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ghosttotheparty · 3 months

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slice me open and make me my own also on ao3 cws: self harm & self harm scars (not graphic; healed at time this fic takes place); past unhealthy/reckless sex; referenced child abuse (implied to be severe but isn’t explained in detail); some sort of morbid/gory imagery; tattoo needles

Eddie isn’t the same anymore.

He’s a taxidermied dog. Stuck into place with pins and needles, stiff and gross and depressing. He’s always been good at pretending, but after the world doesn’t end, after he doesn’t bleed out in his kid’s arms, he gets better. Forces smiles onto his face and brightens his eyes just enough to make the air shift around him, to make the people who are apparently his friends now soften. Back off a little.

For the first few weeks none of them will leave him alone. Bringing him water and painkillers and bandages and feeling his temperature and setting blankets over him so carefully he feels like antique furniture in an abandoned house. They bring him food and open windows so he’s got fresh air. The kids come over after school just to say hi, just to hang out, but Eddie knows it’s because none of them can really believe that he’s alive. He can’t either, if he’s honest. He kind of hates it.

He doesn’t tell them that, obviously.

When he’s alone, he stares at himself in the mirror. There’s a full-length one in his room that he used to use to check his outfits in, making sure his bandana wasn’t scrunched up in his pocket, his hair wasn’t tucked into his shirt, his sweaters were hanging off his body properly. The mirror isn’t for that anymore.

He can’t really be bothered to make sure his outfits look right. It doesn’t matter anymore. People stare at him the same no matter what he wears.

The light in his room is dim, always has been. He leaves it on all the time, as soon as the sun starts to go down. He’s scared of the dark now, just like when he was little. When he was a kid, the dark meant he couldn’t see the bottles littering the floor. Now his heartbeat gets too loud when the lights are off. It gets too fast, but it feels too slow, and suddenly the sheets under his body feel slick with blood and his stomach hurts and he can hear Dustin crying. So he leaves the light on.

It sucks when he can see.

The lamplight is dim enough that he can manage to fall asleep, but bright enough that when he opens his eyes he can see across his room. Can see the cracks in the ceiling, the stains from the rain. Can see the paint chipping from the posters he’s taken down. Light means he can see if something is hiding in the dark. Light means he can see himself.

He stops in front of his mirror, skin still wet with water, hair still dripping, towel tied around his hips. He never means to stop here, never really wants to, but he can’t help it. The carpet has indents in the shape of his feet. He doesn’t notice water falling from his hair, spotting the ground.

The light from the lamp makes his skin look more golden than it is. He’s paler than he used to be. He doesn’t go outside often, even when the sun is bright, high in the sky, even when the kids are playing in Steve’s pool or going to the park to push Max in her wheelchair as fast as they can. He stays in his room with the curtains drawn.

He doesn’t like being seen anymore, not like he used to, when he would stand on cafeteria tables and shout at the top of his lungs just so people would hear him, even if it pissed them off. When he used to draw as much attention as possible so his sheep would be left alone.

People stare now, and it’s worse than before.

Even he stares.

There’s a scar on his face.

It’s big and red and angry. He’s been waiting for the color to fade, for it to be pinker or browner, for it to blend in a little more, but it won’t, no matter how much cream and vitamin E oil he puts on it. It’s stiff, pulls his skin tight, keeps his cheek in place even when he smiles. The shape of it is off, almost W-shaped, like a child grabbed some markers and scribbled on his face as he slept. He hates it.

He hates it even more than the rest of his scars.

The ones on his neck, slashed through his skin like there should be text printed under his jaw: Cut along the dotted line.

The ones that cover his body, take up more real estate than his tattoos. On his chest, the zombie head he saved money for months for is gone, replaced with flesh that isn’t even his, jagged and bumpy and weird looking. There’s a dip at his waist that looks like someone scooped his flesh out with a spoon, and it’s so sensitive that he sometimes covers it with tight bandages just so the fabric of his shirt doesn’t brush against it. Some spots are thicker, built up scar tissue that stand out against the rest, darker and redder and number. He can’t feel anything on the left side of his waist. Nerve damage, the doctors said.

Eddie turns slowly, looking at his shoulders, at his back. The scars go around him, stretching his skin when he twists around to look. The knobs of his spine press through his skin like they’re trying to get out of him, and he gets it. He doesn’t want to be in this body either.

He lets the towel fall to the ground, where it pools around his feet. There are scars on his legs, on his thighs and knees and shins. (Which he doesn’t get at all. Why the fuck would they go for his knees? He joked with Wayne when he finally came home from the hospital, At least they didn’t get my ass. And Wayne, of course, said dryly, What ass?)

He can’t walk properly anymore. Like he’s heavier on one side. His feet drag and it hurts to stand for too long. He has a cane now. He jokes about with Wayne, offering it to him when his back is stiff, teases that he needs it more, but he can tell Wayne hates that he needs one before Wayne does.

It’s grey. Silvery, kind of, standard hospital issue. It clicks when he sets it on the ground the same way his knee does when he bends it.

He’s all wrong. Disfigured. Ripped apart and stitched back together. He’s fucking grotesque, like some gruesome abstract portrait, something that doesn’t quite look human. He wonders if the bats somehow left a little of themselves behind when they fell to the ground around him.

So he hides. Wears sweaters that are too big for him, that hover over his skin when he stands up straight, sweatpants that he has to cuff so he doesn’t trip on the fabric. He lets his hair fall to hide the scars around his neck, sits with his chin set on his palm so his fingers can cover his cheek, slouches on the sofa and pulls the collar of his sweater up to hide behind it. And he’s a fucking coward.

Running. Hiding. Tucking himself away behind his cracked ribs and pretending it’s fine that he can hear them creaking like the floor of an old house. When he goes to bed, drawing his knees to his chest and ignoring how they click, ducking his head down so his chin is under the collar of his sweater, arms wrapped around himself and ignoring how his skin stings, he can pretend he’s something else.

It’s a Tuesday night when Steve Harrington shows up to the trailer by himself for the first time.

It’s past midnight. Clear, cloudless skies, the moon half-full. One of the days just between summer and autumn. Wayne is at work and Eddie is alone, curled up on the sofa with a book, ignoring the way his hands are shaking a little. They do that all the time now. He hates it.

Steve knocks tentatively, carefully, like he doesn’t want to wake anyone up.

Eddie doesn’t check who it is before he opens the door, and they look at each other. It’s almost awkward, but not quite.

Steve only comes over with the kids. Keeps them in line as they clamber around the living room like hyperactive puppies, tidies up after them because he can’t be bothered to nag them.

They’re both quiet as they look at each other. Steve’s wearing a red sweater, and he looks handsome even though his hair is falling around his face and he’s wearing shorts that look like they were sweatpants that he cut off with scissors. And Eddie hates himself for thinking it.

He steps aside wordlessly, and Steve comes inside. Toes his shoes off and nudges them aside so they’re not in the way as Eddie shuts the door behind him. He sits on the sofa and looks at Eddie as he follows, and Eddie is oddly grateful that he doesn’t jump up to help, to hold his arm out to him or hover needlessly, hands out to catch Eddie. He’d rather just fall.

Steve moves when Eddie reaches the sofa, shifts aside so Eddie doesn’t have to make his way between the sofa and the coffee table. Eddie sits heavily, exhaling.

They’re close. Eddie can feel the heart of his body through their clothes, and he wants to close his eyes, to savor it. He’s always cold now. He’s dreading winter.

Steve’s foot nudges Eddie’s, and Eddie looks. Steve’s skin is darker than Eddie’s, warmer looking. Fuzzier. Softer. He’s wearing socks that are different shades of blue. Eddie nudges him back. His socks are mismatched too, striped and colorful in a way that looks out of place with his black sweatpants and grey sweater.

Both of them have their hands in their laps. Eddie’s hands are tucked into the sleeves of his sweater, and Steve has his fingers curled and twisted together like he’s hiding them.

“Hi,” Eddie says finally. He hasn’t spoken all day, and his voice breaks a little, breathy and soft and weak.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back.

“What’s up?”

Steve is quiet, and Eddie glances at him. He’s looking down at their feet, pressed together, and he looks tired. Tired in a way he doesn’t usually, when he comes over with the kids and laughs and bickers with them, rolling his eyes fondly and leaving them with Eddie to do the dishes or make lunch. His eyes are shining dully, like he’s looking through their feet instead of at them, and he looks like he isn’t really there.

Steve shrugs after a few moments, like he’s only just processed the question.

“Got lonely,” he says softly.

“And you came to see me?” Eddie says, and Steve cracks a smile, looking at him.

He shrugs again when he looks away, tugging his sleeves down over his hands and twisting the fabric into his fingers.

“…They don’t get it,” he says quietly, whispering.

Eddie closes his eyes.

Savors his warmth, like he’s standing in sunlight again.

He nods, pressing his foot against Steve’s more firmly.

“No,” he breathes. “They don’t.”

Steve leans toward him a little bit, bumping their shoulders together, and it makes Eddie’s stomach do a somersault, sends a shock through him. He doesn’t open his eyes, pressing against him, and Steve sighs softly, leaning against him. Falling against him. Eddie catches him.

He’s wrapping his arms around the sun, holding him tightly and burying his face into his hair, and they’ve never done this before but somehow it doesn’t matter. Steve’s hands find Eddie’s arm, emerging from his sleeves just to hold him, and he holds Eddie just as tightly, like they might both fall apart, crumble to dust if they let go. Eddie sways with him, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly he could give himself a headache.

And Steve leans against his chest with a soft breath, drawing his legs onto the sofa and curling up against Eddie’s body like he’s trying to be small, to take up as little space as possible. Eddie pulls him closer in a way that would make anyone else scold him. Don’t hurt yourself. Steve just lets him.

Steve tucks his face into the crook of Eddie’s elbow. Eddie presses his into the back of his neck. Steve’s shampoo smells fancy, like citrus and flowers. He wonders what he smells like. Maybe cigarettes. Probably weed.

“Do your scars hurt?” Steve whispers after a while. Eddie can feel his heart beating. It’s beautiful.

“All the time.”

Steve exhales. Eddie thinks his eyes are closed.

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet again. Eddie lifts his knees onto the sofa and curls up against him, letting their bodies twist together like a puzzle. Steve sets his hand on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie opens his eyes.

He can feel the heat of his palm through his sweatpants, and he suddenly wants to take them off, to feel Steve’s hands slide over his bare skin even if he can’t stand the idea of Steve’s eyes on him.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Steve asks softly.

“Please.”

Steve’s body relaxes against Eddie’s, and he exhales again as if in relief. Eddie squeezes him. It makes his scars ache.

Eddie looks at him when he falls asleep. Leans back to see his face, to touch his cheek as lightly as he can without stirring him. Steve shifts in his sleep, slipping down into Eddie’s lap until Eddie is holding his head, cradling it, gazing down at him.

Steve takes a deep breath, slow and steady and clear, and Eddie watches his chest rise and fall, watches his lips twitch a little like he’s trying to smile.

Eddie sets his hand over Steve’s chest carefully. He can feel Steve’s heart beating beneath his skin.

It’s a nice feeling.

Eddie closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the back of the sofa. He can hear Steve breathing. It makes his throat tighten and his eyes sting, but it doesn’t hurt to listen to.

When he wakes up, it’s still dark outside. Steve’s hand is on his, holding his hand in place on his chest. Steve is still asleep, but he’s closer now, sitting up a little with his face tucked into Eddie’s neck, his nose nudging along the serrated scars. His breath is warm.

Eddie closes his eyes again, squeezing Steve without thinking, and Steve nuzzles into his neck with a soft sigh, rubbing his nose against him like a cat. Eddie smiles sleepily.

The sun is bright, shining red through his eyelids.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, letting his legs extend down the sofa with a soft groan as his muscles stretch, and it takes a few moments for the world to settle in, to seep into his skin. He can hear Wayne and Steve talking, which isn’t odd, really. They’ve gotten along since they met at the hospital, always bickering and teasing because they like opposing baseball teams. What’s odd is hearing them both this early in the morning.

Eddie blinks his eyes open, squinting in the bright sunlight, and he starts to sit up even though he doesn’t really want to. His knee clicks as he swings his legs off the sofa, looking around to see Steve and Wayne in the kitchen. Steve is at the stove, cooking something as Wayne leans against the wall next to him, talking.

Wayne is smiling a little. It’s an absent smile, barely there, but it’s beautiful. Eddie doesn’t remember the last time he made Wayne smile.

Eddie sits there for a little bit, watching him. He can’t really hear them; they’re talking quietly, almost whispering to let Eddie sleep. It takes a minute or two for Wayne to realize that Eddie is sitting up, looking at them.

“Speak o’ the devil,” he says lightly, and Steve looks over his shoulder at Eddie, eyes shining.

“You’re talkin’ ‘bout me?” Eddie says roughly, rubbing his eye as he uses the armrest of the sofa to push himself up. He holds back a wince because he knows Wayne is watching him.

“Just that you snore like a chainsaw,” Steve says lightly, looking back at the stove as Eddie hobbles over to them.

“I do not,” Eddie argues childishly, and Steve glances at him. His eyes flicker over his body, and Eddie is suddenly oddly conscious of his limp, of his unsteady weight and stiff limbs. But Steve just smiles and looks away.

“Yes, you do,” Wayne says, making space for Eddie to join them, so Eddie can lean against the counter. “You sound more like an old man than I do.”

“Whatever.”

Eddie looks at Steve’s hands. His palms are scarred, but Eddie can’t see them from here, while Steve is mixing some eggs on a pan. The scars are from the bat’s tail, the one Steve grabbed so he could slam the bat into the ground. It flashes in Eddie’s mind, the dark of the Upside Down, the way the bats’ skin shined, the flickering red lights in the sky. The sound Steve made as he swung the bat in the air, the sound it made as it hit the ground. The sick squelching as Steve ripped it half, the spray of the black blood.

Eddie blinks, his vision clearing as Steve scoops the eggs into a bowl, and he remembers it’s a Wednesday morning. Steve is making eggs.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Wayne says. He touches Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing gently, and it takes a moment for the touch to register. He’s turning to look at him just as he lets go and disappears down the hallway.

Steve cracks another egg. Eddie flinches at the sound, the crunch of the shell against the counter, and he almost expects the egg to come out red.

“You okay?” Steve says lightly, looking down. He whisks the egg in another bowl with a fork, the metal clicking against the glass of the bowl.

”Uh,” Eddie says slowly, pausing, watching the egg become a soft shade of orange. “Yeah, no, I…”

He exhales.

“Sorry, I just… I always feel weird in the morning.”

Steve hums. He pours some milk into the bowl, whisks it into the egg, and Eddie watches the orange soften even more.

“Sorry about last night,” Steve says as he’s pouring it into the pan, his voice cutting through the warm hissing of the egg on the heat of the stove. Eddie blinks.

“For what?”

“Just… I came over and dumped all that on you.”

“All what? Your loneliness?”

Steve scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything, and Eddie’s never seen him look like this. Almost shy. Bashful. Avoiding Eddie’s eyes as he mixes the eggs on the pan, biting his lip. Eddie stands there, watching until he’s scooping the eggs into another bowl before he’s reaching out and tugging at Steve’s sleeve. He doesn’t even notice himself doing it until Steve is looking at him again, setting the pan down on the stove.

Steve turns toward him, leaning against the counter, and he glances down at Eddie’s hand when he lets go of his sleeve.

“I don’t mind,” Eddie says quietly. “If you… If you just don’t wanna feel as lonely.”

Their eyes meet again.

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile, and his expression softens, his cheeks pink. Eddie’s stomach flutters.

“You don’t mind,” Steve says softly. “If I come over at night and act like a fuckin’ baby.”

Eddie scoffs, and he finally reaches out and grabs at his sleeve again, tugging him closer with it. Steve lets him, half-smiling, stumbling forward.

“I don’t mind,” Eddie says again. He looks down, watches as Steve’s hand shifts and his fingers spread so Eddie’s can lace with them as he lets go of the fabric of his sleeve. Steve’s hand is warm.

“I, uhm…” Steve pauses, curling his fingers around Eddie’s. “I’m taking Max to her physical therapy appointment today after the kids get out of school.”

Eddie looks up at him. He’s looking at their hands, and he kind of looks like he’s asleep again, his expression soft and relaxed. His lips part for a moment before he speaks, hesitating.

“Can I come over after I drop her off at home?”

Eddie smiles. His scar stretches.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Please.”

Steve suppresses a smile. His cheeks are pink again, and Eddie thinks pink might be his favorite color now. Which is insane.

“I can bring a movie or something,” he says lightly, like he’s hopeful, and Eddie wants to cry suddenly.

“Sure,” he says. “Bring something good.”

“As if I’d bring anything bad.”

“I don’t know, man, I’ve seen what you put on at the video store—”

Steve scrunches his nose adorably and lets go of Eddie’s hand to hit his shoulder playfully. Eddie giggles and smacks his hand away.

And they talk about movies.

It feels stupid in the grand scheme of things. They fought monsters, survived the fucking apocalypse. They’re marked by it, for life. And now they’re standing in Eddie’s kitchen, teasing each other about their favorite movies, eating eggs. (Steve likes Back To The Future, which takes Eddie aback for a moment, but then Steve casually says he also likes Fast Times, which checks out, Eddie thinks.) Eddie leans against the counter after a little bit, giggling quietly, taking his weight off his knee, and then sets his bowl aside and reaches to hold the edge of the counter, trying to pull himself up to sit atop it. But he can’t.

He used to be able to. He annoyed Wayne with how much he did it, just pulled himself up onto the counter and kicked at Wayne playfully while Wayne tried to work. He’d do it at his friends’ houses, sit on counters or washing machines or anything else that wasn’t a chair, wasn’t made for sitting on.

Steve is saying something when he notices the way Eddie struggles, and his speech doesn’t pause as he sets aside his own bowl and steps up close, reaching to Eddie’s thighs and pulling up. Eddie’s heart beats faster in his chest as Steve lifts him onto the counter easily, effortlessly, standing for a brief moment between his legs before he steps away, still talking. Eddie’s knee already feels better without the pressure of his weight on it, but something else aches when Steve steps away and leans against the counter opposite him. Eddie’s stomach flutters again.

He helps Eddie down when they finish eating, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding his arm, and even as Eddie winces, bracing himself, his face flushes with warmth, and he feels like he’s fourteen again, partnered up on a class project with a pretty boy. Nervous.

They go out back while Wayne goes to sleep in the living room. They sit on the old sofa Eddie and Wayne put out here two years ago; it’s stained and the springs are pushing through the worn down plush of the cushions, but somehow it’s still fucking cozy when Eddie sits in the corner, knees drawn to his chest, looking at Steve as he talks, as they light cigarettes with Eddie’s lighter that’s probably not even going to work tomorrow judging by how many times they have to flick it to get it to light.

They face the trees. Eddie sees Steve’s eyes scan the treeline a few times, smile absent on his face as he listens to Eddie speak, like he’s searching for something, like he’s on lookout. He doesn’t seem to find whatever he’s looking for, and he looks back at Eddie every time, his expression softening in a way that makes Eddie’s bones ache.

Steve leaves around two thirty to get Max, and Eddie sits outside again. He hasn’t gone outside in a long time, he thinks, at least a week or so. He doesn’t even like leaving his room, much less the trailer. Doesn’t like feeling people’s eyes on him, doesn’t like to be seen. He doesn’t like knowing what people think.

But he supposes sitting here is better than nothing.

It’s quiet here, out of the way. He can hear birds singing. It’s a nice sound. He hadn’t realized he’d missed it. The leaves are starting to change colors, becoming warmer as the air becomes cooler.

And an odd sense of peace envelopes him, a sort of peace he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. He lights another cigarette, sighs the smoke out of his lungs as he watches the leaves shiver in the soft breeze, wraps his arms around his legs and rocks back and forth.

The sun is shining golden across everything, a shadow cast across the ground that hides him in the dark as he watches the trees shimmer. It occurs to him that it’s beautiful. He’s lived here since he was a kid, since he could piece sentences together, since he could understand what his father meant when he called Eddie a piece of work. And he’s never looked at the trees like this, appreciating them, admiring them. They’re so bright. Alive. And it’s like Eddie can feel them breathing, can feel their roots in the ground under him, twisting into the earth and carving their paths. There are animals in there, Eddie knows. He’s seen deer, rabbits, squirrels, birds. He can’t see them now, can’t hear the branches snapped beneath hooves or grass brushing against fur and hair, can’t hear leaves rustle against the flutter of wings. But he knows they’re there, living and breathing. Dying and returning to the earth. Giving life to moss and grass and bugs, blossoming with life even in death. Oblivious to Eddie sitting here, smoking a cigarette, stubbing it out on the armrest of the sofa.

Steve comes back after a while. Sits on the sofa next to Eddie and looks out at the woods with him, and Eddie wonders what he’s thinking about. If he thinks the same things Eddie does.

Steve is quiet as he moves a little closer, until their shoulders are pressing, and Eddie shifts a little, ignoring the stretch of his scars and the twinge of pain in his hip as he leans toward Steve and rests his head on his shoulder. He swallows, his breathing catching in his throat as Steve rests his head on Eddie’s, his stomach fluttering. He hopes Steve can’t hear his heart pounding.

“I brought Fast Times,” Steve says after a little while, his voice soft like he’s being conscious of how close he is to Eddie’s ear.

“No you fucking didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t, I brought The Dark Crystal.”

“Thank god.”

He can hear Steve’s laugh in his fucking skull, and he wants to keep it there.

They watch the movie after Wayne goes to work, after the three of them eat dinner in the living room. Eddie expects it to be weird, eating dinner with Steve there, but it isn’t. He and Wayne get along perfectly like they always do, and Steve insists on doing the dishes before Wayne can even stand after finishing his food. And Eddie wonders for a moment if Wayne is gonna offer to adopt him. But Wayne just gives Eddie this look that he can’t quite decipher.

Eddie makes popcorn while Steve does the dishes. Leans against the counter as he listens to the microwave hum, watching the way Steve’s back twists as he leans to set aside the dripping wet dishes. A kernel pops, and it startles Eddie out of it. He tears his eyes away from Steve, turning to face the microwave, watches the popcorn bag turn in circles.

Steve is humming quietly. Eddie can barely hear it at first, but his voice comes through the microwave and the clinking of the utensils as he drops them onto the towel on the counter. He can’t quite place the song. He probably doesn’t even know it. But he doesn’t think he cares. He closes his eyes, a hand resting on the counter to hold himself up as he listens to Steve hum softly, ignoring the pain in his leg, the sound of the microwave and the popcorn and the water running in the sink. Steve has a nice voice.

They sit too close to each other on the sofa after Steve sets the movie up. Their legs press together, the popcorn bowl balanced on Steve’s knee. Eddie keeps glancing at him, looking at how the movie reflects in his eyes, at the soft, sleepy smile on his face.

Steve falls asleep first again. Head on Eddie’s shoulder, breathing slow and steady, arms wrapped around himself, legs tucked up against Eddie. Eddie pays more attention to him than to the rest of the movie, even though he isn’t doing anything. He listens to him breathe. When the movie ends and the screen falls to static, Eddie can hear Steve’s heartbeat when he listens closely.

It lulls him to sleep. He holds Steve’s arm, fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie loosely, his face pressed to the top of Steve’s head, nose buried in his hair.

And that’s how it goes.

Steve comes over at night. He brings movies. Eddie makes popcorn. Sometimes they talk over the movie, bickering or teasing, imitating the characters in silly voices. Their legs tangle, resting over each other’s laps, and their fingers brush in the popcorn bowl, and they rest their heads on each other’s shoulders. and even when Eddie’s stomach flutters so much he feels sick and his breath gets caught in his chest, it all feels fine.

Eddie can’t sleep sometimes. He’s kept up by sounds in his head, claws scratching at the inside of his skull like nails on a blackboard, quiet chittering and snarling that sounds like it’s coming from every corner of the room. He knows it’s not. He listens to Steve breathe when he can’t sleep now. Feels the way his chest rises and falls against Eddie’s side or against his hand when he places his hand over his heart.

Steve holds the fabric of Eddie’s sweaters in his hands when he sleeps, grips them in loose fists and tugs him closer in his sleep. He’s really cute. His cheek squishes against Eddie’s shoulder or chest, and his lips twitch like he’s dreaming, like he wants to smile.

Some mornings Eddie wakes up to their fingers tangled. Like they’ve taken each other’s hands in their sleep, like it’s normal for them, even unconscious. Like it’s how they’re supposed to be.

And he knows it isn’t normal, whatever this is.

But he can’t really bring himself to care; nothing in his life has ever been normal, especially not in the past year. What’s the harm in this?

Besides the obvious, he supposes. The way his heart aches almost twenty four-seven now, just knowing that Steve is going to come over, that he’s going to let Eddie lean against him and wrap his arms around him.

The seasons change. The leaves turn red and fall, leaving behind bare branches, and they coat the ground like they’re trying to keep it warm. The trailer gets colder, and Eddie’s sweaters get heavier until Wayne finally repairs the heater. Steve still comes over even though Eddie knows that his house is probably, definitely, warmer. Even though at his house he’s got his own bed with his own blankets.

Eddie doesn’t complain, obviously. It’s nice with Steve here. Warmer. Safer, somehow. He doesn't mind the dark as much when he can hear Steve breathing.

He likes the sight of Steve’s coat and scarf hung up by the door like they belong there. Steve keeps forgetting his scarf, but Eddie kind of suspects it’s not an accident. Like Steve wants to leave something behind, something to come back for.

Eddie wears the scarf when he smokes outside, looking at the naked trees and watching the snow fall. Steve’s scarf is soft, fuzzy and warm, wrapped around his neck, his chin tucked into it. It smells like Steve, like citrusy cologne. Eddie plays with the soft fringe at the ends, twisting it around his cold fingers. The smoke drifts from his lips into the air, blowing away in the cold breeze.

When Steve joins him, he’s smiling by the time he’s sitting on the sofa, and Eddie’s cheeks flush with warmth as he hides his face under the scarf.

“What?”

Steve shrugs, and he lifts his arm to set it around Eddie’s shoulders, sliding his hand to his elbow and pushing enough that Eddie lifts his hand, raising the cigarette to Steve’s lips. He watches him take a drag, heart pounding, and he can feel the heat of his skin from how close his fingers are to his mouth. It feels good.

“Your cheeks get all pink when you’re cold,” Steve says as he exhales the smoke into the air in front of them. Eddie watches it fade into the air, longing for it before he processes Steve’s words, and his cheeks turn more pink.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says lightly, looking at Eddie, his arm still around his shoulders. Their faces are close. Eddie ignores it, lifting the cigarette to his lips. “It’s cute.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, face burning. Steve just laughs. His hand touches the scarf around Eddie’s neck, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Eddie glances at his hand, his eyes catching when he sees a flash of red, and he reaches with his free hand, touching Steve’s fingers and pulling as he turns to look. His nails are painted red. ”When’d this happen?”

“Girls’ night,” Steve says lightly. “The other day. Max picked the color, Erica and El painted them for me.”

Eddie suppresses a smile.

“You’re invited to girls’ night?”

“Mm. ‘Honorary girl’ is what Max calls me.”

Eddie laughs softly, brushing his thumb over the shiny paint. It’s smooth.

“It looks good.”

“Shut up.”

They have dinner with Wayne, who doesn’t say anything about the nail polish. Eddie accepts his hair ruffle before he leaves, scrunching his nose and recoiling as Wayne’s rough hand grabs his head. Steve is smiling.

Steve goes to Eddie’s room while Eddie takes a shower. It’s a quick shower, like always, but Eddie wishes he could stay there for longer, under the warm water, eyes closed. The water feels good on his scars, soothing in a way that nothing else is.

It’s freezing when he steps out of the shower, and he grits his teeth, his muscles tightening as he reaches for his towel, drying himself quickly. He scrubs his hair dry with the towel, shivering, and he pulls on his boxers and sweatpants, grabbing his sweater as he keeps scrunching his hair in the towel, and he leaves, headed for the welcoming warmth of his bedroom.

He doesn’t realize he’s still half-naked until he steps inside and Steve looks up at him. He freezes, a shiver hovering over his spine, and Steve lowers the comic book he’s holding, looking at Eddie’s body.

Just looking.

Eddie lets the door close behind him, and he lowers the towel, the cold ends of his hair brushing over his back a little bit. He looks down, his face hot, and he can feel Steve’s gaze on him, scraping over his chest and his arms and his stomach. His scars.

Steve gets up quietly, setting aside the comic book, and Eddie wants to hide.

But he can’t, not as Steve approaches him slowly, eyes looking over his marred skin, his eyes shining. He doesn’t look like he’s judging him, like he’s sickened or disgusted. He’s just looking.

“Do they hurt?” he asks softly after a few moments, his voice breathy, almost whispering.

“The water helps,” Eddie says, avoiding his eyes.

“You should come over to mine sometime,” Steve says lightly, and Eddie meets his eyes. “We have bathtubs.”

Eddie cracks a weak smile. A bathtub sounds nice.

Steve goes quiet again, looking at Eddie’s arms. There’s a rough, mangled scar on his upper arm, various shades of red and brown and pink, and Eddie hates it. He hates all of them. But Steve doesn’t seem to mind them. His expression stays light.

Until it shifts a little bit, his head tilting a little, his eyebrows furrowing as he blinks, his eyes focused on a spot above the scar, and Eddie’s stomach falls. His eyes burn as Steve’s hand lifts, touching the spot tentatively, his thumb stroking over the scars there, tracing the thin, straight lines.

“What are these from?”

Eddie looks at him, but he’s serious. Confused. Curious. He really doesn’t know. And Eddie feels fucking sick.

“Me,” he says softly. Steve blinks and looks at him again, his eyes shining. His hand is warm on Eddie’s arm.

“Why?”

Eddie’s eyes flutter, and he looks at where Steve’s hand is touching him, looking at the deep, rich shade of red against the paleness of his scars. Steve’s skin is golden and warm, especially compared to Eddie’s. He shrugs a little bit.

“Just… to feel something.”

Steve looks at the scars again, brushes his thumb over them softly like he’s trying to make them fade.

“Why this, then?” he whispers quietly. “Why not something that… feels good?”

Eddie doesn’t look at him.

“I don’t deserve to feel good.”

Steve is quiet, and then his hand lifts, touching Eddie’s chin and pulling gently to make him look up. Steve is a little shorter than him, and he’s looking into Eddie’s eyes intently, his eyebrows furrowed like he’s angry.

“Yes you do,” he says quietly.

Eddie looks at him. The scars around his neck are deeper than Eddie’s. But they healed nicer. Smoother.

Steve’s hand moves to his cheek, touching his scar, and it’s soft, and sweet, and almost tender, and Eddie feels like he might collapse. And then Steve is leaning in, their noses nudging against each other, and he kisses Eddie.

Eddie’s eyes close, and the towel and sweater in his hands fall to the ground, and Steve’s mouth is warm on his.

Steve pulls away too soon, and Eddie’s eyes flutter open to see him. His eyes are wide, and his cheeks are rosy, his lips parted as he stammers something out before he speaks clearly.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I— I wasn’t thinking, I— God—”

And then he’s stepping back, his hand falling, and the world is ending all over again. The sky is falling, the ground is opening up, and each of Eddie’s scars is burning.

His hand reaches out and grabs the front of Steve’s shirt, and he tugs him back in roughly, their mouths crashing together. Steve gasps and his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist.

Eddie hasn’t been touched there in a long time. Not since his stitches were removed. The pressure of Steve’s arms over his scars makes his breath catch, and it’s nice even though he can’t feel it as well on one side. He knows it’s there.

A weak sound escapes Steve’s throat, and Eddie swallows it, tilting his head to kiss him harder. Steve’s hands grapple at Eddie’s back, fingernails digging into his skin in a way that stings and lights Eddie up inside. He exhales sharply, pressing his other hand into Steve’s hair and tugging as gently as he can, pulling and pushing him. Steve goes with it, pliant like he’s melting into Eddie.

And then Eddie is frantic, eyes burning, kissing Steve like he’s dying again, like this is the last thing he’ll ever get to do, and Steve kisses him back just as desperately, arms moving to wrap around his neck, eyelashes brushing against his skin, tongue pushing past his lips. Eddie’s fingers find the hem of Steve’s shirt and tug at it, and they separate for a moment as Steve reaches down to tug it up over his head. And Steve’s chest is bare, soft and squishy and fuzzy with hair that Eddie wants to bury his face in.

Steve kisses him again, tossing his shirt aside carelessly, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, and Eddie groans weakly when their skin presses. He pushes Steve back, and they stumble together until Steve’s back hits the wall with a quiet thud.

“You— You gotta tell me if you want me to stop,” Eddie says breathlessly, hands holding Steve’s waist tightly. He’s soft.

“I don’t,” Steve chokes.

Eddie pushes Steve against the wall harder, and he reaches for his wrists, pinning his hands above his head. Steve whines again as Eddie’s teeth catch his lip and tug.

Eddie tears himself away and presses his face into Steve’s neck, kissing and licking and biting. Steve’s skin is salty, and Eddie is starving. His whole body aches.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes.

“No.”

Eddie groans again, grabbing Steve’s wrists in one hand, holding him in place as he ducks his head and presses messy kisses across his chest. Steve swears under his breath, and the sound of it creeps under Eddie’s skin. He kisses Steve’s throat, and when he hums, Eddie can feel it on his lips.

He tightens his grip on Steve’s wrists and kisses down his neck, over his shoulder and under his arm. Steve whines, his voice weak, and Eddie swears softly, taking a deep breath and inhaling the smell of Steve’s skin. It makes him ache. Their legs entwine, and Eddie presses his knee between Steve’s; he’s hard, and he makes a soft noise at the contact. Eddie’s other hand touches his waist.

His scars are softer than Eddie’s. And they’re sensitive, apparently, because Steve lets out a high-pitched whine, and he squirms against the wall, shifting his hands just enough to hold Eddie’s hands tightly, his fingertips pressing into his skin.

“Tell me to stop.”

“No.”

Eddie drags his fingertips over Steve’s scars, pinning his wrists against the wall harder when his back arches and he grinds against Eddie’s knee. They’re both breathing hard, and Eddie is already sweating a little bit, sliding his tongue up the underside of Steve’s arm.

“Let me touch you,” Steve gasps, straining against Eddie’s hand. “Please, Ed, I wanna— I wanna touch you.”

Eddie exhales sharply and lets go of his wrists and reaches for his waist. Steve’s hands are warm as they run across Eddie’s shoulders, his arms, his chest and stomach and waist. Eddie feels like he’s about to fucking detonate, like every cell in his body is vibrating, like he’s blurring. He buries his face in Steve’s neck, biting down on his skin and listening to the way he hisses, his fingernails digging into Eddie’s back.

Steve’s tongue tastes like the candy he and Robin like. Like artificial cherries and strawberries, fruity and sweet and fucking delicious. Eddie groans softly, grabbing Steve’s neck and holding him in place, his palm pressed to Steve’s throat, and Steve whines again, leaning forward, pressing into the touch. He opens his mouth, lets his tongue fall so Eddie can suck on it, and it’s ridiculous and depraved and kind of gross, but Steve moans softly, his hands holding Eddie’s waist. He has calluses on his palms, and they scratch Eddie’s scars a little bit, but it feels good.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes when he finally pulls away, staying close enough to brush their lips. Their mouths and chins are both slick with their spit. Steve keens when Eddie slides his hands over his chest and across his back, when he reaches to his ass and squeezes. “Tell me to stop.”

Steve shakes his head, his back arching again.

”Fuck me,” he says breathlessly, and his eyes meet Eddie’s, shining brightly. “Please.”

Eddie falters, squeezing his ass again.

“Are you sure?” he whispers. Steve nods desperately, reaching up to Eddie’s face and pulling him into a brief kiss. “I don’t— I don’t have condoms.”

“I’m clean,” Steve says, his eyes fluttering like he’s trying not to cry. “I got tested a few weeks ago, I haven’t…” He trails off, swallowing, and he looks shy all of a sudden, like he’s scared.

“Me too,” Eddie says softly. “I— I’m clean, I got tested ages ago, I… Yeah.”

Steve nods, his eyes flickering across Eddie’s face, leaning in so their lips brush.

“Fuck me,” he whispers. “Please, Eddie.”

Eddie nods, kissing him and gripping his ass firmly.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Take your pants off.”

Steve stumbles to the bed as he pulls his jeans and underwear off, and Eddie has to tear his eyes away so he doesn’t get distracted as he gets the lube from his bedside table.

“How do you want me?” Steve asks, hesitating.

“Wanna kiss you. On your back.”

“Okay.”

He goes easily, and Eddie pushes his sweatpants and boxer down, stepping out of them and kneeling on the bed in front of him, touching his knee. He exhales slowly, skimming Steve’s body.

He’s so beautiful.

Scarred and golden and perfect.

Eddie leans down and presses his face into his chest, taking a deep breath, sliding his hands over his thighs and feeling the soft hair on his skin. He can feel Steve exhale. Steve’s hand touches the top of Eddie’s head, running through his hair, catching in the tangles and knots from the rough manner in which Eddie dried it with the now discarded towel.

“You’ve bottomed before?” Eddie asks, lifting his head. Steve nods.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Eddie nods, squeezing his thighs and pressing a chaste, absentminded kiss to Steve’s chest. Steve spreads his legs so Eddie can find his way between them, rubbing his thigh soothingly as he reaches for the lube with his other hand. Steve reaches to grab a pillow, shoving it under his head so he can see Eddie as he spreads lube over his fingers.

He watches. His hair is floppy and falling in his face. (It’s longer than it used to be. And wavier. It’s pretty.) His cheeks are flushed with color, and his lips are kissed red.

“You’re beautiful,” Eddie breathes as he reaches down and rubs his finger over Steve’s hole. Steve’s cheeks darken.

“Please.”

Steve’s eyes close when Eddie presses his finger inside him, and he exhales, his head falling back.

“Fuck.”

Eddie smiles a little, watching his chest rise and fall, and he leans forward, kissing Steve’s belly. Steve hums, touching his head again.

“‘S good?” Eddie checks, glancing up at him as he moves his finger. Steve bites his lip with a stifled groan, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “Fuck, ‘s good, thank you.”

Eddie scoffs.

“More,” Steve says after a few moments. “Gimme another.”

“What’s the magic word?” Eddie teases, nipping at the softness of his belly.

“Please,” Steve whines, squirming, pressing against Eddie’s finger. Eddie grins. “Please, Eddie, I want more—”

Eddie slips another finger in, and Steve gasps, his back arching.

“God.”

“‘S not my name,” Eddie says lightly, and Steve lets out a giggle, reaching down and grabbing Eddie’s other hand where it’s resting on his hip. Their fingers tangle and Steve squeezes. Eddie swallows, his stomach fluttering as he looks down at his own fingers pressing in and out of Steve, stretching him open gently.

“Are you…” He hesitates. “Are you sure you want it raw? I can pull out—”

“No, please,” Steve chokes, tugging at his hand. “Please, I want it. Want you to come inside me.”

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes. He lets go of Steve’s hand to reach for the lube again, dousing his fingers before slipping in a third, and Steve groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t think you were queer.”

Steve laughs again, lifting a hand and motioning with his fingers for Eddie to hold his hand again. Eddie does, stretching Steve open gently.

“Very,” Steve says softly, letting his head fall back again. “Realized when I— when I was, like, fifteen.”

“You’ve never gone with a guy?” Eddie asks curiously, gazing at him. Steve shrugs half-heartedly.

“Not… Not seriously. Hook-ups and stuff.”

Eddie pauses, brushing his thumb over the side of Steve’s hand.

“Would you want to go with a guy?”

Steve smiles almost deliriously, tugging Eddie’s hand until it’s resting on his chest.

“Are you asking me out while your fingers are in my ass?”

“…Maybe?”

Steve grins at the ceiling, squeezing his hand.

“Can you kiss me, please?”

Eddie leans over, letting go of his hand to catch himself as he hovers over Steve’s body. Steve’s legs wrap around his hips, holding him close, and he wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, pushing a hand into his hair as their lips touch. Steve groans as Eddie pushes his fingers into him deeper, opening his mouth for Eddie to lick inside.

They’re both panting when they part, their noses brushing.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since March,” Steve whispers, fingers brushing over the scars around Eddie’s neck.

And then Eddie is crying.

He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his lip as his eyes burn. Steve’s hands touch his face, pulling so their foreheads are pressed together, and Eddie has fucking butterflies. It’s ridiculous.

“Always wanna see you,” Steve whispers. “Always wanna hold your hand and sit on your lap and shit.”

Eddie laughs weakly, spreading his fingers open and making Steve moan softly.

“I’m in love with you,” Eddie breathes. “Have been for ages, you… You’re one of my favorite people.”

Steve whines quietly, and his lip trembles. Eddie’s vision is blurred from tears, and when he blinks, one falls to Steve’s cheek. Eddie pulls his fingers away and pushes them back in, shifting, spreading his legs so his weight isn’t on his knees.

“Love seeing you,” Eddie says softly, thrusting his fingers slowly. “Love waking up to you in my bed. Love seeing you hanging out with Wayne. Love seeing you in my sweaters.”

Steve sniffles, his eyes fluttering shut.

Eddie kisses him.

“I’ve had a crush on you since high school.”

Steve scoffs tearfully, looking up at him.

“Thought you hated me.”

“Yeah, a little,” Eddie admits. “But you were hot.”

Steve hums, biting his lip as he smiles, and that’s hot too, and Eddie is losing his mind.

“Can you fuck me, please?” Steve says after another moment, and Eddie remembers what he’s doing, where his fingers are. That Steve’s bare body is beneath him, begging for him.

“You’re so polite,” Eddie says quietly.

“I…” Steve trails off, his cheeks flushing, and he looks away like he’s shy. Eddie smiles, leaning down to kiss his neck as he pulls his fingers away.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, reaching for the lube. Steve nods. ”You ready?”

“God, yeah.”

Eddie smiles. Steve looks down as he spreads the lube over his dick, biting his lip with a soft moan, and Eddie holds his thigh, pushing it up.

Steve’s head falls back again as Eddie rubs the tip of his dick against his hole, and he nods at the ceiling, reaching to set his hand on Eddie’s. Eddie pushes in slowly, exhaling.

“You feel so good,” he says softly. “So warm.”

Steve lets out a weak moan, writhing.

“So deep,” he groans. “Fuck, Eddie, ‘s so big.”

Eddie leans over him, moving slowly, squeezing his thigh. It gives under his fingertips, soft and squishy, and a small part of Eddie wants to tear him open, to press into his flesh, into his muscle and blood.

“You’re amazing,” Eddie murmurs. Steve’s cheeks flush with color again. Eddie grins. “So fucking good, aren’t you?”

Steve nods desperately.

“Yeah,” he chokes. “‘M good for you.”

Eddie groans, grinding into him, spreading a hand out over his stomach. Steve reaches down to hold it with his other hand, holding his wrist tightly, clinging to both his hands like he can’t stand to not touch him. Eddie watches him, fucking him gently, slowly.

Steve looks like he’s fucking blissful, his expression relaxed, mouth hanging open. His skin is flushed all the way down his neck, and his lips are shining with spit, and he’s a goddamn vision. Eddie shifts them, pushing at Steve’s leg so it’s over his arm, and Steve’s eyes flutter open as he looks up at him, watching him lower to kiss him.

“God, Eddie,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, his hands sliding across the top of his back. Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s, biting his lip briefly, letting go of his thigh to hold his face. “You’re so beautiful.”

Eddie scoffs, brushing Steve’s hair back as he moves a little bit faster, but Steve grabs his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes, and he looks like he’s about to burst into tears, his eyes shining.

“I’m serious,” he says, his voice wavering. “You’re beautiful.”

Eddie’s throat tightens. So he just kisses him. Steve lets him, burying a hand in his hair and tugging gently, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, his breath catching as Eddie fucks him. The bed creaks when he goes harder, bumping the wall a little bit.

Steve is whining, and when Eddie lifts his head, he sees that he’s crying. There are tears falling down his temples into his hair, sparkling in the golden lamplight. He looks holy.

Eddie leans down, pressing his hand over Steve’s chest, tilting his head to kiss Steve’s cheek, his jaw, his neck.

When he sits up, he holds Steve’s hips tightly, looking down at where they meet. At the hues of their skin, at the different shades of their scars. Steve grabs one of his hands. The red of his nails looks even darker against Eddie’s skin.

Eddie leans back, pulling Steve against him as he fucks him, and Steve lets out a wail, clapping his other hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Eddie reaches to grab his hand, pulling it away from his mouth and guiding it to his hip so he can hold both together. He watches the way Steve moves with each thrust, the soft bounce of his belly and his chest and his thighs, and he can’t help but grab at him, sliding his hand over his body to grope and squeeze and touch him, because he can. Because Steve nods and moans and arches into the touches, squirming and writhing on the bed, his legs around Eddie’s hips.

Eddie thrusts harder, grunting quietly, listening to Steve’s gentle sob, and his knee clicks. He hisses quietly, wincing, but he doesn’t falter, doesn't want to stop just because of his stupid fucking knee—

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, and he’s looking up at him now, his eyelashes wet. His voice is slurred a little, like he’s been drinking. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, panting. “Fine.”

“‘S your knee?” Steve says, glancing at how Eddie is kneeling, at the spread of his legs. Eddie blinks, his chest aching.

“Yeah, it’s— it’s fine.”

“Lemme ride you,” Steve says, touching his shoulders, pushing gently, starting to sit up. “I— It won’t hurt your knee, it’ll keep, like, your weight off of it.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, at the earnest shine of his eyes.

“…Okay.”

He pulls out. Steve sits up, pulling him into a kiss, and it makes Eddie dizzy. He sighs into it, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist, hugging him, letting him push him to lay down, and he lets out a soft, relieved breath when his knee relaxes. Steve swings a leg up over his lap to straddle his hips. Eddie groans.

They part with a slick sound when Steve sits up, reaching for the lube bottle, and Eddie opens his eyes blearily, watching him. He stifles a groan by biting his lip as Steve spreads the lube over his dick, and Steve smiles as he moves back into place, reaching behind himself in a practiced motion, guiding Eddie’s dick to his hole.

“Eddie…”

“Jesus, Steve.”

Steve pauses, pressing his hands to Eddie’s chest as Eddie holds his hips tightly. He presses down firmly, biting his lip, and then he rises and lowers himself slowly, groaning.

Eddie smiles softly up at him, nodding, and he squeezes his love handles, groping him tenderly. Steve huffs out a soft laugh.

“God, Eddie, it’s…”

“Alright?”

Steve whines, nodding.

“So deep,” he groans. “Can feel you in my fucking throat.”

Eddie laughs softly, running his hands over Steve’s waist.

“You’re gonna give me an ego.”

Steve hums, his eyes closed like he’s blissful, smiling lazily as he rolls his hips.

“Deserve it.”

Eddie gazes up at him. His hair is a disaster, and his skin is flushed, and—

“You’re so beautiful,” Eddie breathes. His eyes burn. Steve’s eyes flutter open, and time slows down. Steve’s hair falls in his face. He exhales. Eddie’s fingers tighten on Steve’s skin. “I love you.”

Steve’s hands press over his skin, sliding over his scars, and he leans down, kissing Eddie hard. He holds Steve’s neck, falling still as their lips part and their tongues slide and Steve groans into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie wants to roll them over, to press Steve into the mattress, but he can’t move.

“Fuck, I love you too,” Steve gasps when they part, breathing hard. “I love you too, I love you too, I—”

Eddie buries his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling him into another kiss, gripping his hair tightly enough that he lets out a strained sound, a weak moan, grinding against Eddie slowly. Eddie moans softly, sliding a hand to grip his ass, squeezing and pressing so he does it again.

“Oh, God,” Steve groans, his hands sliding over Eddie’s chest. “So fucking good, Eddie—”

“Yeah,” Eddie gasps, his head falling back, pressing into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as Steve moves with intent, bouncing up and down. Steve’s hand lands on the headboard of the bed suddenly, and he whines, bracing himself. “Jesus, fuck, baby—”

Eddie holds his hips tightly, gazing up at him.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, and Steve looks down at him, his eyes glassy. “Come on, baby, come on my cock.”

Steve sobs, grabbing Eddie’s hand that’s on his hip, squeezing so tightly it hurts.

“Fuck, I’m—”

His eyes squeeze shut. He makes a strained noise, a weak groan, and Eddie gazes up at him. In awe. Reverent. His hair is wild, falling across his face, and his skin is flushed from his cheeks to his chest. He looks up at the ceiling with another moan, exposing his neck, the line of his throat, the beautiful spots on his skin.

And Eddie wants to bite him, to tear his skin open and bathe in his blood, let it stain his own skin and teeth. Which is demented, fucking insane, but Eddie’s hands tighten on his hips, fingertips digging into the softness of his flesh, and Steve lets out a rough groan, almost growling. He presses down, and his hand releases the headboard, landing on Eddie’s chest hard. It stings like a slap, immediately soothed by Steve’s palm, pressing firmly, trembling.

He chokes Eddie’s name as he comes, rolling his hips, tight around Eddie, and Eddie’s vision blurs as his back arches.

“Fuck—”

Eddie sits up, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist, holding himself up on his other hand as Steve hugs him tightly, breathing hard. His come is on Eddie’s chest, and it spreads over both their skin, warm and wet.

“Oh my god,” Steve says weakly, his voice breaking. He slides his hands to hold Eddie’s face, ducking his head so their noses are nudging. “Eddie.”

Eddie hums, panting, shifting his hips, pushing his come deeper into Steve even as he begins to soften. Steve moans softly, breathing against Eddie’s mouth.

“Feels so good,” he mumbles, his voice slurred like he’s drunk.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah. S’ warm.”

Eddie hums again, and he reaches up to touch Steve’s face, to guide him into a slow kiss, exhaling slowly as their tongues slide lazily. Steve lets out a breathy hum, shifting his hips slowly, but Eddie hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Gotta pull out,” he says quietly. Steve whines but lets him, shifting onto his knees and lifting himself up enough for Eddie to pull out.

“Shit,” Steve breathes, his eyes fluttering shut as his head falls back again. “God, it’s…”

Eddie looks up at him reverently, and he slides his hand around his ass, watching him carefully as he finds his hole tentatively. Steve nods, holding Eddie’s shoulders tightly, and Eddie slips two fingers inside, his stomach fluttering at the feeling of his own mess leaking from Steve’s body.

Steve moans quietly, relaxing and burying his face in Eddie’s neck, his breath hot on his skin even as his sweat cools. His arms wrap around him, holding him close as Eddie moves his fingers slowly, gently, and Steve nods into his neck, shifting his hips.

“Gonna make me come again,” Steve mumbles. Eddie smiles.

“You think you can come on just my fingers?”

Steve nods again, whining, pressing his forehead against the side of Eddie’s neck. His hair tickles Eddie’s face, but he doesn’t care.

“C’mon, baby,” Eddie murmurs after a while, when Steve starts to move against his hand, spreading his other hand over the small of his back, and he licks at Steve’s shoulder, humming at the taste of his sweat. “Be good for me.”

Steve whines suddenly, nodding desperately into his neck, moving so he’s almost riding Eddie’s fingers, swirling his hips and tightening his legs around Eddie’s lap.

“Yeah,” he whimpers. “Wanna be— Wanna be good for you—”

Eddie hums, biting his lip, pressing against the small of Steve’s back to prompt him to keep moving.

“Fuck, come on, Stevie,” he breathes. “Come for me. Get me messy with it.”

“Fuck, oh my god—” Steve gasps, lifting his head to kiss Eddie clumsily before he pulls away, reaching to grab at his dick. “I’m gonna come.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs softly, watching Steve’s cheeks somehow flush darker, smiling fondly. “Come on me.”

Both their heads are ducked, their hair tangled, and Eddie listens to the way Steve’s breath catches in his throat when he comes again, directing his dick so it lands on Eddie’s stomach, on his chest. Eddie swears under his breath, rubbing Steve’s back gently, fucking him with his fingers a few more times. Steve is shaking, panting, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck again.

“God,” he says breathlessly. “You broke me.”

Eddie laughs softly, moving his fingers so gently he’s barely moving them at all. Steve moans weakly, catching his breath.

“Can still feel my come in here,” Eddie says softly. Steve groans.

“Jesus, Eddie.”

“Mm.”

Eddie stops, his fingers still inside him, and he rubs his back again, tracing his spine.

“We should probably clean up.”

Steve whines petulantly, burying his face in Eddie’s neck again, tightening his arms around him like he’s trying to hold him in place, and Eddie’s face squishes against his shoulder as he smiles.

“Come on, baby.”

“Don’t wanna,” Steve whines. “Not yet, just…”

He exhales, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie hugs his waist, letting his eyes close as he squeezes him. He can feel Steve’s heart beating under his skin, pressed so close to Eddie it’s like they’re sharing it, like they have one heart between the two of them.

Steve comes down after their shower, his vision clearer even though he’s tired, smiling lazily at Eddie between kisses. His smile widens when Eddie kisses over his scars. When Eddie lowers his face so he can rub his cheek against the softness of his chest, Steve giggles brightly.

They lay in bed. Eddie lays on his stomach, exhaling into his pillow. His hair is damp again, and Steve pulls it carefully so it’s not covering his face. It’s quiet, especially in the absence of the spray of water that echoed around the bathroom. Steve lays facing Eddie, setting an arm over his waist, so close his hand is touching the blanket they’re atop, his chest pressing to Eddie’s side. His skin is warm against Eddie’s.

Eddie closes his eyes, letting his arm hang off the edge of the bed, listening to the sound of Steve breathing. They’re quiet so long Eddie wonders if Steve is falling asleep. He knows he’s not yet. He can tell.

Steve takes a soft breath before speaking.

“…I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Eddie pauses, the words setting themselves down in his skull.

“What’d’you mean?” he mumbles, his face squished against the pillow.

“…Love,” Steve says softly, barely whispering, moving his hand to drag a light line over Eddie’s waist, tracing the edge of a scar. “Didn’t know it could feel…”

Eddie moves, turning his head to look at him. Steve lifts his hand to move his hair again, flicking it out of the way when a curl falls into his eyes before he touches his waist again. Eddie likes how it feels when he touches him there.

“Feel…” Eddie murmurs, gazing at him. His hair is still wet, just beginning to dry. Steve smiles a little bit, his eyes shining.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “‘S easy. I didn’t think it could feel so easy.”

Eddie just looks at him, gazing at his face, at his eyelashes and moles, and Steve moves closer to kiss him gently, bumping their noses together clumsily. He stays closer, bending his arm under his head, his other arm wrapped around Eddie’s waist, and Eddie opens his eyes to look at him. His eyes are still closed.

“I always thought it took effort,” Steve says finally, his eyes still closed, his voice soft and breathy. “To love. ‘Nd be loved. Always thought I’d have to try.”

Eddie exhales, and he pushes himself up so he can lay on his side. Steve opens his eyes at the movement, lifting his arm and hovering until Eddie settles. Eddie touches his face, brushes a strand of hair back and caresses his cheek, tracing a line between two of his moles.

“You don’t have to try,” he says quietly, smiling softly as he touches Steve’s bottom lip. “‘S so easy to love you.”

Steve smiles, his eyes sparkling, and his cheek squishes against his arm, and he’s so precious Eddie wants to squeeze him like an almost-empty tube of toothpaste. He grits his teeth, clenches his jaw, keeps his touch gentle on Steve. Steve gazes back at him. Turns his head to press a chaste kiss to Eddie’s hand.

Eddie’s chest tightens. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so full of something, doesn’t think he’s ever felt something so fucking intensely. Like he’s going to combust, like the world is ending.

“What is it?” Steve whispers, like he can see it on Eddie’s face. Eddie shrugs weakly, blinking tears back.

“…Love doesn’t feel like a big enough word for this,” he breathes. His throat is tight.

Steve looks at him. His eyes glisten suddenly, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

Eddie doesn’t wear a shirt as often as he used to. Before Steve.

He still gets cold. Still wears his sweaters and hoodies and buries himself under blankets and pillows.

But after his showers, when the steam is still lingering in the air, the heat still in his skin, he leaves himself bare. Wears boxers or sweatpants and lets his chest remain as it is, lets his scars be seen. It’s only Steve and Wayne that ever see him, but it’s still something.

He sees Steve’s eyes linger on his scars sometimes. He can never tell how he’s staring. If he’s gazing, fond, or staring, horny, or just… looking. He seems to do that a lot. Look at Eddie.

It’s a hot night. And Steve is looking at him again.

They’re on the sofa, watching a movie like they always are, but Eddie can see Steve in his peripheral vision, head resting on the back of the sofa, face turned toward Eddie. Steve isn’t wearing a shirt either, but even in the dim, bluish light of the television screen, he still looks more golden than Eddie.

Eddie rolls his head against the back of the sofa to look at him, half-smiling, but he doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. He’s looking at Eddie’s arm, near his shoulder, at the neat scars, paler than the rest of his skin; they kind of look like they’re glowing in this lighting.

Steve seems to feel him looking, and his eyes flick up to meet Eddie’s. He smiles shyly, adorably.

“What?” Eddie says quietly. Steve looks at his scars again and shrugs.

Eddie still can’t read his expression, the shine in his eyes, and he reaches for the television remote, shutting it off. Steve wasn’t watching anyway.

He turns toward Steve.

“Talk to me.”

Steve looks at him, his expression shifting into something shy, almost nervous, and Eddie doesn’t want him to feel like that, to feel like he can’t say whatever it is. Eddie moves closer, until his knee presses to Steve’s.

“Baby.”

Steve looks at him. Twists his mouth thoughtfully, hesitating, and then he’s reaching out to Eddie’s upper arm, touching him lightly, carefully.

“These scars,” he says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“…When did you first do it?” Steve asks softly, finally meeting his eyes again.

Eddie hesitates, looking at how his eyes are shining. He hasn’t even talked about this with Wayne. (Wayne knows, of course; he’s done first aid a few times, silent as he wrapped Eddie’s arm and pressed a kiss over the bandages before gathering Eddie into his arms and holding him until his tears stopped. It’s been enough, even without any words exchanged.)

“Few years ago,” he says softly. “On and off for a while, just… when things were bad. Then after… everything. A little more often.”

Steve nods, and he looks at the scars again, touching them, caressing them.

“When… When was the last time?” he asks, almost whispering.

Eddie pauses again.

“Few months ago,” he confesses. “…Before you started coming over more often.”

Steve is quiet for a moment, like he’s processing it, and then he looks at Eddie again, blinking. And Eddie half-shrugs, smiling shyly.

“I’d rather hang out with you than cut myself,” he says quietly, and his voice shakes a little bit, like he’s confessing his undying love for him, like he hasn’t already done that.

Steve suppresses a smile, biting his lip, but he looks at the scars again, and his smile fades. He looks like he’s thinking, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Eddie’s stomach twists, and he reaches out to nudge Steve’s leg.

“What is it?” he asks softly. Steve exhales.

He hesitates.

“…Will you do it to me?”

Eddie blinks. His ears might be ringing.

“What?”

Steve meets his eyes, and he looks scared—

“You don’t—”

“No,” Eddie interrupts, taking Steve’s hand from his arm and holding it tightly. “No, I— I’m not gonna do that to you.”

Steve nods, squeezing his hand.

“Okay,” he says softly, looking at Eddie reassuringly. “‘S okay.”

Eddie exhales shakily, swallowing the lump in his throat, holding Steve’s hand between both of his own, looking at him intently. Steve nods again and leans forward, nudging their noses together and then kissing him softly.

Eddie closes his eyes and exhales again when they part, pausing, pressing their foreheads together.

“Why?” he asks quietly, weakly, lifting his head to look at Steve, who kind of looks like he’s about to cry. “Stevie, please,” Eddie begs softly, rubbing his knuckles. “Why?”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Steve says, his eyebrows furrowing and then unfurrowing the way they do when he’s trying to stop himself from crying.

“Try,” Eddie pleads, leaning forward, ducking his hair a little bit to meet his eyes.

“I…”

He looks down, at their hands, and he moves, shifting to cross his legs as he faces Eddie, adjusting the fabric of his sweatpants with his free hand before he holds Eddie’s with both of his own. He takes a deep breath, shuddering as he exhales, and Eddie waits for him, gazing at him as he taps Eddie’s knuckles as he thinks.

“I… So.” He pauses again, mouth open, eyes glassy and unfocused as he looks at some spot on Eddie’s chest. “…A lot has been done to me,” he starts, his voice thin, wavering. Eddie nods, squeezing his hands. “Upside Down shit, and— and before all of that, and I…” He stops, swallowing, his lip quivering. “I never wanted any of it.”

Eddie nods again when he meets his eyes, brushing his thumbs back and forth over his knuckles gently, tenderly. Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, gathering himself.

“I…” He takes a shuddering breath, and Eddie’s chest aches as he looks at him, the almost-blank shine in his eyes. “After everything, and— and before we started hanging out,” he adds, interrupting himself, looking at Eddie intently, like it’s important. Eddie nods. “I used to… I started going into the city, just to— to get out of Hawkins, to get away from everything.”

“Right,” Eddie says quietly, listening.

“So… I was at a bar,” Steve says, fidgeting with Eddie’s fingers now, twisting them around his own. “Just to get a little drunk. And this… this guy started hitting on me.”

He glances at Eddie nervously, and Eddie ignores the way his stomach twists, rebels against the idea of another man looking at Steve. He nods encouragingly, keeping his expression soft.

“And I thought…” Steve shrugs a little bit, looking away again, at their hands. The nail polish is chipping on his nails. “‘Why not?’ ‘Nd I went with him to his hotel.”

Eddie’s stomach falls, and his eyes widen, his hands stilling on Steve’s, and Steve seems to realize the conclusion Eddie’s drawn, because he looks up quickly, squeezing his hands.

“He was nice,” he says reassuringly. “It was— It was okay, it’s not… that. He was a little rough, but we… Hang on.” He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut, lifting a hand to rub his cheek harshly. Eddie reaches to stop him, moving his hand down to caress his cheek gently, the way he deserves.

“Just talk,” he murmurs. “I’m listening.”

Steve nods, swallowing, his eyes gleaming, and he takes a moment to collect himself.

“He was nice,” he says again. “He… asked about my limits and stuff, made sure he didn’t do anything I’d hate.” Eddie nods, listening intently. “He was rough, but I liked it. He used a condom. Checked in to make sure he was using enough lube and everything, and… he was nice after, too, brought me water, made sure I was good. And I knew I’d never see him again, so…” He shrugs, blinking his eyes rapidly to stop his tears.

Eddie sets a hand on his leg, squeezing his thighs gently.

“And then, like, the next week, I… I wanted it again?” he says, but he sounds unsure, like he’s just thinking all of this for the first time. “Not just… the sex, but…” He exhales sharply, frustrated, but Eddie doesn’t say anything. “I went back. To a bar, a queer bar. I let some guy fuck me.”

“…Let him,” Eddie says softly. Steve blinks and looks at him, and then he shakes his head.

“Not like that,” he says, moving a little bit closer, squeezing his hand. “Not— It was consensual, I swear, I— I wanted the sex, I was horny, I just…” He looks up at the ceiling, his eyes searching it like he’s looking for a script. “They were rough. I wanted them to be rough, I wanted them to slap me around and leave marks and leave me sore the next day.”

Eddie nods when their eyes meet again, ignoring the twist in his stomach again.

“But it… God, I don’t know how to explain this,” Steve complains, laughing humorlessly, dropping his head and rubbing his cheek again.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says softly. “If you need a second to… articulate.”

Steve exhales and nods, pausing.

“…It’s not that there was something I was craving,” he says finally, his words slow and careful. “It’s not that… Like. I wanted them to bite me, or to— to fuck me really hard, or… you know, whatever. It was…”

He’s quiet for another moment, eyes unfocused as he thinks, and then—

“I can defend myself,” he says. Eddie blinks in confusion, but he’s quiet. “If they do something I don’t like, I can— I can stop them, even if they don’t want to. I’ve never had to,” he clarifies, looking at Eddie intently.

“But if I did have to, I could. And I… I couldn’t do that when I was a kid,” he continues, his voice cracking, his eyes gleaming. “And I could barely do it in the Upside Down, but I— I can do it now.”

Eddie nods, and he might kind of get it.

“So it’s not that I really wanted anything in particular, but I— I wanted to let things happen to me.”

“That makes sense,” Eddie says softly, and Steve immediately looks fucking relieved, his expression softening, his chest falling as he exhales.

“So I… I let them. I was safe,” Steve says, nodding almost to himself. “We always used condoms, I— I wouldn’t have followed them to some sketchy van or anything. When they would… bite me, or leave hickeys, I would let them. Told them not to do it on my neck, just ‘cause…”

Eddie nods, half-smiling. Everyone would give him hell.

“But I let them. Let them spank me and push me into the mattress and hold my hands behind my back, and…” He trails off, swallowing. “And I… felt like I was in control, even though I wasn’t.”

Eddie nods again, squeezing his hand again.

“I get it,” he says quietly, and he’s about to ask about the cutting, but he pauses. “…When we have sex…”

Steve scoffs, leaning in and kissing him chastely.

“I don’t let you do anything,” he says quietly. “I make love with you.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, and they’re both giggling, leaning close enough that their lips brush. Steve kisses him, lingering, touching his face, holding him in place, and Eddie does the same, holding Steve’s face between his hands.

They both exhale when they part, pressing their foreheads together.

“So,” Eddie says quietly, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks. “The cutting thing.”

Steve nods.

“Tell me,” Eddie murmurs.

Steve sighs, his hands falling to the sofa between them, his fingers twisting, and Eddie kisses him briefly before he reaches to hold his hands again.

“I have a lot of scars,” Steve says. “From the Upside Down, but… I have a lot from just…” He trails off, and Eddie looks at him, at the tension in his jaw, and absent shine in his eyes.

He squeezes Steve’s hands when he exhales sharply and inhales shakily, and Steve looks at him, but he looks panicked, like he’s just woken up from a nightmare. Eddie just nods, squeezing again.

”Breathe for me,” he says softly. Steve nods back at him, hesitant, taking a slow, deep breath.

“From…” he tries again, but he can’t, and Eddie’s eyes sting.

“I know,” he whispers. “‘S okay.”

“I didn’t want them,” Steve chokes, and when he blinks, tears cascade down his cheeks, somehow beautiful even in his agony. “I didn’t let them, I didn’t get— I didn’t get a choice,” he says adamantly, gesturing vaguely, and Eddie nods, blinking tears back. “I want a choice—”

“Stevie,” Eddie interrupts, reaching out his face, brushing his tears away, nodding. “Breathe for me. I’m right here.”

Steve looks at him. He doesn’t look panicked anymore, but his breaths are hiccuping and stuttering, too fast, too short. Eddie nods, inhaling slowly, demonstrating. Steve copies him, and his gaze drifts in a way that means he’s lightheaded.

“You got it,” Eddie murmurs, holding his head and guiding it so their foreheads touch. Steve slouches against him. “There you go, baby.”

“…I want a choice,” Steve says weakly after a moment. Eddie nods, squeezing his eyes shut as he cradles him.

“I know,” Eddie whispers. “But I won’t hurt you like that, baby, you don’t deserve that.”

“…You do?”

Eddie’s eyes open slowly. It takes a moment for him to lift his head, to look at Steve, but Steve looks like he’s expecting it, the stare that Eddie fixes on him. Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck to say.

That yes, he deserves it. And Steve doesn’t. Because he’s the best of them all, this perfect fucking human that’s never deserved any of the shit his life has handed to him. That Steve only deserves sunlight and nourishing rain and Eddie deserves destructive winds and hail.

And it’s like Steve can read his fucking mind, and it’s like Eddie can read his, and they’re arguing silently, looking back and forth between each other’s eyes. Eddie clenches his jaw. Steve shakes his head.

And then they’re wrapping their arms around each other, tugging each other close, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut again, his eyes burning as he hides his face in Steve’s neck. He tries not to, but he cries.

He knows Steve doesn’t agree that Eddie deserves it.

He knows Steve loves him. And that he loves Steve, and that he would never think Steve deserves anything like that, anything that would hurt, anything that would leave a mark like that.

And he knows that Steve feels the same way about him that he feels about Steve. Which is incredible to think about. Reciprocation.

That Eddie Munson is loved.

Steve’s hand runs down Eddie’s spine tenderly when he feels him crying, because Eddie’s tears find their way to Steve’s bare skin. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. Steve kisses his shoulder, and Eddie can feel the way his lips are chapped, the slight sharpness of the touch, and he’s never been kissed there before.

Steve’s taken a lot of his firsts. Eddie wants to give him all of them.

Eddie exhales shakily when he stops crying. They pull away and press their foreheads together, breathing slowly, holding each other’s faces.

“…What if I gave you a tattoo instead?”

Steve is quiet for a moment, and then he lifts his head, looking at Eddie with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Really?”

Eddie smiles tiredly, tilting his head fondly.

“Yeah,” he says lightly. “Your choice. Permanent, in a different way.”

Steve smiles hesitantly, like he’s waiting for a punchline, like he thinks Eddie is joking. Eddie brushes his thumb over his cheek softly.

“Would you do that for me?” he asks in a small voice. Eddie’s eyes sting.

“I’d do anything for you,” he says softly, before revising. “Almost anything.”

Steve giggles wetly, and Eddie wipes a tear from his cheek.

”What would you want?” Eddie asks gently, but Steve shakes his head.

“Want you to decide,” he says, reaching to hold Eddie, his thumbs brushing over the insides of his wrists where the skin is thin and sensitive. “I don’t— I don’t want anything, I wanna let you.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, kissing him softly. “Something small. Simple.”

Steve nods, his eyes shining almost excitedly.

“I’ll think of something,” Eddie says lightly, smiling absently. “Get some supplies.”

“Have you done it before?”

Eddie nods, gazing at him, admiring him. His eyelashes are clumped with tears.

“I did my friend Jeff’s for his birthday a while ago,” he says somewhat absently, his eyes skimming Steve’s face. “Gave him a flower on his arm.”

“That’s cute,” Steve says lightly. Eddie just nods.

“I love you so much,” he says abruptly, looking into his eyes. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve says softly.

“I adore you,” Eddie says adamantly, and Steve giggles again, hunching his shoulders, leaning in to let his forehead knock against Eddie’s lightly.

“I adore you too.”

He kisses him lightly. And then harder, holding his face, his lips firm on Eddie’s. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, reaching to slide his hands over Steve’s waist, appreciating the softness, pressing his fingers into his flesh and squeezing gently. Steve hums low in his throat, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, tangling his hands in his curls.

Eddie nips at his bottom lip, pressing a hand into the small of his back, tugging gently, shifting to hover above Steve. He pushes him back gently, licking into his mouth, and Steve lets out a soft moan, falling onto his back, legs around Eddie’s hips. But after a moment he stops, tugging Eddie away by his hair, smiling up at him.

“We are not defiling Wayne’s sofa.”

Eddie groans, letting his head fall to Steve’s chest, and he can feel Steve laughing, dragging his fingers through his hair.

“My room,” Eddie says when he lifts his head, grabbing Steve’s hips and tugging him into his arms, dragging him to the edge of the sofa and lifting him up. Steve laughs, clinging to him. “C’mon, sweet thing. Away we go, with respect for Wayne’s sofa.”

”And no respect for your bed.”

“Absolutely no respect.”

He tosses Steve onto the bed after kicking the door shut, climbing on top of him and kissing him as he laughs again, sighing. Steve’s hands are warm as they crawl over his back, his nails scratching lightly, and Eddie reaches for his waist as he holds himself up on his forearm, letting his fingers tangle in Steve’s hair. He squeezes, kneading, pulling, smiling when Steve exhales and melts under him.

Steve’s back arches. He lets out a breathy sound, his voice soft and quiet, and Eddie tilts his head, kissing across his cheek, his jaw, nudging his face under his chin so he can kiss his neck. Steve tilts his head back to give him space, tangling his fingers in Eddie’s curls and holding on tightly. Eddie finds his ear, kisses his earlobe softly before nibbling it, suppressing a smile when Steve shudders. He lingers there, sucking gently, licking, listening to Steve’s breath catch.

He’s writhing a little bit, squirming under Eddie’s body, wrapping his legs around his hips and holding him close. Eddie lifts his head and tilts the other way, leaning to the other side to do the same, licking over the shell of his ear, teasing him. Steve whines weakly, pulling his hair, pulling him closer.

“God, Eddie.”

“Mm.”

He finally pulls away, leaving one last kiss on the curve of his ear before he kisses his cheek and gazes down at him.

His cheeks are flushed pink and pretty, and his eyes are glassy when he opens them.

Eddie leans down and kisses him. Squeezes at his waist again before sliding his hand over his skin up to his chest, groping and squishing as Steve giggles under his breath. Eddie shifts down, kissing down his neck and over his chest slowly, each press of his lips intentional and careful. Steve holds his head, his grip on his hair softening.

Eddie keeps his eyes open as he kisses him. Glances up at him, watches his eyes flutter shut, watches his expression shift when Eddie lingers at his chest, tonguing at his nipple for a moment, watches him turn blissful. He looks at his skin, golden and scarred and spotted and perfect. Eddie kisses his scars, traces them with his lips, drags his tongue between his moles like he’s playing connect-the-dots. He pauses with his face pressed into Steve’s chest, listening to the beating of his heart, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath.

He stays for a moment, exhaling, and Steve hugs him, dragging his fingers through his hair gently. When Eddie opens his eyes, they focus on his torso, on the sligh dip just between his belly and his chest, between his pecs. Eddie looks. Leans to press a kiss to it, lingering for a moment, and he wants to mark it, to leave something here where his lips are resting, wants the permanence.

Which might be grossly possessive of him. That he wants to mark Steve’s body, like he wants his signature here, like Steve belongs to him.

But Steve wants it too.

He asked for it.

Eddie will do it here. Leave his mark.

He presses another kiss to the spot, exhaling slowly, before he moves again, dragging his lips over Steve’s belly, kissing and biting gently until he reaches the waistband of his sweatpants. He slips a finger under it, tugging lightly, looking up at Steve.

“Okay?” he whispers. Steve looks down at him, eyes shining brightly, and he nods, sitting up, letting go of Eddie’s hair so he can prop himself up on his elbows. Eddie glances at his belly, at the soft rolls that form when he sits up.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Please.”

Eddie smiles. He lowers his head and mouths at him over his sweatpants, grinning when Steve sighs. He kneels between his legs to pull the sweatpants away, to toss them aside and rub at his thighs. He’s so soft, in every fucking way, and Eddie’s never loved softness like this before.

Everything in his life has been sharp. Angled and rough and jagged, like a broken knife, like the rooftop of a crumbling building. And Eddie had grown accustomed to it, had grown almost fond of it. It was his, the cruel, brutal thunderstorm. Everything from the floods to the flashes of lightning, from the broken bottles and splintered door frames to the empty cabinets and cigarette smoke. It all belonged to him. It was handed to him, shoved into his palms and left to rot.

Steve softens his edges like shards of glass left to the tides of the sea. Smooths him down so nicely he can’t hurt anyone. Not even himself.

Eddie closes his eyes as he takes him into his mouth, listening to Steve swearing under his breath, mumbling something about the warmth of Eddie’s tongue. Eddie shifts, lays on his front and lets his legs stretch across the bed, relaxing. He bobs his head slowly, easing into it, sighing when Steve’s hand touches his head gently, his fingers pushing into his hair. Eddie touches his legs again, pulls so his thighs are over Eddie’s shoulders, holding him in place.

Eddie hums under the weight of his legs, wrapping his arms around his hips, squeezing at his sides, and he prompts Steve to move, to lift his hips and fuck into Eddie’s mouth. Steve does, holding Eddie’s head in place gently, looking down at him to check, to watch carefully. Eddie meets his eyes. Squeezes. Lowers his head, drags his tongue over the underside of Steve’s dick, and holds his breath.

Steve uses him. Grips his hair and drags his head up and down carefully, fucking into his mouth, into his throat, cursing and grunting as Eddie suppresses gags, choking. His eyes fill with tears, and he’s drooling, but he thinks he might be in heaven. He loves doing this. Letting Steve take it, letting him take what he needs. Making him feel good.

Steve gasps for breath when he pulls Eddie away, writhing under him.

“God, Eddie, I’m— I’m gonna come—”

Eddie groans, nodding, reaching to guide Steve’s dick back to his mouth, slapping it against his tongue, gazing up at Steve. Steve’s stomach tightens, and he groans, and he’s coming into Eddie’s mouth, somehow cradling his head gently even though he’s squeezing his eyes shut, and Eddie is falling in love with his softness all over again.

He closes his mouth, pushing himself up and letting Steve’s legs fall from his shoulders, and he moves to hover over him, touching his mouth softly, prompting him to part his lips.

Steve smiles tiredly, opening his mouth. Eddie leans down and opens his own mouth, lets Steve’s come fall between them, watches it spill onto Steve’s tongue. Steve hums quietly, sliding his hands over Eddie’s body.

Eddie kisses him, licks into his mouth, spreads the come around, and it’s disgusting, sickening, filthy, but Steve just moans softly, hugging Eddie’s neck.

And in spite of it all, of how gross it is, they’re tender. Sweet. Eddie sighs into the kiss, tilting his head and bumping his nose against Steve’s. Steve exhales sharply, and then he’s giggling like he’s high, like he’s delirious, and Eddie smiles at him fondly.

“I love you,” he breathes softly. Steve is still giggling, but he pulls him into another kiss, his teeth catching his lip. Steve hums quietly.

“Love you too.”

Eddie slides his hand over Steve’s chest, rakes through the hair on his skin lightly, and he presses his hand into the spot, and Steve smiles even though he doesn’t know.

They do it in the living room of Steve’s house. It has clearer lighting, cool-toned instead of warm, overhead and even. Steve finds an old massage table in storage a few days before, and they laugh at the squeaky hinges as Steve sets it up. Eddie would help, but his knee hurts today. He can barely bend it. He’s wearing a brace, and he’s using a crutch, which he doesn’t usually use. Steve wanted to postpone, to do the tattoo another day, when Eddie doesn’t hurt as badly, but Eddie refused. He’ll be fine.

It doesn’t hurt as much when he rests his weight on his other leg and the crutch.

Steve sits on the edge of the table, swinging his legs adorably. He looks at Eddie’s set up, at the stool they’ve dragged from the kitchen bar, the surface covered in plastic wrap, at the almost medical-looking materials. His eyes linger on the needles, still sealed, and he seems apprehensive.

“You okay?” Eddie checks, setting his crutch to rest against the table. He washed his hands after tying his hair up, and he wants to push Steve’s hair back, wants to cradle his face, but he refrains. Steve meets his eyes, and his expression instantly softens. He smiles.

“Mhmm,” he hums lightly with a nod. “‘M okay.”

“You sure you wanna do this?”

“Yes.” Steve swings his legs again. “Where are you gonna do it?”

Eddie suppresses a smile. He gestures with a tilt of his chin.

“Take off your shirt.”

Steve grins. Tugs his shirt up and over his head, shaking his hair out as he sets it aside.

Eddie reaches out and trails his finger over his skin.

“Right here.”

Steve looks down. His smile widens and becomes a little shy as he looks up at Eddie.

“You like that spot,” he says softly. Eddie nods.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to tell you what I’m gonna do?” he says softly. “You really wanna see it when it’s done?”

Steve nods, smiling.

“When it’s permanently on your skin?” Eddie reiterates, raising his eyebrows, watching Steve’s eyes narrow under his smile. “Forever?”

Steve nods again, eyes gleaming like he’s going to cry.

“Yes,” he says again, breathless. “Forever. Please.”

Eddie leans in and kisses him, keeping his hands away, and Steve holds his face, sucking on his lip for a moment.

He sighs when he lays down flat, his eyes fluttering shut. His stomach rises and falls slowly, and Eddie gazes at him for a moment before he reaches to the stool and pulls on a pair of rubber gloves. He’d gone to an actual tattoo studio to ask where to get the supplies. The needles, the stencil and tattoo ink. The artist was nice, had given him tips and advice, and Eddie had even taken notes, even though he’s done it all before. Just in case.

Eddie sighs as he picks up the razor, looking at Steve’s chest.

“This is devastating,” he says, and Steve finally looks at him, opening one eye with a soft, “Hm?” His eyes find the razor, and he bursts into laughter.

”You’re so dramatic.”

Eddie sighs wistfully, gazing at the soft curly hair, and he leans down letting his cheek rest against Steve’s chest. He suppresses a smile when Steve giggles brightly, his belly moving, sighing again, heavier, as dramatic as he can. Steve touches his head, shaking him playfully.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Is it ridiculous to be in love?” Eddie asks, ridiculously, lifting his head and sending him a fake glare. “Is it ridiculous to have passion?”

“It’s hair,” Steve says with a laugh. “It’ll come back.”

“Thank God.”

Eddie sighs once more. He leaves to wet the razor, carrying some paper towels, and Steve’s eyes close again as Eddie shaves his skin, careful to stay only in the area he’ll be tattooing.

“Haven’t done this in a while,” Steve says quietly. ”Had to shave for swimming.”

“I can’t believe they would do that to you. We should sue for emotional damages.”

“I was fine with it.”

“My emotional damages, Steve.”

Steve snorts. Eddie grins, wiping his skin with a damp paper towel.

“I should keep it,” he says, glancing at the hair that stuck to it. “Put it in a locket.”

Steve lets out a Hah! and he claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut. Eddie giggles, setting aside the paper towel and razor.

“You’re so fucking weird.”

“They call me the freak for a reason, darling love of mine.”

The stencil is purple. The ink is black.

Steve takes another breath as Eddie prepares the needle, ripping it out of the paper and plastic wrapping, and Eddie looks at him, pausing. But he’s relaxed, one of his arms hanging off the table lazily, and when Eddie steps up close again, leaning against the edge of the table, Steve’s hand finds his leg, slides up to his hip and just holds him gently. Feeling him there.

“Ready?” Eddie murmurs, eyes tracing the stencil, holding the needle, his hand hovering above Steve’s skin.

“Yes.”

Eddie gets to work. He does it slowly, carefully, leaning against the table, eyebrows furrowed in focus, head ducked a little bit to look closely. Steve breathes slowly, still holding Eddie’s hip, his fingers tucked into the waistband of his boxers. Just holding him.

It’s so quiet. They hadn’t put on music or a movie or anything before setting up, but Eddie doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t think Steve does either. It’s sort of meditative, the soft silence between them, the steady up and down of Steve’s chest as he breathes. The tiny feeling of the needle piercing his skin. He wipes the excess ink away as gently as he can, watching it disappear, leaving the marks injected into him to stay.

He stands up straight occasionally to stretch his back, to tilt his head back to stretch his neck, reaching to dip the needle in the ink again. Steve breathes so steadily despite the pain that he would seem to be asleep if it weren’t for the way he’s holding Eddie’s boxers. Eddie’s feet are sore after a while, but he barely notices.

It takes three layers until it looks right. Eddie stares at it intently to look for any spots that the ink is uneven, but he doesn’t see any, and he reaches to set the needle aside. He gazes at Steve again for a moment and then leans down to press a kiss to his chest just over his heart. He lifts his head and looks at him, and he’s looking back, his eyes glassy and half-shut. Eddie smiles.

Steve lifts his chin, gesturing silently to ask for a kiss, and Eddie smiles, moving closer to the end of the table, still keeping his hands away until he can bandage the tattoo. He kisses him gently, the angle a little awkward because he’s leaning over him, and Steve finally lets go of his boxers, lifting his hands to hold Eddie’s head as he hums softly.

Eddie is breathless when they part.

“You’re done?” Steve whispers quietly, his voice breaking a little bit from disuse. Eddie hums affirmatively, lifting his head to look down at him. His eyes are closed. He takes a deep breath, and it shudders as he exhales.

“You feel okay?” Eddie murmurs. Steve nods.

And then he smiles.

His eyes flutter open, and Eddie knows the tattoo has to hurt like a bitch, but Steve looks fucking peaceful. Relaxed and content and a little bit sleepy.

Eddie can’t suppress his own smile, gazing down at him.

“Can I see?” Steve whispers.

“Of course.”

Steve sits up slowly, sighing as he winces, and Eddie holds back from reaching out to help him. He watches, leaning against the table, watching Steve kick his legs lightly in the air like he can’t help himself. It takes a few moments for him to look down at where his skin is aching.

At the circle of ink on his sternum, dark and bold against his golden skin, the skin that’s reddish pink now, irritated. The circle shifts with him as he moves, and it’s oddly beautiful, to see the movement of his skin, of his body, so clearly and distinctly.

Eddie bites his lip, looking at him nervously as he stares at it. And he waits, and then the silence is deafening instead of comfortable, and Eddie can hear his own heart beating.

But Steve’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him, suppressing a smile.

“Why a circle?” he asks lightly, and Eddie wants to cry.

“Uh,” he hesitates, tearing his eyes away and reaching for the plastic wrap again, ripping a piece off and gesturing for Steve to sit up straight. Steve does, looking at him, waiting. “It’s kinda stupid.”

“‘S my tattoo, Ed,” Steve teases, kicking at him gently. Eddie scoffs. “Tell me.”

Eddie takes a breath, his face warm as he carefully rips the plastic wrap and tape, pressing them to Steve’s skin gently.

“Just… ” he says, hesitating, suddenly shy like he wasn’t just pressing a needle into Steve’s skin repeatedly. He avoids Steve’s gaze as he layers the tape and plastic wrap, smoothing it down.

“Deja vu,” Steve says softly, and Eddie glances up at him, shooting him a smile. It’s been a while since they’ve done anything like this, patching each other up so carefully. Eddie remembers it. Remembers his tongue teasing the edge of his mouth in focus as he wrapped Steve’s midsection and arms in gauze and bandages, as he inspected the wounds for any sign of infection. As Steve did the same for him, all in murmured, gentle quiet. Like they were both skittish, kicked dogs, emaciated and wary of human hands.

Eddie blinks as the realization hits him. They’re not like that anymore. Scared of each other, of speaking out loud. They crave each other now. Maybe that had back then too, and they just hadn’t noticed, too distracted by the dark and the ache in their skin.

“‘S all of us, I guess,” he says finally, mumbling a little bit. “The Party. This little circle of people that…” He shrugs, looking at the tattoo, distorted through the plastic. “Have been through it all together. People that you love.”

He looks up, exhaling. Steve looks at him. And he smiles slowly.

“‘S beautiful,” he says softly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Eddie turns away, finally pulling off the plastic gloves, and Steve reaches for him, tugging him closer by his shirt.

“What else?”

Eddie blinks, his cheeks flushing with warmth again.

”What d’you mean?”

“C’mon,” Steve says, tugging again, smiling. “I can tell there’s something else. Tell me.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, suppressing a smile. He knows his cheeks are red from the way Steve is grinning, head tilted fondly, and Eddie looks away, reaching to pull some hair across his face, but his hair is still tied up out of the way.

“Tell me,” Steve says again, meeting Eddie’s eyes, and he does that fucking thing, that puppy-dog shiny eyed almost-pout that could make Eddie walk barefoot across broken glass and burning coal.

“It… I don’t know,” Eddie says bashfully, and Steve takes his hands, leading them to his waist so Eddie is finally touching him, holding him. His skin is warm. “Circles are, like, endless, and…” He shrugs again, shy. “…So is this.”

Steve is quiet.

His hands slide up Eddie’s arms, up to his shoulders, and then his hands are on his neck, touching him freely without his hair in the way. He touches Eddie’s jaw with his thumbs, gently guiding his chin up as he leans in to kiss him.

It’s a slow kiss, intentional and lingering, his hands holding Eddie in place gently. Eddie’s stomach flutters like it’s their first kiss, his hands tightening on his waist as he steps forward weakly. Steve’s hand buries itself in Eddie’s hair, cradling the back of his head, and it’s such a tender touch that Eddie wants to cry.

Steve pulls away to gasp for breath before he pulls Eddie in closer, moving to grip the front of his shirt tightly. Eddie hums, pressing a hand into the small of his back, and he wants to pick him up, to lift him and carry him to the sofa, but his fucking knee isn’t working—

He groans in frustration, and Steve giggles into his mouth, sliding his hand up to his neck, holding him gently.

“Sofa?” he says breathlessly, kissing him clumsily. Eddie nods, lifting a hand to hold his face as he kisses him back.

“Do you like it?” he asks abruptly, looking at Steve. He’s a little blurred because Eddie’s eyes have tears in them, but he can see him smile.

“I do,” Steve says softly, touching their foreheads as he catches his breath. “Thank you, baby.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Steve whispers, kissing Eddie softly. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

Eddie exhales, nodding, bumping their noses together, and he kisses him.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing Steve Harrington. It’s like it’s brand new every time, like he’s discovering something fucking revolutionary.

No one’s ever felt this before. Eddie knows it. Because no one else in existence has kissed Steve Harrington like this, have loved Steve Harrington like this, has been loved by Steve Harrington like this.

This is all Eddie’s. It’s his prized possession. The most precious thing he’s ever owned.

“You did so good,” he murmurs as they’re making their way to the sofa, stumbling over each other’s feet, moving slowly to accommodate Eddie’s knee.

“Did I,” Steve breathes, holding Eddie’s face, turning them so Eddie lands on the sofa first, pushing him so he’s laying on his back, his bad leg stretched out. Eddie gazes up at him as he climbs onto his lap, leaning to kiss him messily.

“Mm. So good, baby, you…” He moans softly, sliding his hands over Steve’s waist, smiling when the plastic wrap on Steve’s chest crinkles as he leans down. “Took it so well, baby, I know it hurt.”

Steve nods with a soft whine.

“It did hurt,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

Eddie smiles against his mouth, biting his lip.

“My little masochist.”

Steve giggles brightly, tugging at Eddie’s shirt so he sits up and lets him pull it up and off. Eddie’s hair is falling from where it’s tied in a messy bun, and Steve reaches around to pull the elastic out of his curls as he tosses away the shirt.

“Love you so much,” Eddie murmurs as Steve kisses his neck softly, biting and licking sweetly. Eddie lets his head fall back, his eyes closed, his hands sliding over Steve’s back, pressing his fingertips into the nape of his neck and tracing the line of his spine so lightly it makes him shiver. Steve hums softly when Eddie’s hand finds his ass, his back arching beautifully.

Steve kisses him hard, holding his face like he’s scared Eddie is going to get away, like he’s going to try to escape. Eddie furrows his eyebrows, hugging Steve’s waist.

They’re both panting when they separate, and Steve’s breath is catching in his throat like he’s crying, so Eddie’s eyes open to see him. His eyelashes are wet, and his cheeks are red, and his eyes are squeezed shut as his head falls forward, his forehead pressing to the bridge of Eddie’s nose.

“What’s the matter?” Eddie asks softly, whispering as quietly as he can. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Steve shakes his head, settling on Eddie’s lap, taking a breath. Eddie rubs his waist gently, squeezing, and Steve exhales shakily.

“I just…” His voice trembles, and he lifts his head, blinking tears out of his eyes and looking away. Eddie leans in and kisses his tears away. Steve closes his eyes. “Feel like my body is mine.”

And Eddie is crying too, his vision blurring as he presses more kisses to Steve’s face, to his beautiful face.

“God, it is,” Eddie breathes quietly. “It is yours, Stevie.”

Steve takes a gasping breath, and he wraps his arms around Eddie, hiding his face and sobbing into his neck, his shoulders shaking. Eddie bites his lip, cradling him, running a hand up to the back of his head and holding him gently.

And he waits. Combs through his hair, rubs his back over his spine and the scars on his shoulder blades. Rocks him back and forth gently, listening to his soft sobs and gasps. His tears are on Eddie’s bare skin, and Eddie wonders if this is what it feels like to be blessed.

Steve wipes his face when he lifts his head.

“God,” he says softly, smiling now. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eddie tells him, reaching up to brush a tear from his cheek. “You’re pretty when you cry.”

Steve laughs. Lets Eddie wipe his face tenderly, sweetly.

“You okay?” Eddie murmurs, leaning forward to kiss Steve’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Steve says, his eyes still glistening, his smile still lingering on his lips. “I’m actually okay. I feel…” He pauses, touching Eddie’s neck, tracing his scar. “I feel good.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods, leaning to kiss him chastely.

“I feel so…”

He takes a breath, this slow in and out that’s steady and slow and even, and there’s a lightness to him that wasn’t there before. Like he’s somehow comfortable.

“Good,” he says quietly. “Feel like my skin fits.”

Eddie caresses his cheek, and Steve kisses him again, lingering. His skin is still a little wet with tears, cool against Eddie’s face.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers. “For giving me this, I— I don’t even…”

Eddie shakes his head. Kisses him again.

“Thank you for letting me,” he murmurs. Steve exhales, nodding.

“God. I didn’t…” He laughs lightly, deliriously, and Eddie smiles at him. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Eddie laughs too. He doesn’t know why.

“How’s it feel?”

Steve sets his hands on Eddie’s neck, and he looks up, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling, taking another deep, slow breath. And it’s like he’s breathing in new air, the fresh misty air of a brand new morning.

“Fuck,” Steve says softly. “‘S good. I don’t even know how to describe it, I feel like— like it’s my first time getting high again.”

Eddie giggles, leaning to press his face into the side of Steve’s neck, and Steve hugs him tightly, laughing. Eddie can feel the plastic wrap against his own skin. And somehow it’s like the feeling is contagious, like Steve is putting it right under Eddie’s own skin, like he can feel it too.

Like his blood is brighter. Like his chest is open, exposed to the elements. Like his scars are glowing.

Like he’s really going to be okay.

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