction and drops his eyes back to the ground. The satisfaction grows when Eddie sighs again and swears.

“Look, I really am sorry for starting that rumor and everything, okay? But I genuinely never meant to make you think that I—”

“You said we were the same.”

“Steve—”

“You said you also had a weird dick.”

“I do.”

“You made me think you were like me.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Eddie says, loud enough that the conversation at the fire pit pauses, and they all look over. Steve lifts his hand in a wave, letting them know all’s good.

“Steve,” Eddie says softer. “I’m just—I don’t even know how to properly apologize, because I promise, I never meant to make you think that.”

Steve lifts his face to glare at him.

“Or, shit. I dunno, maybe I did back then.” He runs a hand down his face. “Fuck, I genuinely can’t remember the details of a conversation from years ago, so I don’t know for sure, but I really didn’t mean to hurt you, Steve. Either way, I’m sorry I did.”

Steve sighs then. He knows he’s being dramatic, throwing a tantrum about this. It’s just—

“I thought I wasn’t alone.”

“Huh?”

Steve looks up at him, just for a second, before he turns his back to the tree.

“I was mad at you, but it was kinda comforting in a way. Thinking that you were like me. That I wasn’t a—” he cuts off with a sigh.

Eddie turns, shoulder still to the tree, but so that he can lean against it with his body facing Steve.

“Hey, I meant it, what I said. There’s nothing wrong with you or your body.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, sure.”

“Listen, Steve. Maybe in school, something like that seems like a life sentence, but honestly? In my experience, size really doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, well, you can say that. You’re the one with a third fucking leg.”

“I meant what I said, Steve—there are loads of people who don’t care about small dicks, okay?”

“Wow, that’s so comforting.”

Eddie punches his shoulder softly. “You know what I mean. A lot of people really don’t care about size, no matter how small.”

“Sure,” Steve sighs, unconvinced.

“I’m not lying, man.”

“Okay, then where are these people? The ones who are into tiny dicks?”

“Well,” Eddie shrugs. “There’s me, for one.”

It’s enough to make Steve flush, going quiet as he presses his hand to the bark. He feels a pull inside him, something that wants to turn to Eddie and argue until he takes it back.

Because he remembers what Eddie said, about how he couldn’t stop thinking about Steve’s dick. But he doesn’t even know how much of that night Eddie remembers, if he was just saying shit because he liked the sound of his own voice. It felt easier to write it off, to tell himself he was misremembering or something.

Steve’s fingers twitch as he rolls the thought over. Dad said that one day he’d meet the right person, and it wouldn’t matter. Steve hoped for that, but he did consider the alternative: that everyone he meets will find him lacking, that no one will want him for the long term.

He’s never let himself consider the other other alternative. That he could meet someone who wouldn’t be indifferent to his size but would rather be into it. Would find Steve’s small size arousing.

He takes a deep breath as the idea settles around his shoulders like a warm blanket.

He’s so trapped in his head that he almost manages to forget where he is, that Eddie Munson is standing beside him, until he hums. His fingers tap against his lunchbox.

Steve looks over, sees that he’s moved away, now leaning back against the tree so that he’s hidden from the people on the lawn.

“So,” Eddie starts, followed by a stretch of silence, the sound of his dry mouth shaping out words that he doesn’t deem the right pick.

“Yeah?”

Eddie swallows audibly, then asks, “Is that the only thing you’re angry about?”

Steve presses his fingers to the tree, feeling the bite of the bark against his fingertips. Grounding. He’s pretty sure he knows what Eddie is trying to ask.

“I’m not angry about New Year’s.”

He hears Eddie exhale.

“You’re not?”

“No.” Steve presses harder, hard enough that it hurts. “Are you?”

Eddie snorts. Steve hears the rasp of his lighter, the smell of smoke. “Why would I be mad?”

“Why would I?”

Eddie turns again, shoulder to the tree so that Steve can feel his eyes on him. He just keeps pressing against the bark.

“What, you’re not going to insist that you’re totally not gay and it’s my fault for making you think you were into it?” He asks, aiming for teasing, but it falls flat. Sounds too much like an argument Eddie’s familiar with for Steve to rise to the bait.

“Don’t think I can blame you for how much I liked being told I was a dumb slut who needed my pussy fucked hard and rough, Munson.”

Eddie guffaws, throwing his head back from the force of his surprised laughter.

Steve turns to watch him wipe a hand down his face, shaking his head in disbelief. Smile wide, brilliant, before he takes a long drag from his cigarette. He blows it out of the side of his mouth, like he doesn’t want to get it in Steve’s face like he did earlier. Like he did on New Year’s. Steve wishes he would. Wants Eddie to hold him by the jaw, keep him in place so he’s forced to inhale his secondhand smoke again.

His cheeks tingle from heat and he looks back at the tree, but he’s smiling now, too.

“Honestly thought I dreamed that,” Eddie mumbles, like it’s more for himself than Steve.

Steve shrugs one shoulder, drags his hands down a little. Seeking out a splinter, something sharp to keep him more grounded.

“Nah, all me,” Steve forces himself to say.

Eddie inhales again, steps closer. Steve feels smoke fan across his cheek, tickling his nose.

He turns, hoping to catch it but not fast enough. Eddie’s close enough now that as soon as Steve meets his eyes, he’s hooked. Too close to the current, pulled in. He could swim parallel, could take a step back and laugh it off to get out, but instead he turns too. Presses his own shoulder up against the trunk.

There’s something different in Eddie’s eyes then, something considering.

He brings his cigarette to his lips, and the cherry glows. Steve stares at him until Eddie exhales directly in his face.

Steve’s lashes flutter, but he doesn’t turn away. Eddie grins.

He licks across his teeth in a move Steve has never seen anyone else successfully pull off. Has never made him feel the same sizzle.

Eddie considers him for a moment. “I remember talking about your pussy, and I remember calling you a slut, but I’m pretty sure I never called you dumb.”

Steve’s inhale gets caught somewhere behind his fourth and fifth ribs, because he did, didn’t he? He must’ve. Why else would Steve—

“You did,” Steve says, sounding more sure than he feels.

But Eddie shakes his head slowly, corner of his mouth pulling up. “M’afraid that was all you, big boy.” He exhales in Steve’s face again. “I’m also pretty sure that I never said anything about how hard and rough you need it, either.”

This time when Steve’s lashes flutter, his eyes slip closed. Only for a second, but long enough that Eddie’s smiling at him when they open again. Looking at Steve like he’s finally slotted the last piece in place, puzzle complete.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You’re a little slut who wants someone to fuck you until you can’t think anymore. You want someone to put you in your place, and you’re mad at me because you haven’t been brave enough to find someone to play with your pussy yet.”

Steve could try and deny it, say that it’s not what he wants. Could deny it because it’s not fully accurate. But he just blinks at Eddie and wets his lips again.

Eddie’s mouth pulls into a silky smooth grin, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“Well, if you want, I’d be happy to be that someone for you, sweetheart.”

Steve frowns, too hypnotized by each word that comes from Eddie’s mouth to understand the offer. Can only respond by saying, “Huh?”

Eddie has one last inhale before stubbing his smoke on the tree, dropping it to the grass once it’s dead. He exhales slowly and tilts his head.

“Oh honey, are you going dumb already? I’m asking if you want to get fucked.”

Steve’s not sure his mouth has ever felt so dry and wet at the same time. He swallows.

“You are?”

Eddie shrugs the shoulder he’s not leaning on, a casual motion that doesn’t capture the consideration in his eyes. “You’ve seen what I’m working with, so if you want it, and you think you can take it, then it’s all yours.”

Steve could get a headache from how fast he nods, jerking his head up and down rapidly. So eager when he reaches for Eddie’s hand.

“Do you wanna go back to my room? I mean, it’s kinda risky, but I’m not sure where else—”

“Do you have any objections to losing your virginity in a van?”

By the time Steve ambles down to the street after showing his face one last time at the party, Eddie is waiting outside his van, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

As much as Steve wants to press up against him and pull him into a kiss, they’re still in full view of the frat house, and while Steve’s sure everyone’s too drunk to give them any mind, he still heads right for the back. Eager and excited, and also kind of wants to get naked as fast as he can, just in case any last-minute nerves try to sneak their way in.

He manages to get the door open, and he sees a thin futon, a single, taking up half the space behind the bench seat. He makes to climb in when the driver’s side door opens, and he pauses, watching as Eddie climbs into the driver's seat.

He lowers his leg and closes the door, steps unsure as he walks around to the open driver’s door, Eddie’s one foot dangling out. He raises an eyebrow at Steve when he comes to a stop beside him.

“Um,” he starts.

“Um?”

Steve flushes, resisting the urge to fiddle with the hem of his polo. “Aren’t we going to…”

“Do you want people to hear you?” Eddie asks, inflection like it’s a normal question, like he’s asking Steve his favorite pizza topping. It takes Steve a moment to process.

His fingers curl, brushing the hem but not grasping. “Um, no?”

Eddie’s smile is—it’s almost patronizing. Makes Steve feel like he’s successfully recited his seven times tables.

“I didn’t think so,” Eddie says, reaching out to pinch his cheek. A gold star. “I thought it would be smarter to drive somewhere quieter.”

“Oh.”

Eddie nods. Stares at Steve while Steve stares back, until he nods over at the passenger seat and Steve blinks.

“Oh! Right!” He rushes out, rushes around the front of the van, rushes to open the door and slip into the front seat.

“Seatbelt,” Eddie reminds him, even while Steve is in the process of buckling in. It makes him feel strangely warm.

Eddie turns down the volume on the radio and reaches across to put his hand just above Steve’s knee, squeezing it gently before he pulls away to start the engine.

Steve is thrumming with energy, eager anticipation. Watching the road curiously as Eddie drives them away from the frat house, through the lush suburbs that surround the college campus.

He fiddles with his fingers, tries to watch the passing houses, but can’t resist the pull of looking over at Eddie. Watching him in profile, illuminated by passing streetlights Down to his lap.

He drives with his legs spread wide, like his dick needs the extra space. Maybe it does, Steve thinks. Not like he would know.

He’s overcome with the sudden urge to lean across the open space between their seats, to unzip him and see him again. He didn’t get a good look earlier, and he’s pretty sure that his brain must be exaggerating the quick glance he did from the shock of it. Is sure that there’s no way Eddie is actually that big.

If he had more experience, he’d like to think that he’d be braver. Would lean across and get his hands on him. Unzip his jeans and take him into his mouth. He presses his knees together at the thought. There’s a flood of saliva in his mouth, his body imagining doing more before his brain has gotten to that part yet.

He wants it bad enough that his hand moves of its own volition, reaching across. He tries to make himself rest it on Eddie’s thigh, start slow, but his hand doesn’t listen. Instead, it settles right over the bulge behind his zipper.

Eddie rolls to a stop, but the engine idles. Letting Steve know that they haven’t reached their final destination. He wants to look around, but he can’t stop staring at his hand. Eddie doesn’t look too big like this, when he’s dressed. He squeezes softly, sure that his brain was definitely exaggerating.

He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, can feel the car rumble beneath him.

When Steve doesn’t look up, Eddie clears his throat.

Something about the sound is enough to make Steve snap to attention, eyes up on his face while his hand stays where it is.

“Did I say you could touch?”

Steve has to peel back layers of tissue paper before he realizes the meaning of his words, and his hand snaps back to his own lap, cheeks flaring with heat.

He gulps. “Sorry.”

Eddie’s smile stretches again. Rather than reassure Steve, accept his apology, he does what he just scolded Steve for and leans over to him, reaching for his lap. He pins Steve with his gaze as he fits his hand between Steve’s legs and squeezes.

“Are you hard?”

Steve nods, feels like maybe his seatbelt’s too tight, maybe that’s why it feels hard to breathe. “Y-yeah.”

“Good,” Eddie purrs, squeezing again. “I couldn’t tell.”

Any blood that isn’t between his legs rushes to his face, down his chest. Knows he must be bright red, hopes Eddie can’t see.

Eddie’s thumb brushes over the button of his jeans, and his smile softens slightly, into something that makes Steve feel less like prey.

“May I?”

Steve nods. Doesn’t know what Eddie’s asking but would say yes to anything. Would let him tie him up and take photos of him, would listen if he told him to get out of the car and go run some energy off until he calms down, would call him whatever he wanted.

What Eddie wants is more simple than that thought, because then he’s popping the button open, teasing the zipper down. Keeps looking at Steve until Steve gasps, feeling his fingers brush at him through the cotton of his briefs.

Eddie shifts in his seat, leaning over more so that he can tuck two fingers from each hand under the waistband of his underwear and pull down, careful not to touch him.

Steve reaches down, cups a hand around his balls, and lifts them so that Eddie can tuck the elastic under.

Eddie lets out a low whistle, resting his left hand on Steve’s thigh while the other hovers just over Steve’s dick.

“Shit, baby boy. It’s even smaller than I remembered.”

Steve huffs. It’s a little bigger when he’s hard, closer to three inches. Bigger than he was last time Eddie saw him. He wants to defend himself, but Eddie speaks again before he gets the chance.

“So, no one’s ever touched you?” He asks softly, his hand edging closer, just a gasp away from actually touching Steve.

Steve shakes his head, his hips reflexively rolling up, trying to make contact. Eddie must predict the movement, though, because he keeps his hand away, holding the touch over Steve’s head.

Eddie whistles again, opens his mouth and starts to speak, before there’s a honk, and he springs back.

Steve blinks and looks around, realizing for the first time that they’re at a quiet stop street and there’s a car behind them, laying on the horn again.

Eddie rushes back into gear, waving back at the driver when they pull away.

The fright did nothing to Steve’s erection—the opposite, actually, given the way that he blurts pre.

He goes to pull his underwear up again, but one of Eddie’s hands shoots out and grabs his thigh. Steve looks over at him. He keeps his eyes on the road when he says, “Don’t. We’re nearly there.”

Steve feels a moment of clarity when he realizes where they’re going, that Eddie’s taking them to Lapin Lake. It’s a well-known hookup spot from what he’s heard, but rather than carry on on the road that will take them to the normal parking spot, Eddie takes a turn, driving down another line of houses and taking another turn, taking them along roads Steve doesn’t recognize, until they finally pull onto a narrow dirt path.

Steve eyes Eddie curiously, listening to the old car struggle against the bumpy terrain and tree branches scratching along the side, but Eddie seems perfectly calm until they come out on a dirt bank a few yards from the water.

He pulls the keys from the ignition, then flicks on the overhead light. It’s dim, but better than nothing. Some brightness so that Steve will be able to see Eddie during.

He pulls at his seatbelt and doesn’t bother taking a moment to admire the view before he’s scrambling over to Eddie’s seat, hunched over as he crosses the carpeted space, before there’s a firm hand against his sternum.

He looks up at Eddie and blinks, mouth open in confusion.

Eddie tuts and nods to his seat until Steve slumps back with his eyebrows pinched together. Then Eddie snaps his fingers, points at Steve’s jeans. “Strip.”

Steve rushes to comply, lifts his hips to push his jeans and underwear down to his knees, down to his ankles to kick them off, before he frowns. Realizes his shoes are still on. He hunches over, struggling with his laces, until finally he gets them untied and can kick them off, leaving his bottom half bare but for his socks.

He sits back in his chair and looks to Eddie for approval.

“Shirt too.”

Steve complies, throws it into the footwell with the rest of his clothes, before he runs his fingers through his hair to brush it back into place.

“Good boy. Now open the glove compartment.” Steve does as told, clicks it open, then looks back at Eddie for direction. “Pass me the blue tube.”

Steve reaches for it, snorts when he realizes it’s KY. “Did you come to this party thinking you were going to get lucky?”

“Well, big boy. When you’re sexually active, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Steve wants to bristle at the condescension, but he just flushes with warmth when he passes it over, perched on the edge of his seat and thrumming with enthusiasm as Eddie places the tube beside his thigh. Only then does he smile at Steve and put his lap.

“Alright, come sit in—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish before Steve is practically launching his body at him, knees sinking into the vinyl and ass on his thighs, chest to chest.

“Someone’s eager,” Eddie laughs, reaching up to brush Steve’s hair out of his face, swiping his thumb over his cheekbone when he does.

Steve’ can’t resist.

He leans in and steals a kiss, just a quick one. Something to take the edge off, before he pulls back and grins at Eddie.

“Shut up,” he tries to whine, but he’s grinning too much to give it the accompanying pout needed to make it effective. He gives up the pretense and beams at Eddie before he kisses him again. “I’m excited, okay? It’s my first time.”

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, thighs flexing, hips bucking up.

Steve arches an eyebrow, still smiling when he says, ”What, are you into that or something?”

“Am I into being the one to pop Steve Harrington’s cherry? Do you even have to ask?”

Steve rolls his eyes, feeling strangely breathless. “Perv.”

He’s not expecting the sharp sway Eddie lands to his ass, nor the way his hips buck in response, rubbing up against Eddie’s stomach.

“Call me what you want, big boy. “

Eddie’s arms come up to wrap around his waist, and Steve sighs happily. He presses a softer kiss to Eddie’s cheek before he nuzzles it, relaxing in his touch.

One of Eddie’s hands drags up his spine until he’s grabbing a fistful of Steve’s hair and turning his head so that Eddie can kiss him again.

Steve moans into it, rutting against Eddie as he licks into his mouth. Eddie cards through his hair, scratching against his scalp softly, so that Steve is practically purring. His other arm stays around his waist, hand splayed at the base of his spine. Thumbing at the dimples he called infuriating.

Steve can feel that he’s getting Eddie’s shirt tacky already. Knows he should be embarrassed maybe, since he’s gathered that most of his friends don’t get as wet as he does when they’re horny, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Steve whines when Eddie pulls back again, but Eddie tightens his grip on his hair, just a little. Enough to refocus Steve’s attention.

“So, how do you want to do this, sweetheart?”

Huh?”

“You going dumb already, honey?”

Steve blinks. “Um.”

“Um?”

“I…I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Eddie’s smile softens, surprisingly sweet, genuine.

“I’m asking how you want to have sex.”

“Oh. Uh, I mean. I want you to, um, put it in me?”

Eddie’s smile widens with what looks like affectionate amusement.

“I mean, how do you want it to go? Because we don’t have to play if you don’t want to.”

“Play?”

Eddie hums. “Yeah. We can just have, uh, for lack of a better word, normal sex.”

“Or?”

“Or,” Eddie starts, pulling his hair softly. “Or we can do the stuff you said you liked. I can be a little rough with you, call you a slut.”

Steve nods without hesitation.

“Yeah, um. Yes. Yes to that, please.” He grinds against Eddie, licking along his lower lip. “And, um—”

“Um?”

“Will you, uh, will you call it my—my…”

Eddie tilts his head, hand skating lower until he’s grabbing his ass. “Your pussy?” He guesses.

Steve nods again. “Yeah. And the, uh, the other one.”

“The other one?” Eddie asks, but something sparkles in his eyes. He knows what Steve means, and Steve knows he knows.

“Yeah?”

“What’s the other one?”

“You’re being mean,” Steve groans.

Eddie grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls, tugging hard enough to make Steve sit back. Enough to yelp. “Baby, this isn’t mean. Not even close. I can be mean, if you want, but I think it might break your little brain, huh? I’m being nice to you, so I expect you to be nice back, okay?” He grabs Steve’s hair and forces his head in an up and down motion. “Now, be a good boy and tell me what you want.”

Steve swallows thickly. “My—my clit,” he chokes out. “I want you to call my cock my clit.”

Eddie pulls his hair again before his grip slackens, nails scratching against his scalp again. He rewards Steve with a brilliant smile.

“Good baby, so proud of you.” And then both his hands are on Steve’s hips, and he’s urging him back an inch so that he can look between them. Keeps his chin lowered as he looks up through the fan of his eyelashes. “Of course I’ll call it your clit, baby, because that’s what it is, isn’t it? S’too small to be a cock.”

“Eddie,” Steve whines, trying to hump forward against him again.

“You’re so tiny, honey. Can you even jerk off?”

Steve’s cheeks burn and he fights the urge to cover himself. “Yeah, ‘course I can.’

“Come on, show me. Show me how you play with your clit.”

Steve takes himself between thumb and forefinger, stroking his short length slowly. “Sometimes I do this,” Eddie nods, gripped. “But usually, I hump my pillow. Feels nicer.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

And then Eddie slaps his hand away, pulling Steve in for another quick kiss, before he’s looking down at Steve’s cock.

“You’re a fucking dream, baby. Can’t believe it. Used to think you were just a mean little bitch, but look at you. S’like you were made just for me.”

More precum blurts from his tip at the words, and Eddie seems infuriatingly pleased with himself when he coos.

“Fuck, look at you. Already so wet, huh? Haven’t even touched your pussy and you’re already dripping for me.” He surges up, nose dragging against the column of Steve’s throat, teeth grazing tender skin. He’s barely able to whisper when he asks, “You want me to play with your pussy?”

“Eddie,” he gasps, rocking his hips forward again.

Eddie sits back, staring directly into Steve’s eyes. “Is that what you want, big boy? You want me to put my fingers in your little virgin cunt?”

It almost hurts getting the word out, so much desire gift-wrapped around three letters when he breathes, “Yes.”

Eddie’s smile is breathtaking, his eyes pulling him right in.

Steve is so drawn in that he’s not expecting it when, for the first time ever, someone else touches him.

He cries out, his hips bucking forward. He feels like he’s been thrown in a blender, hooked up to a million batteries, abducted by aliens. So many intense sensations that all feel so new, so much, too much pleasure to remain contained in his body.

He clenches his teeth to try and hold back a pitiful moan when he cums, right onto Eddie’s t-shirt.

Steve doesn’t have a chance to feel embarrassed, because Eddie’s hands are all over him, stroking every inch of skin he can reach, hugging Steve to his chest. Murmuring into his ear. Stuff like, Oh my god, and You’re a dream, and Such a good little boy, so fucking perfect, so good for me.

Steve doesn’t really feel embarrassed, but he can feel that his cheeks are hot when he catches his breath, comes out from where his face ended up hiding, tucked into Eddie’s neck.

He brushes his hair back and forces out a soft laugh.

“Told you I was excited,” he gasps, chest still heaving slightly.

Eddie cups his jaw and pulls him into a kiss. “You’re fucking adorable, Harrington.”

Steve looks down, has to look away, and instead sees the mess he made, rubbed into Eddie’s shirt from how frantically he was humping against him.

Eddie runs his hands down his arms, over his biceps, his forearms, until he can take Steve’s hands in his and squeeze.

“You still wanna keep going, or are you done?”

Steve snorts, recoiling slightly with a burst of surprised laughter. He thinks it’s more of a Steve thing than a small-dick thing, how quickly he’s able to go again.

“Eddie, the only way I’m getting out of this car before I’ve had your dick in me is if I’m kicking and screaming.”

Eddie squeezes his hands again, raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes to pull a face when he says, “Well, excuse me for trying to be a gentleman.” But Steve can still see something soft in his eyes.

He can’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss him again, passing his little sound of surprise right into Eddie’s mouth when he feels it. Two dry fingers stroking over the furl of his hole.

He pulls back, and when he looks back at Eddie, that sparkle is back.

“Fuck, you’re so easy for it, aren’t you? Barely even touched you.” He tuts, shakes his head. “Normally, I’d want to punish you a little for that, but you couldn’t help it, could you? Bet you needed that so bad.”

His tone is saccharine, making Steve feel deliciously small. He shakes his head.

“Could be like a slutty little party trick.” Eddie muses, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair again, scratching his scalp. But then the gentle touch turns into a tug, and Eddie’s pulling his head back. “Now, open wide.”

Steve’s breath catches; he thinks about earlier. Kneeling, expecting.

He feels his mouth pool with spit, wants it so bad it makes his stomach tight. But instead, two of Eddie’s fingers are pressed onto his tongue.

“Suck.”

Steve does as told.

“Oh, aren’t you precious? You really are a little cockslut, baby boy. Look so peaceful when you’ve got something in your mouth. Can’t wait to get that soft little mouth on my cock.”

Steve moans, hollowing his cheeks. He curls his tongue around Eddie's fingers, then whines when he pulls them free.

Steve opens his mouth again, wants them back. Wants anything Eddie will give him.

“You want more?” Steve whines. “Okay, baby.”

He pulls Steve’s hair, leans forward, and spits. He spits on Steve’s tongue. If he hadn’t just cum all over himself, he would cum as soon as it landed.

“Swallow.”

Steve moans when he does, mouth hanging open for more right after.

“God, you’re so fucking cute.”

He spits again, and Steve moans, stomach clenching. The moan only grows in volume when Eddie reaches back, spreads him open so that spit-slick fingers can rub over his hole.

“You can take it, can’t you? Can you be a big, strong boy and handle a little more?”

Steve hides his face in Eddie’s throat and nods, eyes squeezed shut. He listens to the sound of Eddie fiddling, hands no longer on him. He exhales slowly, has a good guess at what he’s doing.

His suspicions prove correct when Eddie’s fingers return, now wet. Steve jumps at first brush, but Eddie doesn’t linger long. Right away, he sinks one finger inside him, up to the knuckle.

Steve lets out a slow breath.

“How’s that feel?” Steve doesn’t answer, because his answer would be weird, so he just forces out a little huff. Eddie seems to get it, pulls his finger out, and goes back to just circling his wet fingertip around Steve’s hole. “What about that? Does that feel good?”

Steve hums, rubbing his face into Eddie’s neck. “S’nice.”

Eddie teases around his hole some more, alternating by dipping inside and circling. Getting Steve used to being touched. It still doesn’t feel like much, so he surprises himself by whining mournfully when Eddie withdraws his fingers. Arches his back and lifts his ass, like he can tempt Eddie to sink them back in.

Steve gets no warning before there are two fingers pressed against him. Shockingly wet compared to before. Coated in enough lube that two fingers slip in easy as anything. So easy that Steve almost wishes he would sink some more in. Three, four, his whole fist maybe. He presses his burning cheek against Eddie’s neck at that thought, embarrassed by the desperation of his own brain.

He gasps, letting out a breathy sound that could be close to a moan. This feels better, somehow. Bigger. The size enough that his brain registers it as something, rather than the squirmy feeling of odd that came from one finger. With two, it’s undeniable: Eddie is fucking him.

“What about that?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, pushing his hips back into it when Eddie starts to fuck those two fingers into him slowly.

His fingers are wet enough that the sound of them moving inside him feels obscenely loud, makes him wish that the radio was still on. He feels strangely bashful; the lewd sound is impossible to ignore.

Eddie’s lips brush against his temple, his breath hot but strangely cooling against the sweat that is beading along Steve’s hairline. “Hear that?” Eddie murmurs, intent on embarrassing Steve, not doing the polite thing and ignoring the explicit noises of his body opening up so eagerly, so willing to take anything it’s given. “Your pussy’s so wet.”

Steve clenches down again, against his own volition. The sound that comes out is also against his will, something that’s a mixture of shame and arousal. Steve could point out that it’s not him. That he’s wet because Eddie has as good as squirted a bunch of lube inside him, but—

“Eddie,” he breathes, nodding into his shoulder. Wants to agree but can’t bring himself to say it.

Eddie huffs, grabs a handful of ass, and squeezes. Pulls him apart and starts to wedge a third finger inside him. Steve mewls, ashamed of how easily he’s opening up. How slutty he feels, giving himself up like this.

“Fuck, look at that. You take it like a natural, sweetheart.”

His three fingers start to focus, seeking something out. Steve doesn’t care what he does, because it’s all feeling so good now. It’s still kinda weird, but he doesn’t care; the strangeness hardly registers. He can’t think of anything but the stretch, the fullness that comes from having something inside him.

Eddie’s fingers keep stroking, no longer fucking him like he wants, but still so fucking good in a way that is startling. Steve clutches at his shoulders, pushing back into his touch, and for some reason, it makes Eddie huff and shake his head. He sounds amused when his fingers still.

“God, I don’t even need to try and make you feel good, do I? You’re just so happy to have something in your tight little body, huh?” It’s phrased like a question, but Steve doesn’t think he’s supposed to answer.

Doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to because, yes, he doesn’t need anything more than what Eddie’s doing right now. Thinks that maybe he’d rather do this than actual sex, because it feels amazing. Three fingers inside him. It’s like he’s been allowed to see a new color, eyes opened to something so new and brilliant.

“Nothing more than a pocket pussy, aren’t you, baby? Perfect little fucktoy, just made to take cock.”

Then, as if to prove his point, Eddie seems to find what he’s been looking for. Touching something inside of Steve that makes his back arch, head tipping back as his fingers curl in Eddie’s shirt, his shoulder blades squeezing together. It feels like his whole body tenses from the shock of whatever has just been touched, like he’s been zapped with a cattle prod.

Eddie’s touch eases up long enough for Steve’s chin to drop back down, mouth opening to plead for more. Only then does Eddie stroke over the spot again, so that Steve is looking into his eyes, mouth too slack to hold anything back when he makes a sound like he’s dying.

Eddie’s grin widens, but his eyes are heavy-lidded. Giving away that he’s as into it as Steve is, even when he teases. “Found your G-spot.”

Eddie’s teasing him again. Steve should feel embarrassed, but he’s past the point of caring. He throws his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him into a desperate kiss.

Steve whines, licking into Eddie’s mouth frantically. He feels feral, feels like a bitch in heat, desperate to rub off on anything. He keeps whining until the sound grows into a full-bodied moan when Eddie’s fingers twitch against that special spot—his G-spot, Eddie called it—so that Eddie lets out a strained laugh. Breathes a soft, fuck, when Steve ducks his head and starts kissing up his neck again. Just wants to get his mouth on as much of him as possible.

He thinks back to the drive, how he thought about leaning over and sucking Eddie’s dick. He wishes he had now. Wishes that he knew what Eddie tasted. Wants him on his tongue so bad. Like there’s some sort of connection between his hole and his jaw, and having one stretched makes him want to take something into his mouth and feel the twin ache there.

“Jesus, Harrington,” Eddie tries to tease, but it falls flat. Steve is out of shame, out of guilt. He feels like his blood has been transfused with gasoline and he’s burning.

“Need you,” he pants, fucking forward, grinding his little cock against Eddie’s stomach. He doesn’t even care about how wet he is, can’t even be embarrassed by how all that pre and cum has made Eddie’s t-shirt stick to his skin. “Come on, fuck—please. Need it.” He kisses Eddie again, trying to pour all his longing into it. Hopes to sway him in his favor so that maybe Eddie will take pity on him. “Fuck me.”

Eddie kisses him back, and Steve thinks they might be on the same page, but then Eddie is pulling his fingers out. Bastard. Steve cries out, feels like he could die at that very second. It feels wrong, being empty. Like Eddie has ripped off a limb.

Eddie makes these soft shushing noises, hands nervous as they flutter up and down Steve’s thighs, trying to soothe him. Steve realizes belatedly that he’s trembling, so wound up that he feels on the brink of—of—of throwing a tantrum. Throwing a tantrum like he’s a spoiled kid.

Eddie shushes him again, smacking these soft kisses all over his lower face until Steve comes back to himself a little. At least enough to open his eyes and hit Eddie with the full force of his heartbreak at being denied.

“Fuck, put those away, Harrington. Stop looking at me like I killed your puppy.”

Steve opens his mouth with a retort, but all that comes out is a whine. Eddie just lets out a hysterical laugh and mutters something too low for Steve to pick up, but then his hands settle on a resting place, one on his waist, the other on his ass.

“I’m going to fuck you, okay? You can calm down. Just wanna move to the backseat.” Steve starts to whine in protest, but Eddie cuts him off with a soft peck. “Shh, none of that. It’ll be easier with more space, okay?”

Part of Steve wants to fight that. Wants to stay right where he is, sitting in Eddie’s lap. Wants to take his cock inside him like this, when he can see Eddie’s face, where they can kiss. But then Eddie kisses him again, murmurs. “Trust me.” And the scary thing is that Steve does, so he takes a deep breath to try and pull himself back from the edge.

Once he feels slightly more calm, his focus moves from Eddie to the back seat, and he moves without waiting for instruction. Scrambles to get through the gap between the front two seats, only to be stopped by firm hands on his hips, holding him still so that his ass is caught in place. Then—

“Ow!”

He’s biting him. Eddie’s biting him. Eddie Munson has his teeth in Steve’s right asscheek.

Eddie lets up a little, and despite Steve’s exclamation, he wishes that he hadn’t. Wants him to bite down harder, wants him to leave a scar. He mewls when Eddie stops biting him completely and instead sucks on the flesh for long enough that Steve will hopefully have a dark bruise in the morning, before he pulls back with a pop. Caps it all off with a swift smack to Steve’s ass, right over the tender spot.

Steve stumbles forward from the impact, lifting a knee up onto the seat. By the time Eddie comes to join him, Steve has already arranged himself on the bench. Facing the window, on knees and elbows. Back arched and ass raised up, ready to be fucked. Eddie swears again, and Steve wiggles his hips side to side in what he hopes is a tempting manner.

“Fucking hell, big boy. Can’t believe you’ve gone this long without anyone fucking you.” Steve looks over his shoulder, makes a soft sound. Eddie smiles at him, strangely genuine as he struggles with his silly belt. Steve spies his lube tucked into his front pocket. “This is, like, your calling, man. You’re like,” he pauses, finally getting his belt open, then pops the button of his jeans. The zip lowers all on its own right away, Eddie’s dick hard enough to force it, “like a living, breathing sex doll or some shit. A sexbot designed just for me.”

He almost sounds annoyed as he says it, and Steve might be tempted to feel embarrassed if he weren’t distracted by Eddie pulling his cock out.

“Fucking wet dream.” Eddie gasps, finally getting a hand on himself. The light is too dim for Steve to see him in as much detail as he wants, but he salivates at the shine of precum when Eddie slowly draws his foreskin back, revealing the wet head of his cock.

Steve’s body clenches because his brain wasn’t exaggerating. He’s so big, and he looks so hard, and it’s all because of Steve.

Steve flushes, feeling his little cock drip onto the seat below him. So turned on by the thought of Eddie Munson wanting to fuck him that he feels like he’s losing his mind. He’s so eager right now that Eddie could make him do anything, and he’d say yes.

Eddie just keeps staring at him, eyes going from Steve’s ass, up to his face, down his back until he’s staring at his slick asshole again—his pussy—then up to his face. Steve wonders what he’s seeing, if the overhead light is bright enough to catch on all the lube, if Steve’s body looks like a girl in that way—shining from how much he wants it.

Eddie just keeps stroking his cock, so tantalizingly slow, and Steve wants nothing more than to reach down to touch himself, but he knows that if he does, he’ll cum again. Knows he needs to keep his hands to himself while his prick drools onto the seat. He whines from impatience. Begs, “Please.”

Eddie shakes his head, snapping out of it. He looks so good. Still fully dressed, jeans barely pushed down, boxers bunched behind his balls. Such a contrast to where Steve is fully naked in his backseat.

Eddie lifts a knee up onto the seat, keeping one foot on the floor as he moves into position behind him, denim pressing against the back of his thighs.

Steve’s eyes close in anticipation, breath catching, waiting for the moment that Eddie sinks his dick inside of him.

But that moment doesn’t come, because instead, he feels the hot, heavy weight of Eddie laying his dick over his lower back.

Eddie grabs his hips, squeezing him as they slide up to the narrowest part of his waist. His thumbs flex out, up, pressing into the muscle. Massaging over the bottoms of his ribs.

Steve whines, shifting his hips. “What’re you—”

Eddie digs his thumbs in before one hand lifts, taking hold of his cock. Steve can feel him jerking over the head, squeezing precum directly onto Steve’s skin. Eddie hunches forward, lowering himself down until his mouth is close enough to Steve’s ear to whisper, “Just wanted to see.”

“See?”

“How deep inside you my cock’s gonna reach.”

Steve doesn’t cum then, but it’s a close thing. His nails scratch at the seats hard enough that he thinks he actually leaves marks in the vinyl, his stomach tensing, cock bouncing against his sac. His whole body trembles from holding back, his head hanging. He’s letting out these sounds like a wounded animal, and if he were still capable of shame, he’d be humiliated.

Eddie is perfectly still above him, awe in his voice when he asks, “Did you just—”

Steve shakes his head, groaning. “Almost,” he chokes out, before dropping down onto his elbows. He refuses to cum again until there’s a dick inside him. “Now, please, can you—please fuck me.” There’s a slight shake in his voice, but he hopes Eddie doesn’t catch it.

Eddie must, because he stays still for a moment longer before letting out this soft laugh. He doesn’t need to see Eddie to tell how amused he is.

“Okay, baby,” Eddie practically purrs as he sits back on his heels. Asshole. “Let’s get this little pussy fucked.”

Steve turns his face to sink his teeth into his wrist, holding the sound he makes captive.

He wishes that Eddie’s little lube tube made some sort of noise, something to prepare him before there’s just cold wet against his asshole, but he can’t be mad, because it’s followed up by—jesus. What can only be Eddie’s cock.

The head is slick, feels searing. Eddie leans forward, putting enough pressure that Steve’s body starts to yield, and his breath catches, so eager to finally feel it.

Except—“Shit.”

And then Eddie’s pulling back.

“No, no!” Steve cries, reaching back to slap at Eddie’s thigh. “Come back!”

He turns his head to watch as Eddie stretches between the front seats, straining. “Gimme a sec, baby. Need a condom.”

Steve can almost picture his Sunday school teacher staring on in horror when he cries out again in protest. “No, no. No condom. S’fine.”

Eddie doesn’t even stop his search, just snorts.

Steve whines. “Come on. I’m a virgin, remember? You don’t have to—” Steve’s cheeks are burning when he cuts off, but he refuses to look away. Not sure why this is the thing that’s allowing his brain to remember what embarrassment feels like. “I mean, I’ve never—but, if you’re—um.”

Eddie gets this look on his face before he smiles. “Was just tested, actually, so yeah, I’m good. So if you don’t want it—”

“I don’t want it.” He says, even though it makes the tips of his ears feel hot. He swallows a lump in his throat before he admits, “Want you to cum in me.”

Eddie just smiles at him, his eyes a little narrowed, until Steve shakes his hips again. Reminds him of the task at hand.

“Right, sorry,” Eddie mumbles, and then he’s back, pressed against Steve's thighs. “You ready?”

Steve nods, rubbing his cheek against the seat. “Please.”

And then, oh god, Eddie is pressing against him.

“Breathe in,” Eddie says, pushing against the point of point weakness. “And out.”

Steve exhales slowly, relaxing before—oh fuck—his body starts to yield. Split open by the head of Eddie’s cock, can do nothing but take it as he keeps pushing until the head pops in.

One hand strokes down his spine as he makes soft cooing sounds, while the other grabs his right cheek. Pulling him apart so that the already taut skin feels pulled to the point of pain. Steve squeezes his eyes shut because even though he can’t see, he can feel that Eddie is looking. That he’s admiring where Steve has been stretched open by his stupidly, disgustingly, ridiculously big monster of a cock.

The hand on his back slides down to join his other, so that both of Eddie’s hands are laid over top of each other on his ass, the heel of a palm pressing into the bite mark he left.

“You alright?”

Steve groans, doesn’t know how to answer. There’s a throb at his tailbone, but it doesn’t really hurt. Not that bad at least. It hurts in the way that feels good, like Eddie sinking his teeth into him. Other than that, it’s not good or bad yet. He makes a little sound and hopes that it suffices.

It’s just so much. Almost feels like too much to take when Eddie starts to rock his hips in tiny little movements, working forwards and back to get deeper. Steve tries to relax when his body keeps tensing up, but he can’t help it.

It feels like Eddie is rearranging something inside of him already, and he’s barely in yet. It’s just—it’s so big. Big enough that it feels like it’s already poking his lungs or something, big enough that he feels breathless. Big enough to make him want to gag.

It’s so much, and his body doesn’t know how to handle it.

He gurgles against Eddie’s backseat as Eddie kneads his tender ass, rocking his hips into him in those same short movements, feeding Steve more cock than any sane person should ever take inside them.

He almost wishes he did have a pussy, because at least that could get wet on its own. His little cock is steadily dripping, but it doesn’t help where he needs it.

Eddie tries to pull out a little so he can push back in, but once he’s out, it’s like Steve’s body locks down and Eddie’s cock just slips against his hole.

Eddie laughs softly and strokes down his back again. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” Steve whines, deepening his arch enough to feel tension at the base of his spine. “I want it, but my stupid body—ow!”

He looks over his shoulder and glares at Eddie, reaching down to rub a soothing hand over his own stinging ass. Eddie just raises an eyebrow.

“Only I’m allowed to call you that, baby boy.”

Steve wants to roll his eyes but thinks better of it. Instead, he just huffs and lowers back down, face smushed against the vinyl. “I want it,” he repeats, petulant, “But my body won’t let me.”

“Want me to keep going?”

Steve nods, still pouting. “Yes,” he grumbles. “Please.”

“Okay, baby. We’ll keep going.”

Eddie presses against him again, starts to sink in until once again, Steve’s body tightens. Steve tries to relax, but it’s like his body is refusing to accept more than a few inches.

Steve expects Eddie to just push through it. To hold him down and force his way in, keep applying pressure until Steve has no choice but to take it. Because it’s possible, it has to be. Eddie has done this before, seemingly a lot. And while he’s let go a lot of what used to make him fit in so well on the basketball team, he’s still competitive. He hates the thought that there are guys out there who could do something he can’t. He wants Eddie to push because he can take it. He knows he can.

There’s also a small, shameful part of him that just likes the idea. Likes the thought of Eddie using him, taking what he wants from him.

It’s a nice thought, that Steve could make Eddie feel good, even if he’s not enjoying it. Knowing that there’s pleasure for someone else in his body.

But then Eddie sighs and pulls back.

Steve pushes up onto his hands in alarm, looking over his shoulder to watch Eddie sit down on the bench. Once he meets Steve’s eyes, he pats his lap.

“Why don’t you come sit in my lap, honey? Your little body doesn’t wanna let me in. Think this might be easier for you.”

“Nooo,” Steve whines, close to petulant again. “I can do it!”

His whining earns him a sharp smack to his ass, even harder than before. It’s a night of discovery, it seems, because Steve moans this time. Surprising himself but not Eddie, if the way he murmurs, thought so to himself, is any indication.

Steve shakes his head, refocuses, then wiggles his hips and arches his back again. “I can take it.”

“I said no, Steve.” His tone is enough to make Steve freeze, breath catching. “Now come on, up you get.”

Steve stares at him, feeling a chill of discomfort from disobeying, but he wants to prove himself. Wants to show Eddie how good he can take it.

Eddie pats his lap again.

“Come on. If you’re extra good, I might even give you another little kiss.”

Steve is only a little ashamed of how well that works on him, perking him right up so that he scrambles to get up on his knees, turning around to face him.

He rests a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and lifts his knee uncertainly, smile blooming when Eddie reaches to help him. When a hand reaches for his thigh and guides him in his journey, until he’s straddling Eddie’s lap. He feels a little shy again, now that Eddie can see him.

“Fuck, would you look at that,” Eddie breathes, eyes down. Steve follows his gaze and feels strange, delicious embarrassment.

He gasps when Eddie grabs his hip and drags him forward until their cocks bump against one another. Eddie’s still sticky, shiny with lube. Wet against Steve when Eddie wraps his hand around them, has to press his last two fingers to his palm to do so. Ends up with his thumb curled around his own cock and only two fingers around Steve. Holding them up against one another.

Eddie shakes his head, tuts. “Can’t even see you from this angle, big boy."

He pulls his cock back towards his stomach, making Steve shuffle closer when he’s pulled along. Allowing Eddie to see how they look, pressed together. Steve is so much smaller than him, half his size in girth but closer to a third in length. Dwarfed in comparison.

“Isn’t that just too precious?” He coos. “Maybe one day yours will grow up to look like mine.”

Steve pushes at his shoulder, tucking his chin to his chest. “Shut up,” he grumbles, even though his cock gives him away, a fresh pearl of precum drooling from his tip.

“I’m just teasing, baby. You know I love your little clit.”

They both watch as more wetness bubbles up, and Eddie hums before he lets go of himself completely, his cock slapping against his stomach. Leaving him free to press his thumb just under the head of Steve’s cock, where he’s all sensitive. Massaging in little circles so that pre keeps dripping out of him.

“Where are my manners?” Eddie tuts. “I was trying to fuck you without playing with your clit.”

“Shut up,” Steve says again, even though they both know he doesn’t mean it.

He’s grateful that Eddie doesn’t listen to him, that he keeps talking. Says, “Barely got my dick in you, and you already look like you could cum again. You that excited, honey?”

Eddie looks up, into Steve’s eyes.

“Yeah.”

The sharp edge in Eddie’s eyes softens, his smile morphing into something smaller, more genuine.

“You ready?” He asks, stroking his hand up Steve’s spine. Slow, soothing movements.

Steve nods again before he leans forward, brushing a shy kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie lets go of his cock, brings sticky fingers to Steve’s jaw to redirect him, and kisses him properly. It’s over sooner than Steve would like, but he can’t complain much, because then Eddie reaches for the lube where it’s tucked into the crease in the seat.

He squeezes a puddle into his palm, strokes it over his cock first, then reaches for Steve’s, spreading it over him, stopping before he gets a chance to enjoy it.

“Heeey,” Steve whines when Eddie wipes his hand over his stomach, smearing the remaining lube over Steve’s skin.

Eddie just grins, both hands back on Steve’s waist, back where they fit so perfectly, and he squeezes. Starts to lift him so that Steve rushes to get up on his knees, following the movement.

After the failed first attempt, he knows that he’s going to struggle, so he reaches his hands out, one on the back of the bench behind Eddie’s shoulder, one holding onto the back of the passenger seat. A good grip to give himself leverage.

He looks down the line of his body and watches as Eddie jerks himself off, teasing his tip by pulling his foreskin back and forth, revealing the deep pink of his shiny head. Steve licks his lips, overwhelmed by the urge to get on his knees. Curious to see if he could even fit it in his mouth.

His eyes track up over Eddie’s chest, to the loose neck of his t-shirt, so stretched out that he can see the start of a tattoo. Up, over his face.

He really is beautiful. Steve feels a little silly as he hovers there, waiting for Eddie to position himself. Silly for feeling so grateful, so in awe. Can’t believe that after everything, Eddie is doing this for him.

Eddie angles his cock, holding himself in place with his tip pressed against Steve’s rim, while his other hand squeezes Steve’s waist.

“Ready?”

Steve nods, doesn’t distract himself with speech as he starts to lower his body, exhaling as his body starts to open.

Steve’s eyes squeeze shut as he starts to bear down, as Eddie’s tip starts to press inside and his body yields to accept him. The hand Eddie has on his ass lets go, only to reappear on Steve’s jaw, stroking over the light stubble on his jaw.

”Look at me. C’mon baby, let me see those pretty eyes.”

Steve has to force his eyes open, his face all crumpled up from the effort of taking something so ridiculously big inside. He blinks, trying to focus on Eddie’s face in front of him, on his smile.

”There we go, just like that. Just breathe, baby. Doing such a good job for me.”

The air rushes out of him as he sinks deeper, a high whine coming from the back of his throat. It’s like an ache in his tailbone, like his body is being stretched to its limit and doesn’t know where to go. And he’s only got a few thick inches inside.

Eddie grabs onto his hips and squeezes.

“You want to stop?” Steve shakes his head before he’s done asking, and Eddie grins. “Then come on, baby, down you go.”

“S’too big,” Steve whines, rising up higher on his knees.

But Eddie grabs his hips, holding him still. “You can take it.”

And then he’s pulling Steve down on another inch. Steve gasps, feels like his whole body is a stiff muscle. His whole body clenches up.

Eddie throws his head back, jaw clenched. “Fuck,” he groans. “Your little cunt feels so good, honey.”

Steve makes a high sound in his throat, filled with such desperation that he forces himself to relax, sinks the rest of the way down. Takes Eddie deep, until he’s full.

Steve leans his head forward until their foreheads press together, inhaling shared air as he tries to take slow breaths. He tries to adjust to the new feeling of having something inside of him. It’s not bad, but it’s a lot. Eddie’s a lot.

He feels like he’s been thrown into his swimming pool in the middle of winter, his whole body tempted to lock up from the shock of the feeling, but unable to escape it. Has to force his stiff body through the water to get out.

He feels like his body is frozen even though he’s sure he’s burning. Can feel sweat dripping from his hairline, getting into his eyes, from the effort. He’s boiling, but there’s ice in his chest that stops his lungs from working.

But then there are warm hands on him, rubbing up and down his arms, over his thighs, over his sides. Coaxing warmth back into him so that the tunnel Steve’s vision has been filtered through widens and he can blink at Eddie.

“There you are, baby boy.”

As soon as he feels like he’s no longer submerged in ice water, he sits up straighter and pushes his hair back from where it’s fallen into his eyes. Gives Eddie a shaky smile.

“Just—need a sec.”

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s hands return to Steve’s waist, and he squeezes, making Steve feel secure enough that he can lean back into it, back into the arm behind him. He feels like he just needs a little space, needs to look up at the ceiling of the van so that he can breathe. So overwhelmed by Eddie that he can’t think straight.

His thoughts feel like letters penned by quill, rolled up and tucked into a bottle for safekeeping. Being so close to Eddie makes him feel like the cork’s gotten free, smudging the ink, soaking the page until there’s nothing but pulp. It’s almost like being drunk, but more. Different.

Like a candy shell fracturing, letting the syrupy insides escape. Like New Year's. He takes three deep breaths, casting his lasso to try and wrangle the herd.

But then one of Eddie’s hands moves—his right, so that Steve isn’t unbalanced, still has his grip on the front seat to support that side—and his fingers trace over Steve’s skin, until his hand is pressing above his belly button.

”Would you look at that?”

Steve is still struggling to gather himself, but he feels helpless but to look down and see what it is that Eddie wants him to.

He doesn’t see anything at first, nothing but his own stomach, but now that Eddie has his attention, he grabs his waist again. Holds Steve in place while he moves beneath him. Just a small twitch of his hips.

Then Steve notices, sees the movement in his stomach.

His exhales are shudders, the lasso falling from his grip as he realizes how hopeless the task is. Gives himself over to the feeling he’s not strong enough to fight.

He watches his stomach as he flexes his thighs, knees sinking into the seat as he tries to lift his body a few inches.

He wants more, wants to bounce himself on the ridiculous cock inside him, but he still needs a few seconds more.

Eddie runs his palms over his stomach, cupping around his waist.

“You good?” He asks. “Does it hurt?”

Steve shakes his head, blinking clarity back into his eyes. “S’just a lot.”

Eddie seems to notice the shift, can tell that he’s almost ready, so he curls his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and pulls him forward until they’re sharing the same breath again.

“Aw, sweetheart. Is it too much for your little pussy? Did you bite off more than you can chew?” Eddie coos, patronizing. “You poor baby.”

He squeezes the back of Steve’s neck, mouths so close.

“Do you need some help?” Eddie asks, somewhere between sweet and saccharine. A genuine question, but also part of the playing.

“Um.”

“Um?”

“First, can I…”

“Yes?”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, cheeks warm. “Kiss?”

Eddie coos again. “Aw, does big boy want a little kiss first?”

Steve feels like he’s burning when he nods.

“Fuck, aren’t you just the sweetest thing.”

And then he pulls Steve in, crushing him with a kiss that makes Steve’s hearing fade out for a second. He whimpers into Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie laughs against his lips before he pulls back.

Eddie’s thumb swipes along his bottom lip, collecting his spit. “Messy boy,” he teases, before it’s pressed between Steve’s lips. “Suck. Come on, clean up your mess.”

Steve obeys, sucking just as eagerly on his thumb as he had on his fingers. He manages not to whine this time, though, only pants when Eddie pulls his thumb free and smears it across his lips.

His hands curl around Steve’s ribs, sliding down his sides until he’s grabbing his hips again. Steve chokes on the exhale when Eddie starts to lift him, then pulls him back down slowly.

Steve tucks his chin to his chest, eyes down to watch as Eddie tries to guide him into a gentle rhythm. Can’t look away as he starts to get fucked for the first time ever, watching the way that Eddie reshapes him, creating his own space inside Steve’s body.

There’s just. There’s something about it, about seeing Eddie inside him. Something that makes him feel like his feet are starting to lift off the ground. Knowing that he has Eddie inside of him, seeing his body taking it.

He tightens the grip he has on the seats and starts trying to move with Eddie. Lifting himself on his knees, dropping back down. They’re still going slow, but the impact makes their skin smack. The sound is so crude it makes Steve want to giggle.

He does it again and again. Lifts himself with Eddie’s help, sinks back down on his cock. Harder each time, forcing grunts out of Steve’s throat. He digs his nails into the vinyl, hopes Eddie will forgive him if he rips it.

He keeps going, lifting higher and higher each time, speeding up with Eddie’s help, until he’s bouncing.

He tries to close his mouth, but he can’t. It’s like he’s forgotten how to breathe through his nose; it sounds like he’s just gotten done running a marathon, his gasps for breath interspersed with noises that he tries to block out. Doesn’t want to know what he sounds like, doesn’t want to have to remember them when he lies awake in bed at night.

Eddie’s cheeks are flushed and his hair is starting to cling to his forehead, but he looks more alive than Steve has ever seen him. The shine in his eyes, the brightness of his smile, it all feels blinding. Only gets brighter when he chokes on a bark of laughter.

One of the hands on his hips leaves, and Steve doesn’t look away from Eddie to see where it goes. Pleasantly surprised when he feels fingertips on his jaw. A thumb swiping over his chin, up to the corner of his mouth.

“You’re drooling, baby.”

Steve frowns. That doesn’t sound right. He forces his mouth closed, forces himself to swallow. His throat feels dry, but he manages. His mouth drops back open straight after.

“Fuck, look at you. There’s not a single thought in that pretty little head, is there? You’ve gone all cockdumb, haven’t you?”

Steve opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a moan.

“That’s okay, honey. I’ll do all the thinking for you; you just need to sit and look pretty while you bounce on my cock.”

It’s like Eddie’s eyes have fireworks in them. The nice kind, like the ones from the party. There’s a flare of something so bright when Eddie laughs again. Doesn’t sound like he’s laughing at Steve, though. Maybe he’s just happy.

“Christ, baby boy,” Eddie breathes, swiping at the corner of his mouth. “You’re perfect.”

Steve blinks, mind sticking on the word. Isn’t allowed to mull it any longer because Eddie shakes his head, looks at Steve with a sort of tenderness that doesn’t fit the moment, but that feels so good.

He feels Eddie rub against that perfect spot, and his pussy clenches, which makes Eddie’s eyebrows go all squiggly. Makes him moan.

Steve decides then that he’s been a good boy, and he deserves another little kiss. He leans forward, driven by a desire to taste the next sound that comes from Eddie.

The next sound tastes like a hmmpf, but it turns into a groan. A happy sound as a hand appears on Steve's left bicep, sliding down to his forearm. Pulling gently until he lets go of the front seat, his arm guided closer to his body.

Steve can do the rest; he doesn’t need help. Skips the step of grabbing his shoulder and instead wraps his arms around Eddie.

He falls forward, tucks his face into Eddie’s neck. Holding onto him as he keeps bouncing his body, rhythm slower than he wants it but the fastest he can make his body go.

He’s repaid by Eddie hugging him back, one arm around his middle and the other hooked under his left arm, palm resting between his shoulder blades. Squeezing Steve to his chest as he starts to take over, rocking up into him so that Steve doesn’t have to keep working his thighs.

There’s a soft kiss at his temple, enough to remind Steve that they should be kissing now.

He sits up straighter, works with Eddie’s motions before he kisses him.

Eddie smiles against his lips and presses closer on the small of his back, making Steve arch into his chest until his little clit is rubbing up against him. It’s so close to feeling good, but not quite.

Steve groans petulantly into Eddie’s mouth, movements clumsy as he’s forced to drop his hand down, trying to pinch at the fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt and pulling it up until it’s bunched around his waist, held in place from the close press of their bodies.

Satisfied, he puts his arm back around Eddie’s shoulders and tries to meet Eddie’s rhythm with little rolls of his hips so that his clit can grind against Eddie’s tummy. Smearing his wetness through the hair that leads down to his cock.

It all feels so fucking good. He can’t believe he didn’t do this sooner. Can’t believe that anyone who has done this is able to go back to not doing it afterwards.

He wants to get fucked forever. Doesn’t know how he’s going to exist tomorrow, how he’s meant to function without Eddie inside of him.

How is he supposed to go to class now that he knows how good it is having a cock in him? Now that he knows there’s a special spot inside that makes him feel like his body is made of cotton candy and pop rocks and cherry syrup. The idea of being empty now that he’s finally so full, now that he feels so whole, sounds so cruel it makes him want to cry.

He hopes Eddie won’t mind spending the rest of forever fucking him, because otherwise Steve might just die.

Steve’s not even kissing Eddie anymore, can’t. There are these sounds coming out of him that he can’t stop, low and then high, full and then breathy, hitching around his gasps. Big sobs that end in hiccups, like he’s crying. He sounds like a broken toy.

He hopes Eddie doesn’t mind, but he thinks he doesn’t, because when Steve tries to turn away—wants to press his mouth to Eddie's shoulder and muffle them into cotton—the hand on his back moves to his hair. Eddie grabs a fistful and tugs, leaving so little space between them that every time Steve is bounced on his lap, he flickers between having one eye and then two.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Eddie pants, surging up to kiss him once more, and then just. Holding Steve there. Keeping their faces close together as Steve's sounds continue to overflow.

Steve has spent enough years with his own hand to know that he’s getting close, can feel it building, but it’s never felt like this before.

The feeling when his muscles start to tense almost tickles, makes him want to giggle even though he’s pretty sure he must be dying. His body must be giving out, not made to feel this much. Like—like the thing Eddie said. Like a sexbot. Short-circuiting because his body wasn’t designed to handle this level of pleasure.

He tries to warn Eddie, but his control of his vocal cords has been confiscated. He thinks it’s happening to his body too, because when he tries to slap Eddie’s shoulder, he’s not sure if his arm even moves. Feels floppy and melty and gooey and so, so, so fucking good when he clenches up, that he can’t believe he never noticed before, how nice it feels tensing his thighs, his tummy, clenching his pussy.

At least he’s tried his best, he thinks, right before he explodes.

It feels like his body is disintegrating, being remade into something better. Something sweet and shiny and soft and new, made up of soft silk and spun sugar and sunlight.

He watches Eddie’s face from behind a screen with a sort of abstract adoration, now that his brain is off. He’s not sure he knows anything, but he knows that Eddie is beautiful. He knows that his eyes are the prettiest things he’s ever seen when he looks at Steve like he’s something wonderful, when his lovely lips stretch so wide with a smile.

He’s so beautiful, and Steve doesn’t know what he looks like anymore, now that he’s been changed on a molecular level, but he feels beautiful. He hopes Eddie wants to be beautiful with him forever.

The world around him spins as Eddie turns them both sideways, but the most important thing stays where he can see him. Then he makes Steve’s tummy swoop as he lays him down on the bench and hovers above him.

Eddie’s hair is in his face, and the shiny thing around his neck knocks against Steve’s chin as he keeps fucking him, even faster now. So hard that Steve feels like he might pee or maybe be sick. But, like, in a good way.

Eddie keeps fucking him, and it’s okay; it’s good, because the version of Steve that was stitched together and remade can take it. Eddie’s saying something, his perfect lips shaping words that Steve can’t hear over his own heartbeat, over his broken toy sounds.

His vision gets a little blurry, going in and out as Eddie fucks him so hard he feels a dull ache in his skin, blood vessels bursting so that he’ll have souvenirs of the night he lost his virginity to the most beautiful man in the world. Eddie wipes a thumb under Steve’s eye before pressing it to Steve’s lips, onto his soft tongue. The action of sucking comes naturally, his cheeks hollowing while he’s still processing how gently Eddie touched his cheek.

There’s salt on his tongue. Oh, he thinks. I’m crying.

The thought makes him laugh. Crying when he thinks he might be the happiest person alive at the moment.

He tries to grin up at Eddie around the thumb in his mouth, hopes he can see in Steve’s eyes how beautiful he feels, how happy Eddie’s making him.

But then Steve feels a gut-wrenching hollowness, sudden enough that he’s able to lift his head and look down. Eddie must not have felt it, the same bliss, because he’s not inside Steve anymore. He’s using his own hand to feel good instead of Steve’s body. Steve chokes on a deep sob, eyes stinging.

Except—

He doesn’t stop crying, but they’re not fully sad tears anymore. Half-sad, maybe, because he’s so empty and it hurts. Not fully, because Eddie angles his cock down, like it’s almost kissing Steve’s little clit, before ropes of cum land over him. Joining Steve's own cum where it’s smeared all over him. It feels like a special gift for being so good.

Then his tears go from half-sad to not-at-all-sad, because after the first ribbon, Eddie is sliding back inside of him. Fucking into him with these almost violent jerks of his hips, pumping the rest into him. Inside, where Steve can keep it safe.

Steve’s not sad anymore. He’s back to feeling beautiful and happy, but he’s still crying. Big, heaving sobs that hurt a little coming out.

But it’s okay, because then Eddie is looking down at him, cradling Steve’s head in the hollows of his palms. It’s okay because even though Steve can’t hear him anymore, Eddie’s still so beautiful and everything is perfect.

Steve is embarrassed afterwards.

He’s lost all sense of time, has no idea how long it’s been that he’s been sitting on top of Eddie, curled up in his lap.

The skin of his cheeks feels tight from his tears, his hair feels limp and greasy, and his whole body feels like a bruise. He’s filled with a bone-deep exhaustion that makes him want to close his eyes, but he can’t.

Part of him wishes he could have forgotten everything now that he’s out of that surreal haze, so that when Eddie inevitably drops him off and never talks to him again, he could think it’s just because he was bad in bed.

But he remembers everything, and he knows it’s going to suck when Eddie realizes he’s back to normal and tries to be polite about it. Unless, of course, he doesn’t want to be polite. Maybe he’ll tell people all about how Steve sobbed himself hoarse and begged Eddie to stay inside him.

He winces at the memory. He loved it all so much, but now all he feels is tender. Vulnerable. Humiliatingly enough, he almost wants to start crying again.

He breathes out slowly and decides to rip the bandaid off, forcing himself to sit up straight, lifting his head from where it’s been resting on Eddie’s shoulder and wriggling back until their chests aren’t pressed together. His knees are sore from how long they’ve been bent, but it’s nothing compared to his ass.

There’s also the fact that he’s still fully naked, while Eddie’s pulled his shirt down and his jeans up. It makes a thrill run down his spine, but now's not the time. Now he just feels vulnerable.

“You back with me, baby boy?” Eddie asks softly, brushing his hair out of his face.

He tries to make Steve look at him, but Steve just fakes a yawn, which then turns into a real one. Face turned towards the window when he blinks. Says, “Um.”

“Um?” Eddie teases, and Steve feels that same thrill. Three more and he’ll probably be hard again. When Steve doesn’t say anything, Eddie just strokes his hair again. He hums before asking, “What do you want to eat?”

Steve sucks on his lower lip, shrugs a shoulder. Tempted to stay in this limbo a little longer, to play along. But no. He shakes his head.

“You can just take me back to the house.”

Eddie snorts. The fingers in his hair turn to fingers on his jaw, making Steve look at him.

“Not gonna happen, honey. What you need is something to eat, a shower, and a good cuddle.” He sucks his teeth and shakes his head with mock sympathy. “No. I’m afraid what you need is to come home with me.”

Oh, thank god.

“And I’m sorry to say that I have no intentions of returning you home until I’ve fucked you at least three more times.”

Oh, thank god.

“What do you say to that?” Eddie asks, but there’s something there. Some insecurity he’s trying so hard to hide, like he’s scared that Steve would ever say no. “Hmm?”

Steve kisses him.