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For once, Steve wakes up first.
Or maybe Eddie had already come to the surface for a moment and then dropped off again before Steve woke up. It’s still in the first few dim minutes of the morning; Steve had gone to bed early last night and Eddie stayed late at band practice. Steve felt him creep into bed at some point, wrap his arms around his back as he slept, but that was it.
It’s been six years since the end of the world, since the beginning of them, since everything. They’ve finally come to a place where they can rest easy, and the nightmares and flashbacks are few and far between. A week or two of uninterrupted sleep might not seem like much to the average civilian, but to them, simply being fine deserves a celebration.
Summer seeps in through the open window and Steve slides it shut so the birds don’t wake Eddie before he’s ready. Steve’s always content to sleep with just a sheet, and Eddie’s more than fine with the heat that Steve’s furnace of a body provides. Now, Eddie’s sprawled out on the dark sheets with the single cover over his feet, and he looks like a work of art that Steve got to take home. It never stops being beautiful, a constant marvel, but it’s something he was delighted with getting used to.
Steve sits with his legs crossed and rests his elbow on his knee, his head tilted against his fist while he just looks. Looks at Eddie; Steve’s wonder, his rock, his ride or die. He’s a thing to behold.
They always sleep naked in the warmer months, and even without all his accessories, Eddie is so much. His scars and notches tell a story of a life of hardship and devotion to being himself. Naked Eddie is uncensored in more ways than one; he’s raw and unfiltered.
He’s found himself on his back, his legs slightly spread with one hand on the pillow next to his head, the other resting on his stomach. It slowly rises and falls with the hypnotic pace of his breath, right next to the dark tattoo of a tiger that lays on his sternum over his belly button. Steve couldn’t tease him for it when he got it; Eddie can make anything suit him like his own skin, even a great, snarling thing that would scare a small child.
Eddie’s gotten many, many tattoos over the years. They cover his neck, chest, and back. They sprawl out over his legs, arms and hands, and one day there might not be any paleness left, but again, it suits him. Steve’s favorite is the one that only he ever sees, the one he gave Eddie after just two years of being together. Steve had been a bit of a nervous wreck, but Eddie insisted that Steve be the one to give it to him- Steve’s faded, lopsided initials sit atop Eddie’s left hip bone like a kiss. Eddie wouldn’t even get it touched up because, “Why would I? My boy gave this to me, I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.”
Eddie’s initials are on the softest part of Steve’s inner right thigh, much more solid and skillfully done. Eddie kisses it almost every time they make love.
Eddie’s long in every possible way. His hair, limbs, cock, and fingers stretch on endlessly, and take up enough space for three men. Steve thinks that he’d still be gorgeous without any embellishment; without the ink, piercings, and jewelry. He’s loud and consuming, like a forest fire that never goes out and leaves space for new life in its wake. Even in his sleep he tosses and turns, mumbles nonsense through his dreams and moves his feet like he generates electricity with them. The same life that murmurs under the earth hums beneath Eddie’s skin, pulsing deep in his bones. He’s life itself.
But he’s still in this one moment. His face is tranquil, knowing nothing of the visions that used to plague him, and his soft lips are parted around slow, soothing breaths. His wild hair that’s only getting longer stretches out around him like a dark halo, like raven’s wings, and Steve knows Eddie will grimace when he tries to move his head and finds his hair trapped beneath him. It’s tangled and thick, but no less soft and coiled. Steve could touch it all day.
Eddie’s all dark brown, black, and ivory, contrasting always. Steve admires the body hair he’s gotten so intimate with. Under his arms, swimming up his legs and thighs, and gathering in the rich altar of his crotch. Eddie’s body is Steve’s temple.
“Hey,”
Steve draws his gaze up to get lost in Eddie’s eyes, over and over and over again, until Steve’s finally too blind to see. They’re the darkest brown orbs, and if Steve looks into them long enough, he might even catch a glimpse of himself in their caverns.
Steve forgets to speak, he does that sometimes. Gets so lost in his thoughts that anything he could say with his mouth will always fall short. He’ll never be able to describe how Eddie makes him feel, how lucky Steve is just to exist in the same space as him.
The corners of Eddie’s mouth quirk up, and Steve hopes that he knows even a fraction of it. “C’mere angel, you’re too far away.”
Any measurement of space between their bodies is too much and it’s been that way since the beginning. Steve and Eddie are equally clingy, touch necessary for every occasion like any press of fingers, mouth and skin could be their last.
Steve’s better at talking with his hands, anyway.