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Steve calls him crying. It’s not unusual this time of night—he almost always seems to be crying if he calls after 1 A.M., his voice thick with tears he pretends they both can’t hear. Eddie holds the phone between his ear and shoulder, neck bent all wrong, hunched in on himself in the kitchen to try and hear over the noise of the party he’s having. “It’s just — lights — the water — feel like I’m choking, ya know?”
Eddie doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really want to—doesn’t want to taste the rancid tang of panic on the back of his tongue when he’s rolling on the good shit—but Steve’s calling, and Steve’s voice is thick with snot, and Eddie’s got his keys in hand before he even finishes hanging up.
“Watch the house,” he says to Frankie as he moves for the front door.
“You good?”
“Mmhm.” It’s a lie, probably, but relatively true enough. Replacement Rick showed up a couple hours ago with a Willy Wonka assortment of plants and powders and pills, plus a van full of trashy-hot girls from the dive bar one town over to share it with, and now they’re all strung out across his trailer like some PSA-worthy drug den: hairlines sweaty, skirts hitched up, eyes rolled back. One girl’s got her tits out, and they’re pretty good tits if you’re into that sort of thing. Eddie’s not so sure he’s into that sort of thing, generally speaking, but whatever shiny, crushed powder he’d dipped his finger into earlier is kind of making him want to rub his dick all over every single person in the room and maybe a chair or the couch or a wall for good measure, so…
Clearly Frankie is into it, because he’s already forgotten to keep his concerned face aimed at Eddie.
Whatever.
He can drive slow; stick to back roads.
“Don’t let the place burn down.”
—
“Suuuure, babe,” Eddie bitches himself out under his breath as he turns onto Steve’s street. “Take the fuckin’ mystery drugs. What could go wrong? Metallic eyeshadow lookin’ shit all in your gums, you fucking…”
He pulls into the Harrington driveway, wheels scraping a little on the curb, and he wants to care about that but the sweat on his mustache is pooling in his cupid’s bow in a way he does not fucking like at all, and he’s so flushed, and his pupils feel huge, white starbursts skewering out from the flood lights above the closest garage and stabbing him right in the eyes. Jesus. He blinks hard for a few seconds; wipes his upper lip. Really hopes Steve doesn’t need anything from him but a friendly face. He does not have useful advice to give right now.
He’s gotta look way more normal than he feels, because Steve doesn’t mention anything about it when he lets him in the house. He doesn’t mention anything about himself, either, just waves him in with a casual ‘hey, man’ and a shrug that could almost pass for casual and chill if not for the tight, unhappy pinch at the corner of his mouth. “Come on in. You want a beer? I was just about to get another.”
He always does this. Calls Eddie up in the middle of the night and then acts like there was no reason for the call to happen in the first place. Usually Eddie can play along with that—fucking kills him to do it, kind of tears a tiny piece off the edge of him every time he has to watch Steve pinch the bridge of his nose and do his ‘Feelings? What feelings? I’m totally fine!’ song and dance—but he can normally convince himself that it’s better for him to be here at all than to say something too real and make Steve push him away.
Tonight, though? Shit. Tonight his skin is buzzing like his jacket’s lined with vibrators, and the cool granite countertops in Steve’s kitchen feel incredible under his splayed fingers, and Steve looks so sad. He just looks so sad! Pouting over the two gray cans he pulls from the fridge; pouting as he frees them from the plastic ring and hands one to Eddie; pouting as he cracks his open and brings it up to his lips.
Eddie takes the offered can and rubs it slowly back and forth against his cheek. Hoooooly shit. Yeah. Yeah.
“You good?”
Yes. No. It’s the second time someone’s asked him that tonight, and he still doesn’t know the answer. “Peachy, princess,” he teases, forcing himself to put the can down before he drools all over himself. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you?”
Steve goes even more tense, goes tight all around the edges, color draining from his cheeks. “What?”
Eddie doesn’t answer. Steve scoffs. Eddie stares.
He has the Hellfire table to thank for this trick; the sarcastic ones always crack under direct scrutiny if you juuuust wait a second…
Steve rolls his eyes. Huffs. “Nothing’s wrong.” It’s weak. They both know it. Eddie licks his bottom lip; chews it a little, gets distracted by the slow stretch and press of soft skin between his teeth. Kinda forgets he’s supposed to be angling for something here, feels his gaze on Steve shift to something that feels more like admiring a sculpture in a gallery. Steve’s eyes shine in the kitchen lights—red rimmed, bloodshot, bringing out the green in his irises. Pretty boy.
He faceplants into his folded arms and slumps over the kitchen counter, back muscles visible through his thin t-shirt as he mumbles something Eddie can’t hear.
“Come again?”
Steve snorts.
It takes Eddie a second to catch the joke, then he laughs, “You’re a child. Look up at me?”
Steve lifts his head, the immature amusement fading the longer Eddie looks at him. Appraising him like a rare gem, a piece of fine china, an antique gun. “Can I try something?”
The question is too much, maybe, the eye contact too intense—leaning over the counter on his elbows with his hands clasped as if in prayer—but he feels too good to care right now, like the mystery shit he swiped off the counter earlier stole all his discernment and replaced it with a lethal dose of lust and good vibes.
Steve swallows. Nods.
It’s enough.
Eddie slips around the kitchen island to stand right behind him—not quite touching, leaving space between their bodies—but he wants to get his fingers spread back out against cool stone, so he does. He brackets Steve between his arms, plants ’em wide, half an inch of space between his chest and Steve’s back.
“Sometimes it’s easier to talk when you’re not face to face.” Leaning over Steve’s shoulder, nodding his chin toward the phone on the wall. He reaches around for his discarded beer, pops the tab and wraps Steve’s palm around the can. “Pretend like we’re on a call.”
Steve sags into him, the curve of his spine nudging Eddie’s breastbone. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, but Eddie can hear from his breathing how he’s working himself up; imagines his eyes welling up just a little like before.
When he speaks his voice is thick. “It’s the pool again,” he mumbles. “Always the damn…”
“Mm.” Eddie can’t see the pool from here, the night too dark and cloudy to see anything but blackness through the big living room windows, but he knows it’s out there. Knows Steve must feel its presence like some faceless fanged monster prowling through the underbrush. Stalking his dreams, taunting him during the day. If this were a D&D session this would be the part where Eddie tucks his chin and makes real big eyes at his player and tries to convince them to face their battles, but…Well. He might be a little fucked up at the moment, but he’s not delusional. He knows Steve ‘waits outside in the parking lot while the kids are at Hellfire and rolls his eyes the second they start talking about hit points’ Harrington is not going to let him—what, exactly? Dungeon master him through whatever personal demons got him all twisted up inside? Please.
….Could be fun, though.
Could be real fuckin’ nice, actually.
He presses in with the hand he’s got covering Steve’s, making him tighten his grip, guiding him to lift it up to his mouth. He pauses there for a second, giving Steve a chance to pull back if he wants. Steve sways forward until his lips touch the rim. A bead of condensation catches the curve of his chin and rolls down his throat. Jesus. Eddie widens the fingers of his other hand against the counter, trying to ground himself before he just starts fucking— Nope. No. He forces himself to focus on the coolness of the counter, of the can sweating in Steve’s hand; anything except for the heat that licks up his spine from his tailbone to his rib cage at the thought of letting his hips shift forward just a little. He could pretend to just be shifting his weight—
He tightens his grip on Steve’s hand; tips the beer back and pours it into his open mouth. Steve swallows like a champ—Eddie remembers how he used to show off his little shotgunning trick at parties, jamming a knife through the can with ease and gulping it down in one go. It takes him three this time, three big swallows and a little cough on the end, but he styles it out, breathing a laugh as Eddie finally brings their hands back down to the counter and lets go.
“Better?” he checks.
Steve smiles. “Definitely not worse.”
Eddie rocks forward—barest brush of fabric, but it sends lightning bolts of sensation forking out from the point of contact, and Eddie’s cock jumps in his boxers. His skin feels like it’s made of Pop Rocks. Steve’s so fucking warm. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if he…
He forces himself to pull his hips back, settling with his forehead pressed between Steve’s shoulder blades instead, and that’s almost worse, somehow, because Steve’s back ripples at the touch, muscles bunching and twitching against Eddie’s cheek; Eddie can feel it, has to fight so hard not to grab Steve’s waist with both hands and squeeze.
“Tell me what woke you up this time.” If he sounds a little desperate, it’s only because the feeling of Steve’s breath softly flexing his spine in and out against his forehead is driving him insane.
“It’s always the same.” His eyes are on the far distance, the charcoal smudge of trees through dark windows. “I’m standing with my toes over the edge of the pool. Barb’s there, and then she’s not. I’m there, and then I’m in the water. Can’t scream, can’t breathe. In the dream I keep drowning. I’m at the bottom of the lake again with that—” he shivers all over “—that creepy fucking tentacle wrapped around my leg, and then it gets me.” He swallows hard. “All the way up.” His hand comes up to hover over his throat, fingers curling around the side like a shackle closing in.
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.” A shaky, breathy not-quite laugh. Steve hangs his head—rolling his neck, stretching his shoulders. Feels fucking nice. Eddie nuzzles into him. “Can I have some of whatever you’re on?”
Well, shit. Eddie lifts his head, breaks the contact. He could deny it—what makes you so sure I’m on something?—but: “You’ve been groping the granite like you wanna fingerbang it.”
It’s a deflection.
It’s crass.
It’s fucking hot.
“Come on.” Steve rocks his weight back, lets his ass nudge up against Eddie’s hips until he grunts. “Share.”
Eddie’s head falls forward when he laughs at that—it’s cute when Steve gets all demanding like this, all ‘shift manager and mother of four who’s had enough.’ The tip of his nose bumps Steve’s neck, just to the side of the notch in his spine, and he rubs it slowly back and forth over the spot, back and forth, pressing in more firmly until it kind of hurts the cartilage, Steve’s peach fuzz neck hairs tickling his nostril. He laughs through his nose, and Steve shivers in response, so he lets his mouth brush and catch on all those tiny hairs, too—dragging his bottom lip across them, the soft skin beneath responding, pricking up; Steve moans. It’s barely audible over the hum of the A/C.
“Don’t have any on me,” Eddie offers in apology. His right hand lifts from the counter to Steve’s hip bone, rings bumping over the rough leather of his belt. Fuck, he wants to hook his fingers into those belt loops. “Could probably get you feeling close enough, though.”
“Yeah?”
His grip tightens for just a second. “Mmhm.”
Steve’s plays with his lips while he considers—chewing and sucking, the wet sounds obscene. “And how’s that feel?”
His grip tightens again; doesn’t let up. “Feels, uh…feels pretty fuckin’ good. Steve.” It’s half warning and half taunt. If Steve keeps asking shit like that in this droopy tone of voice, he’s—
He’s gonna do something he’s pretty sure Steve’s asking for.
Steve lets his head drop back on Eddie’s shoulder. “Pretty good sounds good to me.”
Jesus. Eddie braces himself, both hands on Steve’s hips now. “Gonna trust me?”
“Yeah.”
Too easy. “Gonna do whatever I say?”
He curls a finger in each side loop, tugging Steve back flush against him, grinding his hips in slow and mean, letting Steve read the fine print on this situation. The cuteness aggression is tipping a little sideways on him, turbocharged with chemical heat—overwhelming urge to scratch and slap and bite and claim; to tear Steve to pieces so he can mend the pretty threads. He has to be sure Steve knows what he’s getting into. “Gonna stop if it’s too much?”
Steve rolls his head ‘no,’ the sharp knob at the base of his skull digging into the meat of Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie lifts a hand to the underside of his jaw; guides him to nod his head ‘yes’ instead. “Got to,” he tells him, pushing gently against the bone, up and down, up and down. “Can’t get you there otherwise. Gotta—” Jesus, Steve’s stubble feels incredible on the pads of his fingers. “—make sure you’re safe.”
Steve whimpers, a high whine followed by a sound of protest, like he’s mad at himself for the noise he just made. “Okay,” he complains.
Eddie laughs. Yanks him by the belt loops to spin him around face to face. His cheeks are so red, eyelids half-closed. His eyes look almost as dark as Eddie’s in the kitchen light, the bulbs brighter in here than the other rooms. Reminds Eddie of the ticket booth at his favorite bar in Indy. One time an older guy bossed him around in there, made him crawl under the desk and cockwarm him until his shift ended. Best twenty minutes of little eighteen-year-old Eddie’s life.
God, Steve would look so gorgeous on his knees like that—pouting between his legs, eyes pleading, jaw sore. Fuck. Whatever shit he took before has his preferences all flip-flopped.
Maybe that’s just Steve’s fault. “Can I make a fucked up suggestion?”
“Uh huh.”
Steve’s eyes are on Eddie’s fingers where they rest on the lip of his jeans, just above the button. Eddie draws a line with the tip of his index finger: following Steve’s happy trail, lifting his t-shirt and exposing his abs, the soft swell of fat over muscle, the dotted moles, dark body hair. He’s beautiful. “You should look at the pool while I touch you.” He nods at the sunroom off the kitchen. “I can push you up against the glass and make you look.”
Steve’s whole body pulls taut, uncertainty warring with desire on his face. Eddie lets his index finger trace a loop around his belly button then make its way back down, gliding over warm skin, over the heavy silver belt buckle, the brass button, the length of his zipper. When he reaches the bottom he twists his wrist and cups Steve’s balls, moves the denim around until Steve bucks against his hand. “Want you to think about this whenever you see it.”
“Fu-uck.” It’s whiny; begrudging. Steve’s head tips forward, his overgrown bangs falling into his eyes. “Can I have another beer first?”
—
Against the sunroom window with the most direct view of the pool, Eddie mirrors their earlier position at the island only worse—better—so much better, actually; Steve’s naked and shivering and another beer deep, desperately trying not to hump the window. The lights from the backyard paint him in strange green shadows, moving dimly across his skin, rippling with every shuddering breath and shift of his hips. Eddie can hardly keep his hands off him; needs to map the whole of Steve’s body with his hands—plot the topography, the shortcuts between moles, the depth of the dips between muscles. His palms buzz as he drags them over the tops of Steve’s thighs and around the ledge of his hip bones, squeezing his ass and shoving him forward. Steve groans long and low. “Yeah, that’s it,” Eddie soothes, “Just relax.” He spreads his ass cheeks before letting him go with a light tap. “Be right back; don’t move.”
He goes and grabs a chair from the dining room table as quickly as he can, aware that if Steve slips too far out of the haze he’s in right now this could all be over—not that he’d, like, be a dick about it if Steve asked to stop here; hell, he’s pretty sure he’s gonna be jerking himself off to this memory for the rest of his life no matter what happens from this point—but just. Ideally. He’d kinda like to keep this going. Keep Steve breathing slow and heavy, loose-limbed and writhing under his hands. Yeah. Yeah. He places the chair right behind Steve but doesn’t sit down just yet. Steve’s making all these achy little noises and Eddie’s going to burst if he doesn’t touch him.
“Still feeling good?” he checks, bearing his weight evenly over Steve’s back, flattening him against the window, his erection wedged against his stomach and smearing pre-cum all over the glass. Maybe he’ll make Steve lick that up later.
Steve moans and nods; tries to push back against him.
“Good,” Eddie chuckles. “I’m gonna use my mouth on you.” He drops a wet kiss to Steve’s throat, drags it down to the ridge of his naked shoulder, lets his tongue trace over a mole. “Grab you by your waist; get my tongue deep inside you.”
“Fuuuuuck.”
“Yeah?” Eddie bites down just to stop himself from trying to fuck him right this second. “You like that?”
“Uh huh.”
Another nip at his upper back. “You ever think about it before?”
“Yeah.” The confession rips out of him with unexpected urgency. Eddie sucks a kiss to the knob of his spine between his shoulder blades. “Think about it all the time. You—you can’t ever keep your tongue in your mouth.”
Fuck. Eddie lets it flick out and swirl along the vertebrae all the way to Steve’s tailbone, pausing to suck bruises into the dimples at his lower back. Pretty fucking boy. Eddie wants to light him up, burn him to nothing, build him anew. He teases the top of Steve’s asscrack with the tip of his tongue, fingers curling around the front of his hip bones to dig into the soft flesh above his cock. “Put both hands on the glass.”
Steve does as he’s told.
“So sweet. You looking at the water?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Keep your eyes open.” He thumbs at Steve’s asscheeks, pulls him apart just enough to work his tongue into the groove. Steve jolts. Eddie holds him in place, pulling back with his hands and pressing in with his face, Steve’s tailbone almost painful against the bridge of his nose when he licks flat and firm over Steve’s asshole, the muscle hot and twitching, the skin puckered and soft, Eddie’s cheeks wet from his own spit. He could die here; he could have an aneurysm this very second and be totally content with that. Nothing’s ever going to top this. Except—
“Next time I should do this outside,” he says between licks, replacing his tongue with his thumb, loosening him up. “Should make you kneel on the edge of the pool with your face hanging over the water.” Oh, god, he’d hate that. Eddie spears his tongue inside him with a groan.
Steve whines high in his throat. “No, come on, please—”
“No?” Eddie chuckles, the tip of his tongue still stuffed inside. He can feel Steve clenching around him, so fucking hot and tight. He pulls out; Steve whines again. “Shh, shh.” He hooks his thumb into the rim and tugs, waits for Steve to calm himself. “You’re being so brave for me, though, baby. I think you could handle it.”
They didn’t discuss pet names—maybe they should have—but Eddie’s pretty sure you don’t make the sound Steve makes in response unless you really, really like what’s happening. Holy fucking shit. He needs to get deeper inside him, needs to stretch him out more. He draws out his thumb; subs in his index finger. It goes in so fucking easy, Steve’s hole sucking him in further, hot and slick and greedy. “Yeah, baby, that’s it. Fuck yourself onto my hand.”
He keeps opening him up with his fingers until Steve’s bouncing on two of them like they’re a toy suctioned to his shower wall, and that’s so hot that it threatens to make Eddie spill in his jeans before he even gets to touch his or Steve’s dick. Which simply will not do, not when his skin feels this electric. “Hey.” He squeezes Steve’s hip, holding him in place. “If you promise to stay still I’ll add another finger.”
Steve hisses out a ‘fu-uck’ and a ‘yeah,’ writhing over Eddie’s lap when he pulls his hand out just long enough to rewet his fingers and line them back up.
The stretch is intense. Steve’s back muscles are doing incredible things. Eddie clumsily unzips himself and frees his dick from the suffocating press of denim. Doesn’t touch himself yet, more important things to touch right now. The sounds Steve’s making are insane.
Eddie runs a finger over the seam of his balls, then the base of his cock, wet even here from the steady stream of drooling pre-cum spread all over Steve’s pubes and thighs. He’s grateful he’s already sitting; pretty sure his knees are buckling anyway in response to what Steve does when Eddie finally strokes his dick. God. He pushes his fingers in deeper, spreading them out, pulling back, fucking Steve a little rough. He’s taking it so well.
“You’re so fucking good at this.” He drags a wet kiss over his ass, the skin pink and marked with little dots of red where Eddie pulled him apart earlier, the muscles jumping underneath. “Take my fingers like you were made for it.”
“Ed—Eddie—” He bucks back against him, throwing his head back, getting into it.
There’s a flash of movement through the window.
Steve goes rigid. “Stop.”
Eddie’s hands freeze where they are, curled in and around Steve’s body, his pulse rabbiting in his chest. Calm down. Calm down. He has to do this right. “Do you want me to let go?”
“Unh-uh.” His voice sounds shaky in a genuinely scared way. Eddie leans out around him to try to catch a glimpse of his face. Wishes he could see whatever it is that spooked him. “Hey,” he says gently, fingers still buried in tight wet heat. “What’s happening up there, baby? Talk to me.”
“It—ah,” Steve spasms around Eddie’s knuckles, clenching hard around him, banging a weak fist against the glass. “I don’t—I…” He rolls his forehead against the window, groaning, “Just want to look at you when I—”
Eddie drops a reassuring peck to the dip of Steve’s waist. “You want to look at me when you come?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, sugar.”
Eddie turns him around so Steve is sitting in his lap, his fingers back inside of him all the way to the last knuckles, his other hand toying with one of Steve’s nipples. “Yeah, that’s better, isn’t it?”
Steve screws up his face and rocks back and forth in little thrusts, mindlessly seeking friction, ruining Eddie’s shirt and jeans. Eddie doesn’t know where to look. The gorgeous twist of his brow, his pink, open mouth, the sharp cut of his jaw. Eddie watches his hand as it moves from Steve’s nipple back down to his cock, fingers catching on sweat-dark chest hair, the lighter, finer hair on his belly, the coarse and dense hair around his cock. He gets a hand wrapped back around him, strokes slowly a few times. The pre-cum is drying out, getting tacky, making Eddie’s calluses catch.
“Hey. Open your eyes.”
Steve struggles through a series of rapid blinks, his heavy lids only lifting halfway, his eyes a little crossed from how close they’re sitting.
“Beautiful.”
Steve moans; tries to close his eyes again, only prying them back open when Eddie gives him a warning too-hard squeeze. “Good job. Unh-uh, don’t look away, keep lookin’ at me.” His eyes are so pretty—amber and oak, little slivers of olive green. Handsome fucking boy. “Spit on your cock.”
Steve doesn’t so much as glance down as he eagerly follows the instruction, working his jaw, pursing his lips, letting a long string of spit drip off the end of his tongue to break on Eddie’s fingers.
“Look at you.” He pumps his cock, the slide wet and easy now, the fingers of his other hand curling in towards him, petting Steve from the inside. “I think you might be feeling even better than I do right now, huh?”
“Eddie.”
“You don’t even need to take anything but my fingers.”
“Eddie, please.”
Their mouths are so close together. “Yeah, baby, beg for it, come on.”
When Steve comes they’re not really kissing so much as touching open mouths, spit-slick lips brushing, jaws dropped in harmonized moans and cries. Steve’s nose shoves hard into Eddie’s cheek as he all but screams into his mouth, and Eddie can feel the reverb of Steve’s cum sounds behind his fucking teeth. “Fuck, Steve, so pretty. That’s it, yeah, come for me. Make me come with you.”
Steve fucks forward into Eddie’s fist as he keeps going, twitching all over as he slides his hands through the mess on his own stomach and grabs Eddie with both hands, hot and slick, stroking fast, the pressure intense all the way down his shaft, tight around the head, the meat of Steve’s palm pressing into the throbbing vein on the underside. Yeah, this isn’t gonna take long.
Thank fuck the mystery powder wasn’t the type that makes your dick break. This is, like, the opposite. This feels like he’s thirteen years old again creaming his pants in the park because a breeze hit him just right. Jesus fucking Christ, Steve’s hands are enormous, and he’s so good at using them, and he’s still shivering all over, flushed and lovely in the afterglow, his ass still clenching around Eddie’s fingers. “Fuck! Ohhhh, fuck, baby, I’m coming, come on—make me—”
Steve angles him so that he comes all over Steve’s chest, the first shot hitting him right under his chin. Steve makes a noise somewhere between a shocked laugh and a moan, tipping his head back, letting Eddie get a real good look at the mess he made of him. Eddie leans in and licks him from his sternum to his Adam’s apple, cum and sweat mingling all over his tongue, distracting Steve as he pulls his fingers free and shakes out his cramping wrist. Steve moans weakly as Eddie wipes his hand off on his thigh and nibbles on the soft skin behind his ear.
The pool lights catch his eye through the curtain of Steve’s sweat-curled hair. Fuck, they’re both so sticky, and Steve’s like a furnace. “Shame you’re scared of that thing, I could really go for a skinny dip.”
It’s a dumb thing to say, inconsiderately mumbled as he wipes his sweaty forehead in the crook of Steve’s neck. Shit. He pulls back blinking at himself for being such a shithead, hoping Steve’s not pissed. Stupid; stupid.
Steve stares at him blankly for a beat and then cackles. “You—are such—an asshole!” The words are punctuated with playful swats to Eddie’s chest, and he’s still giggling when he swoops in and bites Eddie’s pec fucking hard.
“Ow!!!” Steve shakes his head back and forth like a dog obliterating a stick. “I’m the asshole? You’re fucking feral.”
Steve lets go with a delighted sigh; nuzzles his face into the bruise he just made, and Eddie’s whole body is buzzing, and his legs are threatening to go numb under Steve’s weight, and he’s never, even been this happy.
“Hey,” he says after a minute. Steve’s gone all sweet and sleepy against him—curled into his chest like a cat, hands folded under his chin, humming a little when Eddie scratches a good spot on his back. “You wanna talk about it?”
Selfishly, he’s hoping Steve doesn’t want to. He’s kind of having trouble forming thoughts at all right now, but he cares enough to try. He’s pretty sure he’d do just about anything to keep Steve around like this.
Steve makes a grumpy noise of protest, and it’s so fucking cute that Eddie almost audibly squeals. “Nuh uh. Take me to bed.”
Eddie laughs as he stands them both up, letting Steve keep most of his weight draped over his shoulders. “What about the window?”
Another sanity-threatening harrumph. “I’ll clean it tomorrow after breakfast.”
“Yeah? You gonna make me pancakes?”
“Mmhm. Omelettes, too.”
God. Eddie needs to smother him; needs to crumple him like a receipt and shove him into his front pocket. He settles for squeezing Steve tight around the middle and lifting until he gets the message, wrapping his legs around Eddie’s hips, holding on koala style. Eddie carries him up the stairs like that, dreaming of what they’ll do tomorrow—and the next day, and the next one, for the rest of this boy’s life.