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To kick off the third week of December, a snowstorm blankets Hawkins in deep drifts. Fat flakes are still falling by the time Steve is released from his last class of the semester, the Beemer cutting through silent snow-covered streets all the way to Forest Hills.
Steve’s stack of thick textbooks threatens to knock him off balance as he shoulders the front trailer door closed; he heaves the tower closer to his sweatered chest, tucking his chin over the top title to steady them, still managing a cheery “Hello, lovers” before toeing off his boots in an impressive feat of dexterity and rounding into the kitchen.
It smells like home, in here- the lingering smells of dinner, something hearty and spiced; lemon dish soap that fades into the soft jasmine petal of your perfume as you greet Steve at the corner counter.
He maneuvers the books to thunk against the laminate, freeing up his arms to fold you into them instead.
“Honey,” Steve sighs, feeling a weight that he wasn’t even aware of until now loosening with every breath he takes from the spot behind your ear. “Thought I told you not to get prettier while I was gone.”
Your smile curls against his cheek, hands winding in the heat between his outer winter coat and knit sweater. “And I thought I told you to be home for dinner. Not my fault you gave me extra hours to defy you.”
Steve feels a twinge of guilt, but it only lasts as long as the gentle pats you give to his clothed ribs, the tease and kindness in your voice better balm than a cup of cocoa as you pull away, just enough to look in his eyes as you comment- “Looks like you’ll be plagued with homework over break. Any professors you want me to beat up?”
Steve chuckles. “Now that I’d pay to see. It’d be a Christmas miracle if you got Mr. Kaplan off my case- the guy takes Math 101 way too seriously. Didn’t even let up after exams, gave us a whole… thirty pages of… stuff…”
Not a very eloquent end to a sentence but given that your lips are now kissing down the line of Steve’s throat, he’ll forgive himself for it.
Your hands slide up, pushing at the collar of his heavy outerwear; Steve lets you pull it from his frame, then turns to watch as you walk the coat back to its hook on the far wall.
“The guy’s got an ego the size of Indiana but I won’t let his stupid syllabus come between us,” Steve promises gravely, propping one hip against the counter and staring at the ass of your jeans as you stretch up for the wall hook. “Eddie’s good with numbers, I’ll bribe him into doing some of the worksheets for me, and then-”
Steve raps his knuckles on the stack of books, an easy grin and a tilt of his head as you step back onto the kitchen. “-Bob’s your uncle. Nothin’ but time for you.”
This doesn’t earn the playful smile Steve was hoping for- instead, your arms cross, gaze dropping to the linoleum under your socks. “Yeah, ‘fraid not. Eddie won’t be very helpful tonight.”
“Our boy pestering you again?” Steve picks up on the tone in your voice, taking your side with sickening immediacy, gushing sympathy for your irritation and trials.
He pulls you close by the elbows, kissing the crown of your head with understanding. “What’s that rascal been putting you through, hmm?”
“He was like a goddamn wind-up toy, all through dinner- hot plate in the oven for you, by the way- couldn’t get him to settle or shut the hell up.”
The side of your cheek pushes poutily into Steve’s chest, though your arms remain crossed with the retelling of Eddie’s behavior. “And I told him to be careful about a million times but he still managed to knock over a bottle of ink into the carpet. That patch will never be the same, even after all the cleanup.”
“Clumsy,” Steve muses, tucking around the contours of your body like he can shield you from his boyfriend's past unwieldiness. “Hope he gave you an apology.”
“He is.”
Steve’s hand stops halfway up the stroking path of your back. “...is?”
“Yeah. I gave him a few options, as far as penance goes. He chose this one.”
Steve’s ears strain for any noise from the bedroom, but there’s nothing louder than the wind and falling snow, suffusing the whole trailer in wintry quiet. He lifts his chin from the top of your head to look around, gazing past the counters, into the other room, over the couch-
and then Steve sees him.
Eddie is on his knees, lanky frame tucked face-first into the furthest corner of the living room. Umber curls spill loose over his shoulders, while his interlinked hands rest at the bottom of his spine.
Steve can’t quite tell from the angle, but he’s pretty sure Eddie’s nose is pressed to the junction of the walls.
“How long’s he been like this?” Steve asks, suddenly out of breath.
“Mm. ‘Bout a half hour.” You say it so casually, like it doesn’t have devastating effects on Steve’s psyche just to know the number. “I told him to get up whenever he felt reformed, but… clearly it’s an ongoing process.”
This time when you kiss up the column of Steve’s throat, his hands form fists around the fabric back of your shirt, pulling you closer, hips meeting halfway. A steady throb of arousal has Steve’s cock filling out behind the zipper of his jeans in no time, eyes still affixed to the form in the corner.
“Is he- ah- can he watch?” Steve shudders at the feeling of your teeth at his neck.
Against his skin, your lips press into a sulky downturn. “Not sure he deserves to see, just yet.”
Only because Steve is watching with eagle-eyed fascination does he see the slight straightening of Eddie’s spine, a subtle roll in the boy’s shoulders under his t-shirt.
It must be the purest form of torture distilled, for Eddie to remain so still and far from the center of attention- although Steve’s also sure that Eddie is right where he wants to be.
Playing nice, Steve dips to kiss you, taking a little longer than necessary and making sure the parting wet click is loud enough to be heard across the room. “Can I say hello to our new corner pet, at least?”
“You can do whatever you want.” Your hands cup Steve’s cheeks briefly before you pull away.
With a few short steps, you’re in the living room, settling yourself into the couch with a magazine snagged from the coffee table- every movement blasé, like you don’t have a six-foot metalhead on his knees for you just a few yards away.
Steve would be lying if he said your disinterest (feigned or not) isn’t deeply affecting. He clears his throat, then pushes a hand through the snow-damp strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead, steeling his nerves to walk across the carpet to the corner of the room.
Steve has a very suave entrance planned (a casual leaned shoulder against the wall and asking some version of “how’s it goin’ champ”), but the moment he gets close enough to see Eddie’s face, shock forces an audible hiss of air from his lungs.
The black bandana that usually hangs out of Eddie’s back pocket has been repurposed, rolled neatly into a very effective gag. It stretches at the corners of his plush lips, a tiny rivulet of drool from one side gleaming in the low lamplight. The knot has been expertly tied and well-hidden under the bulk of Eddie’s hair.
Well. That would explain why it’s been so unnaturally quiet.
“Jesus,” Steve curses, standing over Eddie but eyes flicking back to you.
The magazine in your lap rustles with each page turn, feet tucked under yourself, expression impassive as you answer Steve’s nonverbal question with a shrug. “Told you. Couldn’t get him to shut the hell up.”
Eddie’s breathing is slow, measured, but the emotion in his eyes cuts Steve to the center. They’ve got that glassy, blissed-out haze that only happens when Eddie’s this far gone in the clouds of hanging onto nothing but instruction.
The wetness makes his chocolate eyes seem even more doey, somehow; Steve is equal parts transfixed and aroused, reaching down to run his index finger along the softly rippled scar tissue just under the line of the bandana. Follows the path down, past Eddie’s jaw, his neck, stopping where it disappears underneath the shirt collar.
“Can I… will you let him talk?” Steve keeps staring at the pretty picture at his feet but addresses you. He notices the hitch in Eddie’s air intake, the almost imperceptible way he leans into Steve’s touch as the conversation about him happens over his own head.
Another flick of your magazine; and then, with cool indifference- “He can tell you his color. But the muzzle’s good for him, sometimes.”
Eddie blinks, lashes sweeping, the bottom layer lined with dewdrop tears- Steve runs his finger against them, collecting the moisture and thinking of spiderwebs after rainfall.
The front of Eddie’s jeans are damp, too- the low-lit room and darker wash of the fabric can’t hide the patch of wetness pooling steadily from the throbbing outline of his cock.
Steve doesn’t do the kind thing (step closer so the poor guy has a leg to hump against). He’s too enamored with you and all too willing to wind Eddie up to the brink of desperation.
Instead, Steve props one fist on his hip and reaches to tug the bandana out of Eddie’s mouth. “Color?”
“Green, man,” Eddie says, immediately, sounding raspy. “So fucking green-”
“Enough.” Your voice is low but firm. The magazine flutters then smacks noisily against the carpet as you roll your eyes towards Steve. “See what I mean?”
Steve whistles. Really milks it. Shakes his head in disappointment all while showily tucking the gag back into place. “I see what you mean, sweetheart. This mouth of his is nothin’ but trouble.”
“I think maybe he should suck your cock with it. Just to finish out his sentencing.”
You say it in the same cool tone but it has Steve cursing at the thought, and Eddie trying desperately to talk with a mouthful of fabric until Steve takes pity on him.
The moment the bandana leaves his lips Eddie is begging- “Yes, please, lemme suck your cock, Stevie, I’ll be so good for you, for both of you-”
“Okay,” Steve cuts in, a mixture of condescension and concern. He leaves the loop of the bandana to rest around Eddie’s neck, then looks to you for direction.
Your hand pats the sofa. “Sit here. Bring Teddy, too- he might be a little weak in the knees.”
Steve hauls Eddie up by the armpits but keeps hold, allowing a minute for blood flow to return. Eddie stumbles, shakes out his right leg, then takes the opportunity to act up. His hands wander under Steve’s sweater, pawing at him much more than necessary to get a rise out of you-
it works. Your eyebrow arches, voice like a cold shot- “Don’t get cute, Eddie. Would you rather go kneel in the snow?”
Eddie gulps, cartoonishly, but seems properly chastened; he doesn’t say a word as Steve half guides, half pulls Eddie towards the couch.
The cushion next to you dips with Steve’s weight, but when Eddie makes to kneel between Steve’s legs, you stop him with a single hummed note of disapproval.
He freezes halfway to the ground, waiting dutifully as you pluck a pillow from the far end of the couch to rest it between the stagger of Steve’s socks on the ground.
You point a finger at the soft spot and Eddie takes to it like a sinner during mass, knees now cushioned for the unholy deeds about to transpire.
Steve feels almost stupid with lust; it makes his limbs vibrate and feel uncharacteristically inelegant. He opts for gripping the edge of the couch cushion with his left hand, and is saved from having to get creative with his right when you fit smoothly into his side.
Your knees tuck against Steve’s thigh as his arm slips behind your back, palm seeking the soft skin of your side just under the hem of your sweater.
The two of you are cozied up in a mirror image of how most recent winter nights have been spent, snuggling in shared space and company-
save for the boy on his knees. Looking up and between you both with the searching look of a wayward dog.
Your cheek rests sweetly on Steve’s shoulder, watching as Eddie reaches for the sizable bulge at the front of Steve’s jeans- his movement freezes, again, when you tsk.
“Did I say you could use your hands, Teddy?”
“Jesus fuck.” Steve swears, hoarsely, heat blooming in his lower abdomen.
Eddie makes a choked noise that’s a mix of disbelief and unbearable horniness.
His tongue darts out to wet the width of his lower lip, swollen twice-over from his own teeth- but he obeys. Makes no protests as his hands disappear behind his back again, and tips forward, head bowed, leaning face-first into the landing strip of Steve’s lap.
Eddie rubs his cheek along the outline of Steve’s cock. Steve feels a heady rush of pleasure that hollows out his mind and replaces the space with pure feeling.
The feeling of his pulsing dick stimulated through all the layers of fabric by the cheekbones of the most beautiful boy in the world; the feeling of your head on his shoulder, a tether to reality; the feeling of your hand, splayed bare against his stomach, nails scratching lightly against the treasure trail under his navel.
Your hand dips lower, fingers catching at Steve’s front zipper, tugging it down, the sound of it loud in the otherwise quiet room.
Eddie swallows hard, pulling back a bit to give you some room, swaying unsteadily without the use of his hands.
As the zipper reaches its end Steve feels slightly manic, squeezing your side in thanks and filling the electrified air with talk- “You must’ve really acted up today, Eds. Tight leash, huh?”
“It could always be tighter.”
You’re the one to answer, in that same steady, authoritative tone that has Eddie’s molars grinding together.
It’s supposed to be a warning, but Steve feels only mounting excitement.
When your hand lifts from Steve’s lap it goes for Eddie next, pointer finger tucking into the looped bandana, tugging gentle but firm. Eddie follows easily, head tilting down and forward again, until you’ve guided him back to Steve.
The jut of Steve’s cock is more evident now that it’s been given room to breathe, black briefs stretching with the heft and a wet patch similar to Eddie’s dampening one side.
Eddie mouths along the new space, clever lips fitting over the damp spot and sucking at Steve’s tip through the fabric.
Steve feels his abs clench, air whistling through his nostrils in short pants as his jaw works to stay shut. A pointless effort, because with the next pass of Eddie’s cheek over his cock and your hand back at his stomach he’s letting a long, whiney moan spill out.
“S’that good?” Your breath is warm at Steve’s ear, and when he pinches his eyes shut to nod, you purr- “Good. Means Teddy is doing his job right. Should we give him some more to say sorry with?”
“Please,” Steve begs. He feels the heat of pure want wash through his whole being, cheeks flushing, chest heaving, as you pull his briefs and the line of his jeans down further.
He lifts his hips to help, and then his cock is free, velvet over steel of a generous size and bobbing slightly under its own weight. There’s a pearly trail of precum leaking from his tip, string of white contrasting against surrounding blood-flushed skin.
Eddie and you make the same noise at nearly the same time- a breathy gasp- and Steve would find it funny if it wasn’t for Eddie’s breath spilling hot over his shaft, Eddie’s tongue licking a wide stripe up the side, Eddie’s mouth-
Steve groans deeply as his cock disappears into the tight wet heat of Eddie’s throat; Eddie swallows and it makes Steve’s hand around the couch spasm, wrenching the foam cushion with a hard grip.
Normally during blowjobs Steve gets handsy- stroking his partner’s face and hair, cupping their cheek to feel himself through their skin- but he’s deferential to you, right now. Will bent gladly for your control, letting his mind slip under the blanketed comfort of knowing you’ll take care of Eddie, and by extension, Steve, too.
Your hand twists the bandana around Eddie’s throat until it digs in, just enough to cause an obscene noise from Eddie’s throat half-stuffed by Steve’s cock.
“Tap Stevie’s leg if it’s too much,” you murmur, the first words you’ve spoken directly to Eddie for the last half hour.
In response, Eddie hums, vibrations sending shockwaves through Steve’s core.
You’re using the makeshift collar to direct Eddie’s mouth where and how you want, alternating: deep strokes that have Steve’s tip touching the very back of the boy’s throat, then shallow, bobbing motions that both give Eddie a moment to regain his breath and drive Steve crazy with hollow-cheeked suction.
Eddie’s bangs are curling and coated to his forehead with sweat; the next time you guide him all the way down, his hair tickles at Steve’s pubic bone, nose crushed to the trim thatch of bush there.
Steve is pretty sure he whites out for a second, hearing pitched into a sharp whine as his head thunks backwards into the wall, vision swirling the ceiling into spirals of moving pictures. There’s this animal, sonorous noise that leaves him, somewhere between a moan and an exultation.
When he finds breath enough to come back to the present, Steve realizes you’ve been talking the whole time in a low-toned coo, keeping both your boys grounded through voice alone.
Your hand leaves the collar briefly to tuck the river of Eddie’s hair behind one ear, a tender gesture that denotes the softness under everything you do.
“If you weren’t in the doghouse right now, I’d be telling you how pretty you look sucking dick.”
Eddie hums again, smiling obscenely around the wide stretch of Steve’s cock. You hardly need to pull him down this time, that same squeezing channel of throat encasing Steve again.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck me.” Steve fights against the wave of pleasure with sharp, short breaths, balls drawing up into Eddie’s chin, everything feeling so slick and wet and warm- “-honey- fuck- ‘m not gonna, I won’t last, he’s- shit, his mouth-”
“I know, baby.” You’ve kept close, still glued to Steve’s side as you sympathize, a welcome anchored weight. “It’s okay, it’s not about lasting, just let yourself feel good. Let Teddy say sorry.”
Steve whines through his teeth, pulling you closer in by the waist, molding the fat of your hip under his hand but far gentler than the abuse of the couch cushion.
He can’t decide where to look- the slick shine of his cock in and out of Eddie’s plush lips, the bent bobbing head in his lap, the twist of your fingers in the fabric bandana. It’s all so stimulating, so hot- Steve’s pretty sure his ears are bright pink at this point.
Eddie makes a wicked combination of swallowing and humming at the same time and Steve’s gone. Doesn’t even have time for a warning. One second he’s right on the edge, and the next, he’s plummeting down the face of the pleasure ravine with no end in sight.
His cock kicks and spurts, cum following a direct path down Eddie’s contracting throat. Steve’s white-knuckling the couch, thighs shaking, babbling nonsense to no one in particular as the sting of your teeth sink into his neck again-
“Baby- oh, fuck! Fuck, yes, feels ‘sgood, so good, like that, honey, fucking shit-!”
Steve comes for what feels like an endless amount of time, to the point where his hips are jolting backwards with hypersensitivity and a growing anxiety for Eddie’s oxygen intake.
No need for worry, though- you’d been watching carefully the whole time, directing while protecting, pulling Eddie off with practiced timing the moment his air drops to the red zone.
There are twin tear tracks slipping down Eddie’s cheeks as he surfaces, coughing wetly around the load of mostly-swallowed cum. His cheeks glow a healthy rose as you lean down, using the bandana again to beckon his face closer.
Steve watches through a post-orgasm fog as your tongue slips against Eddie’s; there’s a shimmering flash of something off-color between your kisses, and Steve realizes with a jolt that you’re tasting his cum from Eddie’s mouth.
“Jesus,” Steve croaks, brain function returning enough to speak. “You two are gonna kill me one of these days.”
You chuckle against Eddie’s lips, pulling back to press a kiss tacky with moisture over the teeth marks at Steve’s neck. “The blowjobs really aren’t as good in heaven.”
Having regained full range of motion, Eddie rocks back on his haunches, a very obvious and much larger stain than earlier at the front of his jeans. He clucks at himself with a head shake, voice hoarse- “And I’m pretty sure they send you down the ladder for blowing a load in your pants.”
Steve laughs at this, taking a moment to tuck himself back into his briefs but leaving the band of his jeans shoved down for now.
You collapse to the couch back with an irritated little huff, arms crossing, eyes rolling but sounding far too fond for any real anger as you complain- “Well I’m glad you both got off, but I guess that leaves me to go fuck myself.”
Steve’s about to jump to the cause but Eddie beats him to it- the metalhead scrambles with a sudden lurch forwards and up, now laying with his bottom half in Steve’s lap and top half in yours.
“Allow me to be your most willing volunteer,” Eddie says, arms encircling your torso, head pressing into your stomach in his efforts to nuzzle at the front of your buttoned pants. “I can get it up faster than Harrington, lemme prove it.”
“Rude,” Steve says over the sound of your giggles. Eddie’s ass is all too available for a sharp smack, which Steve deals out, smirking with satisfaction as Eddie jolts in his lap.
“Save me!” Eddie burrows further into the protection of your arms, moving with the ungainly bulk of a large dog that’s forgotten his own size.
“You’ll crush me,” you grumble, clearly basking in the affection as you pull Eddie closer, legs wrapping around the width of his middle, hands pushing into the forest of his hair.
Steve encircles Eddie’s ankle and watches the two of you with overwhelming fondness. He knows you’ve forgiven Eddie for whatever minor infractions happened earlier, and that Eddie will be properly wrung out enough to sleep soundly tonight. No nightmares or lingering doubts about his actions- you’ve made sure of it.
Steve works his other hand down the back of Eddie’s jeans, aiming to tease but instead scoffing in delighted surprise- “No underwear? Kind of slutty, even for you, Eds.”
Over the prone form of Eddie (shaking with laughter) wrapped in your embrace, your eyes glint with devilish intent as your grasp tightens just a touch.
“Mind as well keep your hand there, Steve. Need you to work him open while his tongue gives me the same treatment.”