Archive of Our Own

Dollhouse

🏠🏠🏠

It was weird, okay? He knew it was weird.

Try as he might, Steve couldn’t recall exactly when things with Eddie had changed, except…scratch that. He could, because how could he not remember the moment that had kicked off a chain reaction that made kissing and spending the night and getting each other off feel normal?

It happened in March. Almost a year after the world had nearly ended, Robin had insisted they celebrate the fact that it hadn’t in classic fashion: Steve’s jacuzzi and as much alcohol as they could consume without yacking it right back up.

“I never got invited to a single party, Steve,” she’d lamented several nights before, upside down on Steve’s bed with her toenails freshly painted and drying on his headboard. “My senior year was a total flop. How could you let that happen?”

“Hold on, why is that my fault?” he’d asked, catching the pillow she threw at him.

She’d looked at him with an annoyed expression like it should be obvious, even when it very much wasn’t. “Because you’re my best friend, stupid.”

And sure, they’d certainly built a friendship worthy of best friend caliber, but it was the first time she had said it, and Steve had sort of felt like crying, because he was embarrassingly new to this whole being cared about business, and Robin was the first person who made him feel like he could be cared about, like he should be, and —

It was just a lot. Loving people had always been a lot, but being loved was somehow even more.

“Not one party invite?” he’d teased, but already he had started making lists in his head. They’d need food, and drinks, and the jacuzzi would need to be cleaned heated, and if he was feeling up to the extra effort, which he was, he’d need to make a mix for background noise. Robin had been overjoyed by his plan, especially because it involved everyone they liked and no one they didn’t — a small list of people who understood the nightmares and who held terrors of their own. Their tight circle of six. Their friends, youngsters excluded.

Robin had been halfway in Nancy's lap by the time truth or dare kicked off, all of them drunk and giggling and relaxed in one another’s company. It began innocently, of course, as these things so often did, the evening taking a turn when Nancy dared Argyle to kiss Jonathan, his broad hand engulfing Jonathan’s face in a way that Steve very much did not want to examine, thank you very much. There was much enthusiastic clapping, and a kiss that should have been awkward but wasn’t, and then Robin dared Steve to kiss Eddie.

And the thing was, Eddie was objectively hot. Steve had eyes, after all. And the two of them had become close in a way that only two people who’d cleaned each other’s otherworldly wounds could be. So it shouldn’t have been a big deal, kissing him.

Except, as it turned out, it kind of was.

Eddie had smiled playfully across the circle and gone up on his hands and knees, his hair nearly dry and frizzy like a halo around his head.

“C’mon Harrington, I won’t bite,” he’d goaded, all grins and loose limbs as he crawled forward, and despite the way Steve’s stomach was doing odd flips, he leaned in for the kiss, never one to back down from a dare. Eddie’s mouth was soft, the scratch of the stubble on his upper lip dangerously electric, and even though the kiss was quick, Steve felt dazed by the end of it, falling fast into a sort of hazy recognition that took startling shape later when Eddie stayed late to help clean up and they’d drifted close in the kitchen, Eddie’s eyes anxious and hopeful as he cupped the side of Steve’s neck and looked at his lips.

So Steve wasn’t straight, as it turned out, and neither was Eddie, two facts that should’ve been harder to swallow than they were, both easily eclipsed by the force that was Steve wanting to feel the shape of Eddie’s mouth again.

Their second kiss was slower: an easy slide of lips, a tender, curious exploration, Steve’s hands resting tentatively on Eddie’s waist until their tongues grew bold, and then he had to hold on tight, Eddie’s body a live wire against his. They’d barely made it up to the bedroom in their haste to undress, leaving a trail of clothing that they picked up the next morning after everything and nothing had changed between them.

Eddie was still Eddie, and Steve was still Steve, and they were still the closest of friends, but they had sex now too, adding another layer to the nights they often spent together anyway, both of them having grown so used to each other’s company that it sometimes felt strange to sleep alone. Theirs was an easy rhythm — one that Steve had come to treasure amidst the chaos that swallowed their lives. And it was nice, having someone to touch; having someone to touch him when he’d gone so long without. Battle wounds and psychic damage weren’t exactly conducive to a healthy sex life, as it turned out — not when he’d never be able to explain why he bolted upright in the middle of the night, or why his head sometimes started hurting so badly he saw stars. Never mind the scars that painted his body, silvery reminders of a violence that would never quite leave his body alone.

There was so much he’d never be able to talk about, but with Eddie it didn’t matter. With Eddie, he could be himself in all his scar-riddled, fucked up glory. He didn’t need to talk through the things that kept him up at night because they were the same shapes that haunted Eddie’s dreams, and if they both couldn’t sleep, then they could fool around and burn some energy. Steve always slept better after he’d wrung out an orgasm, anyway.

Being with Eddie was good, too — so much better than anything he’d found with the sweet-smelling girls he’d taken to bed as a teen. Eddie was strong, and eager, and real. And he always knew where to touch, always knew how to take Steve over the edge little by little and then all at once, like his long fingers and his smart mouth and the tight heat of his body had all been made for finding pleasure within.

It was fun. It felt good. It was easy, until it wasn’t.

Steve had been fooling himself thinking he could fuck someone without any feelings. However pathetic it made him, he’d never been able to hold his heart at bay before. He’d wanted and been wanted in return, but never for very long, and never as much. Robin said he was a romantic — a kind way to put it. But the truth was, he just didn’t know how to love any less.

Sooner or later he became bullshit, and then it was on to the next. Another fling to wash the taste of the last from his tongue. Another rendition of it’s not you, it’s me. It was pitiful. He was pitiful. His whole routine was tried and tired, and yet he’d gone and done it again. Because no matter how he sliced it, he had a big, stupid crush on Eddie Munson. It terrified him, not because he feared Eddie didn’t feel the same — although there was also that — but because of what he stood to lose if he fumbled the ball like he always did. Eddie was loud, and ridiculous, and achingly sweet when he wanted to be, and already Steve needed him so much more than he could admit to himself, feeling a bit like he’d been walking the world with a missing limb, never knowing until Eddie came along and lended him a hand.

He’d nearly said it — those three little words — more times than he could count, the sentiment on the tip of his tongue each time they tangled. He’d taken to shoving his face into Eddie’s neck just to silence himself, worried that their friendship wouldn’t be able to come back from such a blunder if Steve let it slip.

Tonight was no different, Eddie’s body slippery and warm in his lap as they moved together in a slow, deliberate grind. It was one of Steve’s favorite ways to fuck, his hands free to explore the plains and valleys of Eddie’s body, the slick stretch of their joining.

“You better warn me if you’re sticking a finger in there,” Eddie said, his face flushed and damp as he smiled lazily down at Steve. Already, they’d been at it for what felt like an hour, Steve slowly opening Eddie up to fit inside, bodies heavy and slow from the weed they’d smoked earlier.

Steve hummed and kissed his collarbone. “I thought you liked surprises.”

“Since when have I ever liked surprises?” Eddie scoffed, still riding him, still blush-warm and beautiful. Steve gripped tightly at his hips and pulled them forward, adjusting the angle so that Eddie’s back bowed and his mouth fell open around an appreciative groan.

“You liked when I brought pizza last night,” Steve countered, and Eddie smiled, eyes closed.

“Pizza and slipping me a finger are two different things.”

It was Steve’s turn to grin. “You like it when I slip you fingers, too.” There was barely a warning before Eddie was toppling him backward, his hands pushing the air from Steve’s lungs as he braced himself and picked up the pace. Steve choked on a moan and floundered to take hold of him, the gorgeous slide of Eddie’s tight heat sending shiver-shocks down to his curling toes. Jesus, they really needed to fuck while high more often.

“That’s what I like,” Eddie said teasingly from above. “That face you make when you’re close. When you get all Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” To illustrate his point, Eddie hitched his brows up and whimpered, mocking him.

“I do not make that face,” Steve argued, but it lacked any heat, all of the warmth in his body pooling between his thighs where he felt molten, so achingly good he could die from it.

Eddie grinned, a challenge, and shifted his weight backward, resting his hands and his balance on Steve’s thighs. Like this, Steve had a front row seat to the way Eddie’s cock bounced with each motion of his hips, the half-soft heft of it smacking Steve’s stomach. He looked sinful like this, all stretched out and sinewy and damp with sweat, and Steve knew before Eddie said anything that he was making that face, unable to help the way Eddie made him feel; the way he wanted to hold Eddie down and never let him leave. Keep him stuffed full and sated and writhing in that sweet agony that made him tremble and clench.

“O-oh fuck,” Eddie choked, helpless, the jerk of his hips growing sloppy and uncoordinated so that Steve had to hold him steady and lend his hand, Eddie’s ragged breath hitching as he ground down deep and found his release within Steve’s diligent grip. He moaned, long and low, and shuddered, curling forward as Steve pinched the last drop in the webbing of his thumb.

“Alright, cut it out,” Eddie panted, knocking Steve’s hand away when he kept trying to play, his weight falling once again on Steve’s chest as he braced himself and carried on.

“Jesus,” Steve hissed at the sudden sensation, the sharp wave of pleasure nearly drawing him cross-eyed. He clawed at Eddie’s hips with dirty fingers, walking a razor’s edge until Eddie crowded in to kiss him and took him straight to bliss.

Later — after they’d taken turns in the shower; after they’d stretched out on Steve’s bed to whittle away the midnight hours; after Steve finished his magazine and started thwarting Eddie’s campaign planning — it dawned upon him.

“My dad’s kicking me out,” he said, apropos of nothing, and Eddie turned to look at him like he’d grown a second head.

“He…what?”

“He’s sick of my ‘freeloading’,” Steve explained, air quotes and all. Eddie clambered to pull himself up, sitting cross-legged on the bed as he stared, disbelieving, at Steve.

Steve, who was starting to think it was a bad idea to tell him this.

“Steve, that’s…are you okay?” he asked, frowning, his obvious concern making Steve itchy. He’d never cared for pity.

“Wh—yeah,” Steve stuttered, deciding that yes, this was a bad idea. Because now Eddie was looking at him like he cared, and Steve’s heart was doing traitorous little cartwheels in his chest, all his affection for Eddie mixing with the realization that his circumstances might actually be kind of sad. “I mean, like…it had to happen at some point, right? They weren’t going to put me up forever.” Honestly, he’d been lucky to stay as long as he had.

“And you’ve got somewhere to go?” Eddie hedged. “‘Cause you can always crash at mine if you need to.” Steve hated himself for how his stomach sparked at the notion of sharing space. He swallowed the little bit of lightning down.

“No, that’s — that’s cool of you, but it’s fine. Gonna stay with Rob for the summer. The Buckley’s are, like, super mellow. I’ll figure out what’s next after that.” It made sense in his head, of course, but saying it out loud…it really did sound pathetic, didn’t it? If Eddie thought so, though, he didn’t say. He only gave Steve a skeptical look, nodded, and pulled his notebook back into his lap to scribble something down.

“You know I’m here for you, right?” he asked after a pregnant pause — enough time for Steve to wish the ground would just swallow him up.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he said quickly, getting up off the bed just to do something with the nervous energy buzzing in his body, Eddie’s eyes following him like a satellite. He found the baggie of blunts in his desk drawer — just two left, not that it mattered when his supplier was literally in his bed and, if Eddie was telling the truth, here for him. God, Steve wanted it to be true. He wanted a lot of things with Eddie, all of which he couldn’t have.

“You want another?” he asked, and Eddie grinned — Steve’s favorite shape.

“Fuck yeah.”

🏠🏠🏠

Moving out was a depressingly quick affair, the meager stack of boxes still living in the back of his car reminding him of just how much his mom had thrown away. The Buckleys didn’t have room in their garage (and Steve would have never asked, anyway), so he hauled his pathetic life around in his car for a while, emptying it out only when Eddie actively forced him to, stacking them in his closet at the trailer next to Eddie’s own cardboard-cradled childhood.

The effect was not lost on Steve, nor was the effort Eddie put into taking care of him, opening his home and his schedule for Steve to occupy as he came to terms with what he’d always known but had tried his whole life to ignore: his parents didn’t love him. At least, not in any meaningful way. And he’d always be trying to fill the void they left behind. Trying and failing, because nothing ever quite fit.

Eddie’s attention came close.

Being with him — getting high and drunk and caught up in each other’s bodies — made time slip faster, and before he knew it, summer was in full swing, the Indiana sun baking the asphalt until it was hot to the touch; the air, thick and wet and heavy. He didn’t miss home, per say, but fuck if he didn’t miss the pool in the backyard and the working A/C. The unit in Eddie’s trailer was always on the fritz, and the only cold water to speak of were the ice cubes Eddie wrapped in a towel to hold against their necks, their barely-clothed bodies damp with sweat as they stretched out on the floor and suffered.

“This is insane,” Eddie groaned, some of his curls slipping free of the knot at the back of his head as he sat up.

“We can go to Robin’s,” Steve suggested. The Buckleys had been more than clear on the what’s ours is yours policy, even if Steve struggled to take advantage of it. Eddie sighed and lowered himself back to the ground, rolling until he bumped up against Steve and wriggled to his stomach.

“We could,” Eddie mused, dipping the tips of his fingers below the waistband of Steve’s gym shorts with a teasing tilt to his mouth, “but then I couldn’t do this.”

“You cannot seriously be horny right now,” Steve scoffed, despite the way his soft dick twitched with interest. Eddie hummed and leaned in, pressing a wet kiss to Steve’s shoulder, an innocent precursor to the stripe he licked up the side of Steve’s neck.

“Salty,” Eddie commented, and Steve snickered, pushing him away. Because even if he was tempted to get a taste of his own, he was still ungodly hot, and the mere thought of skin-on-skin made him sweat more, if that was possible. Thankfully, Eddie did indeed keep his distance. Steve didn’t think he’d be able to reject him a second time, the temptation of his wiry body too great.

“Wasn’t Wayne going to fix the A/C?” Steve asked, adjusting the ice wrap behind his neck. Eddie made a noncommittal noise that was quickly lost to the rhythmic song of insects just outside the open window, the steady breath of nature, ripe with summer. It was a nostalgic sound, but it also meant mosquitos. It meant itchy bumps and staying out of the tall grass and tucking your jeans in your socks when you mowed the lawn. Steve wondered who mowed his parents’ lawn now. He couldn’t imagine his dad stooping to the task. Maybe he’d check on it when he was over enjoying the working A/C, which —

“Oh,” Steve said, remembering suddenly. “I’m house sitting for my parents this weekend, if you wanted to stop by. The pool’s probably clean.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Eddie asked, brow pinched in confusion when Steve looked over at him.

“What?”

“They asked you to house sit,” Eddie said, and yeah, Steve supposed it was kind of shitty — they had effectively kicked him out, after all — but it wasn’t exactly out of character. Fuck, was his life really that sad? Eddie laughed mirthlessly and scrubbed his hands down his face.

“God, fuck your parents,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.

“Eddie,” Steve admonished, not exactly keen on delving into his demons. It was so fucking hot outside. His brain was mush.

But Eddie doubled down, as Steve should have expected. “No seriously, fuck your parents. They don’t get to pull the kind of shit they did and then ask you to house sit. That’s insane.”

Steve sighed — he could feel a headache coming on. “I don’t know.”

“Steve, come on, you’ve gotta see how fucked this is,” Eddie urged, sitting up again to look down at Steve with those eyes that were so very hard to lie to.

“Alright, yeah, I see how fucked it is,” Steve conceded, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “But what am I supposed to do? They’re already gone. They left me the keys.”

Eddie grinned, catlike, looking like trouble. “Big house, no parents. Party time, baby.”

🏠🏠🏠

They didn’t throw a party.

Between conflicting schedules, and forgetfulness, and the general laziness of summer, the most they were able to scrounge together was a few grocery bags of snacks and the rest of Eddie’s stash, Eddie declaring the event a party of two, even though it looked a lot like the way they usually spent their time. Steve couldn’t say he was disappointed: parties weren’t quite his scene anymore. He’d left them behind with the rest of his All-American dreams when the world cracked open and he’d emerged changed.

It had only been a month, but walking through the empty house felt strange all the same, the bones of his old life as polished and false as the squeaky clean kitchen floor that his mother had cleaned once a week. Not that it mattered — she rarely cooked. She rarely did anything except go on his dad’s business trips because she didn’t trust him to be alone anymore. Not after that messy stint with the secretary.

They’d be in Vermont by now, at the golf course, his mom’s crystal chandelier laughter following his dad and their fashionable friends up and down the green. The house felt like a shell without her in it; his chest was no different. At least it was cool inside, the chilled air like bliss on his skin as he led Eddie to the living room and then the liquor cabinet when Eddie insisted they get the good stuff. His dad would certainly notice, but it was a lesser crime — one he’d committed many times before to varying degrees of consequence. They were out of threats, anyway. What were they going to do, kick him out again?

They split a blunt out by the pool, feet brushing beneath the water, then Eddie put ice in the crystal tumblers, taken to the couch where they sipped hundred dollar bourbon in their sweatpants, Top Gun playing on the TV again because it was Steve’s turn to pick (Sue him, okay, Val Kilmer was hot). Slowly, he melted back into the couch, the bourbon haze drawing a softness to the world that made his eyelids heavy. Eddie was the opposite, in so many ways, the buzz of liquor shaking his leg until he had to get up and move around, Steve following after him because while Val Kilmer was certainly a looker, Eddie was better by far, and Steve was nothing if not a lovesick puppy by trade — a stupid dog, through and through.

Seeing Eddie in his house — his parents’ house — was strange, the wild tangle of his curls so at odds with the perfectly papered walls and tidy flower displays. All of them fake, of course. His mother rarely had the desire to care for things beyond her hair or her clothes or the smokescreen of her marriage. Eddie was different. What you saw was what you got, and there was a deep kind of comfort in that; in the quiet intimacy of the way Steve knew he’d take the last few stairs two at a time; in the way he knew Eddie would fuck with the faux flowers in the vase as he walked by; in the way he wasn’t surprised at all when Eddie went straight for his parents’ bedroom door and pushed through without an ounce of hesitation. He was bold, and brash, and everything Steve had always pretended to be but never really was.

And there was a tenderness to him, too: always checking over his shoulder to make sure Steve was there, the offering of his hand for Steve to hold as automatic as breathing. Even here, in the house that used to be Steve’s home, Eddie was attentive, Steve’s heart fluttering like the wings of a pinned moth to be watched so carefully, so thoughtlessly.

“What’s the most valuable thing in this house, you think?” Eddie asked, releasing Steve’s hand to skim the bedspread stretched over his parents’ California king. Steve watched his fingers, remembering the feel of them in his hair, on his skin, around his dick.

“Uh, not sure,” he said. “Mom’s got a ton of jewelry, I guess? Probably that.”

Eddie hummed, walking brazenly into the master bathroom and into the large closet where the safe lived amongst his parents’ clothes. A set of drawers sat toward the back, topped with the necessities that Steve had come to know well, each piece traced back through memory. His mom’s pearls, her diamond studs. His dad’s watch, silver and leather and abhorrently expensive — a staple of Steve’s childhood. Eddie picked it up, turning it in his hands before offering it to Steve, eyes expectant.

“Put it on,” he told him, but Steve hesitated, uncomfortable.

“Why?”

Eddie pushed the watch into his hands. “Because I wanna see it on you, c’mon.”

With stiff hands, Steve slipped the watch onto his wrist, fumbling awkwardly with the clasp in a way he’d never seen his dad struggle, the mechanism too delicate and his fingers too thick. Eventually, Eddie took pity on him, stepping close to help him.

“It’s a little tight,” Steve said, stomach in knots for some inexplicable reason. His mouth felt dry; his wrist, heavier than it ever had been. But it helped that Eddie was still holding his hand, turning it to watch the light catch on the glass face.

“Yeah, because you have bigger wrists, hot stuff,” he supplied, the pad of his thumb dusting softly across Steve’s knuckles. They’d split open in the final fight — red and raw and bloody — but they’d healed now, slivered with silver scars so he’d never forget what it felt like to nearly not make it out, the panic of those final hours forever etched into his skin. Eddie stroked them like he knew what they meant. And really, he did. He knew it all, but most of all, he knew Steve, now that Steve had let him. The clench of Steve’s stomach eased a fraction, Eddie’s fingers soft on the flutter of his pulse. Always those hands — those long, loving fingers.

“Man of the house now, aren’t you?” he mused quietly, and Steve watched reverently as Eddie drew his hand to his mouth, pressing those pretty, full lips to the face of his father’s watch, smudging the glass. Steve felt cloud-thin and breathless, needing Eddie so suddenly that he felt dizzy with it.

He wet his lips. “What does that make you?”

“What do you want it to make me?” Eddie asked, eyes flickering dark and dangerous up to Steve’s. Steve swayed forward, caught in Eddie’s orbit, and then they were so much closer, their lips nearly brushing. Steve wanted so badly to kiss him, wanted to lick his way past the seam of Eddie’s lips and lay claim to the sweetness of his tongue. But they were in his parents’ closet, in his parents’ house, and Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, even though he wasn’t.

“We can’t, um. We can’t be in here,” he said, dragging himself away from the edge of desire and away from Eddie’s mouth. “They don’t like people in their room.”

He turned and left the closet, hoping Eddie would follow, which he did, but not without some resistance.

“Are you people?” he asked, detouring to his mom’s nightstand where he began to rummage.

Steve rolled his eyes and let his hip fall against the doorframe, his growing unease sharpening to something like dread. He shifted in place, checking the room for ghosts. “Eddie, come on.” And then again, when Eddie didn’t stop, “Eddie.”

“What?” Eddie shot back, playfully innocent as he cracked open a small pot of lotion and took a whiff. “I’m just looking.”

“Just stop it, okay? You’re stressing me out.”

Eddie strode over to him, catching him off guard with a kiss that felt like sticking a fork in a socket, the shock of it rendering him stiff. Eddie curled his fingers into the front of Steve’s tee and smiled at him, the tilt of his lips a mischievous challenge — a call to action that Steve could have seen a mile away, his body always craving what only Eddie could give. He’d had his fair share of sex, but never felt so uninhibited as he did with Eddie, like he could make some fatal blunder and they’d still find a way through it, Eddie’s desire never detered. There was no pressure, just whatever felt good for the moment.

“I think you stress yourself out, Harrington,” Eddie teased, releasing Steve’s shirt to pat his chest patronizingly. “Lighten up, will you?” Steve frowned and tugged at his father’s watch, the band feeling suddenly too tight, but when he went to take it off, Eddie stopped him, holding his wrist gently as he admired the glint of the glass.

“Don’t,” he said. “It looks good on you.”

”He’ll notice,” Steve protested, tugging at his hand only for Eddie to hold him tighter.

Eddie grinned, wolf-like. “Good.”

This time, when Steve drew his hand back, Eddie let him do it. He rubbed at his wrist but kept the watch on, eyeing Eddie, who was turning to wander back toward his mom’s nightstand.

“What’s gotten into you?” Steve demanded. Eddie was always teasing him, but this was worse. “You get a little drunk and what, you want to rob my parents?”

Without warning, Eddie whirled around, frowning. “I want you to be angry, Steve. And it’s freaking me out that you’re not.”

“I am angry,” Steve said, balking, hating how he felt himself shrink like a scolded child.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Eddie huffed, throwing himself carelessly onto his parents’ bed. Steve would have to remake the whole thing. He’d have to shine his father’s watch. He’d have to make it look like he was never here at all because his parents didn’t want him here, a fact that he hadn’t forgotten for a single second since he’d walked through the door. He was a stranger, here in the home that he grew up in; a pathetic ghost still clinging to the charade of family. He’d never belonged here, amidst his mother’s curated finery

He hated how he’d never felt at ease here, hated how he still didn’t, even now that he was older and wiser and sadder. So sad. And with nowhere to go, that sadness swelled — bigger and bigger until it felt like he could hardly breathe around it. So it had to go somewhere. It had to come out. And as Steve looked at Eddie lying carelessly on his parents’ bed — careless, when Steve cared so much — all that rage finally worked itself loose.

“Eddie, for fuck’s sake, of course I’m angry,” he snapped, rage and desperation swarming fast in his blood. “I’m fucking pissed. But what the hell am I supposed to do about it? I don’t live here anymore.”

Eddie blinked at him, unbothered, and nodded to the watch on Steve’s wrist. “Sure looks like you do.”

“What is this?” Steve asked. “What are we doing?”

“Playing house,” Eddie declared, rolling onto his back. “Did you ever do that when you were a kid?”

Steve frowned. He frowned a lot these days. “What, like, that thing girls played?”

“Not just girls,” Eddie said, sliding from the bed and onto his feet. He moved to Steve again, delivering a suggestive touch to the inside of his wrist, his chin tipped down so that he had to peer up luridly through his pretty lashes. “Anyone can play.”

“Oh,” Steve said dumbly, mouth suddenly dry.

“It’s an empty house,” Eddie continued, drawing the tips of his fingers up Steve’s forearm, butterfly-soft and electrifying. “We’re just…using it.”

“So, I’d be…I’d be like the dad.”

“Sure, if you wanted to.”

“And you’d be…” Steve swayed into Eddie’s space, helpless — a planet called into orbit.

“I could be your wife, if that felt good,” Eddie said quietly, their lips a hair's-breadth apart. Steve could feel the soft rush of his breath; could smell the musk of his skin. “Could be whatever you wanted.” There was a hand on Steve’s chest — Eddie’s — but it was hard to focus on anything that wasn’t the heavy line of Eddie’s gaze, his eyes two pools of twin sin that had Steve feeling sluggish and thick-headed. But Eddie always had that effect on him; always had the horse race in his head running slow. As if by some magic, he made the world feel slower.

“I want…” Steve said, finding that he didn’t know, and hoping that Eddie did; hoping Eddie could take over like he always did so well. Smiling, Eddie pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth, knocking their foreheads together.

“I want you to go downstairs and wait for me. Can you do that?”

“What are you gonna do?” Steve asked, angling for a kiss that Eddie initially withheld, chuckling when he finally gave in. It was brief, but it was enough, Steve’s stomach already tingling with heat, his hands itchy at the band of Eddie’s sweats.

“You’ll see,” he said against Steve’s lips. “Now go.”

It was difficult to pull himself away from the promise of Eddie’s warmth, but he managed, ascending down the stairs in a haze, thinking of nothing but Eddie and what he was getting up to upstairs. Sprawled on the couch, he palmed himself, sighing at the relief the pressure brought. Taking his dick out would be easy — he certainly wasn’t shy — but Eddie had told him to wait, and Steve felt powerless but to do as he said when he used that stupid, sultry voice; the one that turned Steve’s will to mush and made him putty in Eddie’s hands.

Impatient and intolerably horny, Steve waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And when he had grown sick of waiting, he stood, wandering to his father’s study (Who called it a study these days?) to peruse the liquor housed within, the sum of it undoubtedly more expensive than it had any right to be. The bottles arrived to the house in wooden crates and silk bags — imported, his father bragged — though he never drank any of it. No, the liquor was only for looking, as was much of the house. Steve had the sudden, startling urge to dump it all out on the rug.

“There you are,” Eddie said from behind, and Steve turned to welcome the embrace he offered, looking him over for any sign of change. What exactly had he been doing up there for so long?

”Find what you were looking for?” Steve pried, watching the slow line of Eddie’s smile as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Mhm,” Eddie hummed, his body beginning to move eagerly against Steve’s as the kiss took on a life of its own, Steve remembering how much he wanted this; how hard he’d been not minutes before. He swept Eddie up tighter in his arms and let himself get lost in the wet dance of their lips, Eddie’s stubble scratching deliciously against his face, a dizzying friction. With increasing urgency, Steve sought the sliver of skin at the top of Eddie’s sweats, working his fingers up the scarred stretch of his sides until he encountered something unexpected — something rough.

Confused, he turned his face to the side, Eddie’s mouth wandering across his cheek as he dug for buried treasure, rucking up Eddie’s shirt until he saw it: the lace. Black and see-through, pulled tight across his skin. He nudged Eddie away, groaning when he got a better look at what Eddie had hidden. It was a bra, black and lacy and see-through, much like the ones the girls in high school had worn when they thought they might get lucky, and if he was right —

He tugged the band of Eddie’s sweatpants down an inch, and — good god. A matching set.

“Have you been wearing these all day?” Steve asked, tracing the lace that sat over his nipple, Eddie’s back arching slightly at the touch.

He bit his lip, watching the path of Steve’s thumb. “You think I can afford panties this pretty?”

Steve was puzzled. “Then where —“ he began, going from puzzled to mortified in a flash, because there was only one place Eddie could have gotten the panties, making the implication currently tenting the front of Steve’s pants downright shameful.

“Oh my god,” he said, because they were, without a doubt, his mom’s panties. Eddie was grinding up against him in his mom’s panties and it felt so fucking good, and god, he was so fucked in the head for this.

“Tags were still on ‘em and everything. Diane won’t mind, will she?” Eddie asked, coy as all get out as he threaded two lithe arms around Steve’s neck, looking like he knew exactly what he was doing and taking great joy in it. He shrugged, blinked owlishly, and said, “We’re about the same size.”

The groan that found its way from Steve’s chest felt like confession, or perhaps something worse, his lust and embarrassment rolled into a single mortifying sound that he buried in the crook of Eddie’s neck, red-faced and hot-blooded. “Eddie, Jesus Christ.”

Eddie hummed a laugh, because he was evil, and fit his hand over the back of Steve’s neck, massaging at the base of his skull. Steve kind of wanted to disappear, but there was a grosser, louder part of him that wanted to run his hands all over that lace; test the give of it between his teeth; pull it to the side and lick the skin beneath.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Eddie said, a brief flash of reason, but Steve was already working his hands beneath the back of Eddie’s sweatpants to palm his ass because he was crazy. Eddie made him crazy.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” Steve lamented, thinking there was probably a special place in hell for people like him.

Eddie hummed and kissed his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a yes. Now, you gonna kiss me again, or keep hiding?”

Steve withdrew himself to give Eddie the kiss he was angling for, hands drifting curiously up under his shirt to chart the lines of lace that hugged his body. Eddie was sweet with him, giving him time to explore, his fingers roving softly through Steve’s hair as he made pleased little sounds between their lips.

“You like it?” Eddie asked after what felt like an eternity, and Steve nodded, turning his attention to Eddie’s boxers, his hands buzzing as he looked down between them and urged the band down his hips to expose the head of Eddie’s cock peeking out the top of the panties, already wet at the tip and straining up against the coarse trail of hair below his navel. He touched the tip, moving his thumb to rub small circles beneath the head, and Eddie hummed his approval, letting out a breathy fuck when Steve moved his hand to palm the rest of him.

Eddie took his chin and surged in to kiss him, guiding the angle deeper so that Steve understood what he needed. Eddie was heavy in his arms when he bent to pick him up, Eddie’s legs around his waist, but Steve managed, walking them to the far end of the room where he deposited Eddie on his father’s heavy desk, Steve crowding quickly between his legs to kiss him. Eddie’s shirt was worked quickly over his head, Steve’s following suit not a second later, Eddie’s hand already working into the front of Steve’s sweatpants and tugging at the band.

“Off,” he grunted. “Get these off. And then Steve was bare, falling ass-first into his dad’s office chair when Eddie pushed him.

“Damn, that’s a sight,” Eddie appreciated, relaxing back onto the brace of one hand, sitting there in a black lace bra and fondling idly at the strain of his dick as he took Steve in. “Man of the house, indeed. Want to show me how you touch yourself?”

Steve shifted on the soft leather, watching Eddie’s roving hand with increasing hunger. “You know how I do it.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Steve, come on. Play with me, here. I wore the goddamn panties.”

“Right, um,” he said, willing to do whatever Eddie wanted. He always made it feel good, whatever the case. Steve moved again, sprawling out a little in the chair as he got a hand around himself and pumped slowly, twisting at the tip like he liked. It was nowhere near as good as Eddie’s hand — or Eddie’s mouth, for that matter — but it was enough to pull his jaw stupid and loose, his body easing into pleasure. He watched as Eddie slipped from the desk and shucked his sweatpants altogether, hauling himself back up to sit so that Steve got an eyeful of the way his balls didn’t quite fit in the crotch of the panties, softly spilling out either side against his pale, fuzzy thighs. Thighs that were wrapped in black nylon starting halfway down, the panties hooked onto a pair of stockings that made Steve’s head spin.

Eddie grinned like the devil, because he was, and took to touching himself again, rubbing leisurely over the hard swell of himself and playing teasingly with the bits that wouldn’t fit, looking so unbothered on his dad’s desk among his dad’s possessions. He had the thing polished whenever the housekeeper came by, buffing out every blemish save the pen marks Steve had scrawled on the side as a kid. His dad had been furious at him; had grabbed Steve’s arm so hard it hurt and made him sit there with a soapy rag until it was clear the stain wasn’t coming off. So there it stayed, the warped image of a blocky house. Two people smiling people and a happy little boy.

“So we’re just gonna do this in silence?” Eddie asked, eyebrow raised, and Steve cracked a smile, taking a break to wipe a hand down his face and relax against the chair.

“Sorry,” he said, and sighed, shaking his head in awe. “You’re just…this is so weird.”

“And so hot,” Eddie added.

“Yeah, that too,” he agreed, biting his lip before admitting, “I’ve never really…done anything like this.”

“Beg to differ.” Eddie nodded at Steve’s dick, where his hand had gone still. “I’ve seen you do that lots of times.” Steve rasped a chuckle and kicked lightly at Eddie’s shin, feeling the tension he hadn’t known he was holding ease. Eddie’s expression warmed, he held out a hand, hauling Steve and the chair closer once Steve had taken hold. Closer now, Steve could touch Eddie’s knee, smoothing the soft nylon there with his thumb, Eddie’s hand still grasping his.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, and Steve nodded, letting his forehead fall against Eddie’s knee. He was still high, and a little bit drunk too, but most of all he was aching, from lust and something sad, his dad’s watch heavy on his wrist.

“I don’t want to be like my dad,” he said out of nowhere, surprising himself. It was hardly the time or place for such topics, his bare ass on his dad’s desk chair and his dick starting to flag, but Eddie didn’t seem to mind, his other hand now carding through Steve’s hair and down his shoulder.

“You aren’t,” Eddie said mildly, and Steve wanted to believe him, he really did, but what if it wasn’t true? The mirror certainly showed his father’s face — his nose, his mouth, the set of his jaw. With Eddie, he wanted to be different. But then, he’d wanted to be different with Nancy, too, and the whole town had seen how that went.

“Plus,” Eddie added, “if you ever start acting like an asshole, we’d know. You think Buckley would let you get away with that shit?”

Steve laughed, heart warming to think of the way his people would keep him in line; the way they’d watch over him, demanding he be himself, a guardrail when life twisted him sideways. For so long he’d bent, fitting himself into the shapes people liked best, but this, he thought, was the shape he liked best: Eddie’s hand in his hair, heartbeat slowing to a crawl, warm and a little fucked up but real.

“I’ll beat you up if you start acting out,” Eddie murmured, and Steve smiled, peering up at him.

“You really do look so good in this,” Steve said, skimming the lace at Eddie’s hip.

“It’s not weird?” he asked, snapping the band of the bra. “All the…body hair and shit?”

Steve hesitated, huffing a self-deprecating laugh. “No, no, you look — uh. Fuck, I…I really like the way you look.” He paused. “Does that make me fucked up?”

“Oh, deeply,” Eddie said gravely, but there was a smile prickling at the corners of his mouth, threatening to take over his face. “Now, if you would be so kind, I think you were defiling me?” Steve did actually laugh at that, hanging his head for a second before he scooted forward on the chair and pried Eddie’s knees apart, sighing dreamily at what he saw. Eddie settled back on his elbows, biting his bottom lip when Steve leaned in to kiss him where he was stretching the lace.

“Fuck, do you think Diane will miss these?” Eddie asked, fingering the bottom of the bra. “Because I think I’ll actually die if I don’t get to see you in them.”

“Gross,” Steve chastised, but now he was thinking about it — how the lace would scratch against his skin and how tightly it would cut across his chest. He let his tongue fall out to lick a stripe up Eddie’s dick, pushing his hands up under his thighs so that Eddie had to rest his feet on the armrests of the chair to keep his balance.

“Steve,” Eddie groaned, itchy and restless, shifting on his elbows. “Please. C’mon, take it out.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Steve asked, enjoying a little ego rush before Eddie was grabbing the back of his head and mashing his face impatiently against the lace, grinding against Steve’s cheek until Steve got with the program and wrestled his cock out, taking it quickly into his mouth with practiced motion. It settled, thick and silky and familiar, in the cradle of Steve’s tongue, his throat a well-worn glove for Eddie to fit into as Steve hauled him closer.

“Fuck, right there,” Eddie gasped, clawing to keep Steve close, his throat so perfectly full even if his lungs were beginning to protest. Fuck air, he’d just do this forever. Swallow, and swallow, and watch Eddie writhe. Unfortunately, his body had other ideas. Chest aching, Steve ripped off, leaving thick spit behind as he heaved for air and shoved Eddie’s thighs up, folding him and working the panties to his knees. Exposed, Eddie swore softly, startling into a low, pleased moan when Steve licked over the center of him, finding him clean and sweet-smelling.

“Did you shower?” Steve asked, delighted by the man beneath him, his hole clean and dusky pink and coated with soft, downy hair that darkened under Steve’s tongue.

“Just a cat bath,” Eddie said, breathless, helping Steve to hold him open. “Know how you like it.” Steve rewarded him with a hand around his dick, which he jerked steadily as he licked at his hole, tonguing softly at the tight rim until Eddie relaxed and let him in. And really, this was Steve’s favorite part, using his tongue to make someone feel good, his mouth his greatest asset when it came to sex. Eddie showed his appreciation with sound, his thighs trembling as he droned and cursed.

“God, you’re a fucking dream,” Steve groaned, making a wet mess.

“Steve, fuck,” Eddie managed out. “Fingers, please. Want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck, okay, stand up for me baby, let me see that sweet face.”

Eddie scoffed lightly, rolling forward. “Charmer.” Steve caught him in a kiss as he got his feet under him, trading his lips for his stomach when he straightened up, mouth roving over puckered scars that meant they were the same.

“Lube’s in my sweats,” Eddie said, touching his hair. “In the pocket.”

“You came prepared,” Steve observed, snatching the sweatpants in question to get the small bottle of lube out from the pocket.

“Diane is stocked,” Eddie said, and Steve paused where he was slicking his fingers.

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did. Sharing’s caring, baby.”

“Something is wrong with you,” Steve told him, getting a prize-winning grin in return.

Eddie turned slightly to the side so Steve could reach, bending when Steve put a hand on the small of his back and pushed. Hands braced on Steve’s knee, he swayed his hips enticingly, laughing when Steve delivered a reproachful, sticky smack to his ass. Steve pressed in until his middle finger brushed Eddie’s hole, but Eddie abruptly straightened up.

“Wait, hold on,” he said, shimmying the panties back up from around his knees. “Want you to fuck me in these.”

Steve was so horny he felt light-headed, resuming his task as Eddie bent over again, panties pulled to the side to expose the wet center of him. “You’re a weirdo, you know that?”

Eddie grinned lazily over his shoulder, sighing as Steve sunk a finger slowly inside, the perfect pucker of him tight and warm and gorgeous. “You love it.”

“Mhm,” Steve hummed, stroking Eddie’s scarred stomach, watching with rapture as Eddie’s full mouth parted around a moan, a second finger joining the first. They’d fucked the day before, Eddie wild and flushed in Steve’s lap, and his body still showed the signs, his ass softening quickly to the intrusion.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” Eddie breathed, startling into a delirious laugh when Steve crooked his fingers inside. Eddie was always like this — especially when he was a little high — so sensitive, his body going loose and easy under the right touch. There was pride to be found in Steve’s knowing how to make it good for him; in knowing Eddie’s body like this. Eddie’s chin dropped down to his chest as Steve worked, his dick surrendering a generous blurt of precome when Steve worked it loose from his panties to touch, and it was all Steve could do not to tell him how much he’d loved him in secret.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie said, rocking back onto Steve’s hand, slowing only to shiver and adjust to a third finger. “Might come like this if you keep going.”

Steve imagined it, Eddie stretched out and shaking on his fingers, and moved without thinking, wrangling Eddie until he was bent over the desk, his poor dick crammed downward toward the floor.

“Fuck,” Eddie huffed, disrupting stacks of paper and neat rows of pens as he scrambled for purchase, Steve’s fingers pistoning hard and fast and right against that spot that made him gasp and go up on his toes. Steve looked up the length of his back, to the lace strip of the scanty bra and the spot at the back of his neck where his curls were damp and tightly wound, and decided that if Eddie stuck around for the rest of the summer, he was going to get his shit together and ask him out for real.

“Steve,” Eddie choked. He shot a hand backward and pulled himself open wider, nails digging into skin. “Close, so close. Just a little —“ Steve took Eddie’s dick in hand, working him right around the head, “—yeah, fuck, just like that. Just like that, baby. Gonna come, gonna — fuck, fuck —“

The rest was gibberish, a thready plea that slid low as Eddie’s cock began to pulse, streaking come down the rich wood of the desk and onto the carpet below. After he had finished — after he whined and flailed lazily behind himself to get Steve to stop — he sighed and sank backward into Steve’s lap, body trembling as Steve laid a string of slow kisses across his neck and shoulders.

“You always get so quiet, man, you’re freaking me out,” Eddie said after several moments, relaxing back against Steve’s chest so that Steve could secure him about the waist and rest his head against Eddie’s.

“Just like watching you,” he said honestly.

“You’re high.”

Steve smiled, eyes closed. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Alright,” Eddie groused, curling forward to stand. “Come on, lover boy, we ain’t done yet.”

Steve would have been fine without, the urgency of his erection having tempered in Eddie’s afterglow, but Eddie made it clear what was going to happen, tugging Steve up from the chair and out of the office. Upstairs, he steered Steve into his parents’ room and crawled up the bed, beckoning him from the pillows after he’d fished a condom from the nightstand.

“C’mere, handsome, been waiting for you all day,” Eddie teased, laying it on thick, strong and sexy and everything Steve wanted all wrapped up in lace. “They work you too hard at that job.”

What might have come across as silly hit Steve as anything but, wedging itself between his ribs next to a heart that had given up on anything like this. This, a life with a love to come home to. He had thought it taboo, wanting sex to feel this way, wanting a bond deeper than skin and bones and words. But Eddie made it all feel okay, so Steve grinned and followed, melting into the kiss he was offered, Eddie’s hand fumbling between them until the condom was on and the head of Steve’s dick caught. They fucked slowly, just the way Steve liked, foreheads stuck together with the sweat of effort, Eddie’s hands cradling his face. When he was close — when his hips had gone staccato and his lungs couldn’t come up with enough air — Eddie drew him out and stripped the condom off, working him in his hand over the lace. Steve looked at Eddie as he came, stuttering through an orgasm that started in his toes and took him under, his face finding Eddie’s neck in the afterbliss. Rolling to the side, he kept Eddie close, breathing in the smell of sex and skin. Evening was rolling in quickly now, pitching the world outside the window in soft pinks, just like the flush of Eddie’s face when Steve drew back to kiss him, lips dry from panting, sticking together like they wanted to stay.

Steve sighed and settled his head against the feather pillows, watching Eddie watch him, and for a long moment, they just looked, taking each other in as if this were the first time. And in many ways, it was: Steve had never felt this way before, like his heart had crawled from his chest to climb into Eddie’s, no longer his weight to carry. Perhaps for the first time since becoming bullshit, Steve set it all down.

He reached out to touch Eddie’s face, and Eddie turned his head, kissing his palm, Steve so soft for him that he hardly put up a fight when Eddie suggested they make use of his mom’s giant bathtub. Fit back to chest, Steve let Eddie wash his hair, smiling privately at the way Eddie carefully scrubbed around his hairline, chattering as he cupped his hand to keep suds from Steve’s eyes. They emerged from the water sweet-smelling and warm, stepping into clean boxers from his dad’s drawer. Expensive ones at that, the fabric all silky and soft, the trespass of it all heightening the way everything rubbed together. Steve left his parents’ bed a mess, barely sparing a glance at the rumpled evidence of their bodies before following Eddie downstairs, hand in hand.

It was Eddie’s turn to pick a movie, so they slipped in something old and scary and curled together on the couch, Steve’s wet head guided down into Eddie’s lap, his thoughts thick with steam and soap and the sweet fatigue of his body. Eddie’s hands moved slowly through his hair, stroking down his cheek until Steve parted his lips to accept a finger, the digit lingering curiously along the ridges of his teeth. Steve bit down softly just to hear Eddie’s distracted chuckle and kissed his retreating finger, rolling to face his stomach where he nuzzled in deep and sighed. Someone screamed on the TV, but the rest of the house was quiet; Steve, for once, comfortable within it.

He was the man of the house, after all. Eddie had said so. And it felt nice, playing pretend, like they could make believe that this was the sort of life they could have. A TV, and a big house, and endless time to make it home. Steve wondered if this was how newlyweds felt. He wondered if Eddie ever wanted to get married.

Distracted, he shifted his head in Eddie’s lap, feeling the brush of Eddie’s dick against his cheek, smiling to find him a little bit hard. There was too much fabric in the way to do much of anything, but still Steve mouthed at him, fitting his lips around his stiffening shaft until Eddie huffed a laugh and eased him away, eyes dark and sparkling as he took Steve’s face in.

“You trying to start something?” he asked, thumbing softly at Steve’s cheek.

Steve wanted to start saying I love you, wanted to hold hands around their friends, wanted to move in together and split groceries and argue about the dishes and the laundry for the foreseeable future. Instead he shrugged and said maybe, accepting the kiss that Eddie bent to deliver.

“Alright sweetheart, house is ours,” he said, pushing wet hair off Steve’s forehead. “Where to?”

Steve thought about it — about all of the cold, soulless places Eddie could help him desecrate and stuff with warmth — but there was really only one place he wanted him, and that was where he’d always wanted him, ever since he dragged him back from the brink of death: in his bed, in his arms. Safe.

“Got a couple ideas,” he said, cupping the back of Eddie’s neck to draw him in for a kiss, lingering there just because he could; because tomorrow, he was going to ask Eddie out, and everything was going to be okay; because with Eddie, it always was.

It was a good kind of dizzying, falling in love like this, and already Steve loved Eddie so much, finding himself teetering near the sweet edge of a crushing fall before he had a chance to panic. He’d never known calm like this.

Eddie smiled, and Steve toppled head over heels.

“Lead the way.”

——— END ———