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suddencolds · 4 days

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Purely Instinctive | Ki//ller Pet//er

Extremely competent assassin who handles every difficult situation inventively and with ease? What if he fell ill... 😭 (4.2k words)

This is a little different from what I usually write, but I've been reading Ki//ller Pe//ter on Webt//oon (link), and... um, this fic practically wrote itself. This might be the most self-indulgent thing I've written this year. Let's not talk about it 😭

For the sake of the fic, all characters are in their early twenties (aside from Peter, who is obviously a lot older). If you haven't read the series, they're all assassins who work for an organization called the Gl//ory Club. That's pretty much all you need to know :)

—

Here's Peter (under his current identity, Sun-Gu Kim) and Yuna:

—

The drive to the warehouse is unusually quiet.

The mission is simple—find an international spy, currently en route to escape via a ship which departs from the harbor at 6am, holding onto highly classified documents which he’s not supposed to have. The moment he steps foot off of Korean land, he will become much more difficult to apprehend—the ship the target is planning to take is a large cargo ship, its whereabouts easily tracked, but the Glory Club bounty has specified that the target will most likely part ways from the cargo ship on a small rowboat. There’s no telling at what point he’ll split off from the cargo ship, or where he’ll be headed next, which means:

They have only two hours to apprehend the subject before he becomes substantially harder to track down.

Yuna reaches up with a hand to rub her eyes. Of course, serving as part of Glory is no 9-5 job—she hadn’t expected volunteer missions to always take place at predictable times. But they’d gotten assigned to this particular mission on short notice, which meant that she’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep, tops, before having to drag herself out of bed for this.

They’d been whisked out on Sun-Gu’s motorcycle—the St. Petrus V4, she recalls. Somehow, Sun-Gu had known exactly where to head. How he’d known, with the entire city laid out in front of him, Yuna isn’t entirely sure. But he’d explained that the target’s trajectory would probably not be a straight line to the harbor—that would be too easy to intercept, and Sun-Gu had assured the target would be aware there would be someone on his trail. He’d probably avoid main roads, then, where there would be a higher chance of getting stopped by the police. Then, out of all the remaining routes from his last tracked location, it would only be feasible to get to the dock on time through six of them.

The rest had been intuition. Sun-Gu’s familiarity with the city is impressive. He barely glances at the street signs as he drives, the night warm and stagnant, his motorcycle dialed to silent, and not for the first time, Yuna wonders how he seems to know all of this.

Speaking of Sun-Gu—

Something is different about him tonight. Yuna probably would not have noticed, had she not spent the entirety of the motorcycle ride sitting behind him. He’s incredibly subtle about it. But it’s there, nonetheless—a slight change to his demeanor. Something nearly imperceptible, something she can’t quite pin down.

Had Yuna not known better, she might have attributed it to tiredness. But in the couple months she’s known Sun-Gu, she’s never seen him tired. He sleeps, like the rest of them, of course—he is only human—but for him, the transition between sleep and wakefulness seems like more of a formality. That is to say, he wakes up immediately alert, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him tired.

It makes her wonder, a little, if there’s a reason to it. If there was ever anything in his life which mandated being a light sleeper, that required him to be up at a moment’s notice. Either way, it’s not the reason why he’s—off isn’t the right word. Different is more suitable. Typically, he’s in better spirits. But Yuna has seen him pissed off, and this isn’t it, either.

Sun-Gu parks the motorcycle just outside of the warehouse, unclips his helmet in one swift motion, and—after Yuna gets off—takes her helmet from her and stashes them both under the motorcycle seat, which Glory has designed to be self-locking. Then, without waiting to see if they’ll follow, he makes a lap around the periphery of the warehouse.

The Dokgo brothers have tagged along too—they’re being quiet, now, which perhaps is mercy enough. Probably Sun-Gu had given them a challenge to shut up, and they’ve taken it in good faith. Now, even when they have something to comment, they keep their voices to a whisper.

“What do you think he’s off doing?” Biggie says.

Junior shrugs. “Maybe taking a walk, to relieve some stress.”

“He’s looking for signs of entry,” Yuna tells them. Then, because she can’t help it, and because she’ll be a little pissed off if they’re the ones who end up jeopardizing the mission—“Remember what he said about being quiet?”

“Ah, shit,” Biggie says. “I am quiet. Maybe you should be quiet. Have you considered that?”

She ignores the both of them and heads over to the spot where Sun-Gu stands, now, his eyebrows furrowed. A slat that’s out of place. He pushes it, and it budges.

Underground, the ground rumbles underneath them, and then settles to reveal a trap door.

Sun-Gu beckons for them to follow him, but he doesn’t wait up for them. Yuna quickens her pace to keep up. The trap door leads them down, down. The air underground is much cooler—Yuna finds herself wishing that she’d brought a thicker jacket.

Ahead of her, Sun-Gu—

Takes in a sharp breath. But no, it’s not just a breath. As she watches him, he lifts a hand, pinches it to the bridge of his nose. His shoulders jerk forward, though only slightly; his back muscles tense. All in all, the entire display is soundless.

Yuna’s feels her eyebrows creep up.

This is certainly… new for him. But she doesn’t have time to think on it right now.

When they get to the bottom of the steps, the stairway opens out into a deserted hallway: cement walls, cement floors. It’s dark, and cavernous. This whole place feels empty. It’s a little creepy, really. Why Sun-Gu suspects that their target is hiding out here, Yuna isn’t sure. It seems counterproductive to hide out somewhere like this when, according to their intel, the subject has limited time already to make it out to the harbor.

That is, unless Sun-Gu suspects the intel that they were given might be wrong.

Sun-Gu switches on a flashlight he’s carrying and heads deeper in. It’s not until he stops, looking down the hallway to survey his surroundings that he hesitates, only for a moment. He lifts the collar of his shirt over his face, his shoulders tensing.

“Hh’—nKTtt-!”

The sneeze is practically soundless. That makes two times in one night. Something is definitely up, then. Yuna looks around. Perhaps the underground space is dusty, or perhaps it’s not well-ventilated and it’s grown mold, and he’s allergic. Except, the air down here feels remarkably dry—not the sort of environment mold would thrive under—and the floors look suspiciously well-maintained. It wouldn’t make sense for it to be something else, either—some other universal irritant. Sun-Gu is the only one here who’s sneezing.

Yuna isn’t sure she’s ever heard him sneeze before, out of the months that she’s known him. Could it be some existing condition, then—not a product of their environment, but something from earlier?

“Man,” Junior mouths, from somewhere. “How much longer are we going to have to head down these hallways? They all look the same.”

Yuna turns to glare at him, puts her finger to her lips. “Longer if you aren’t quiet about it.”

“I don’t like this,” Biggie mutters. “When can we get to the fighting? All the lead-up is boring. It feels like we’re in some kind of horror movie.” Yuna squeezes her eyes shut, prays that they’re far enough from Sun-Gu—and, by extension, the target—that they can’t be heard.

Sun-Gu stops, abruptly. He holds a hand up behind him, as if to say, stay back.

Yuna doesn’t know what he’s noticed, at first. But a moment later, she hears it—the click of a latch being undone, somewhere overhead.

Above them, a small trap door opens, and then pulls shut. A cylinder drops from the ceiling, leeching violet plumes of smoke. On instinct, Yuna pulls her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth.

Tear gas, she realizes—or something chemically similar. It’s some sort of aerosolized compound, meant to render them both less capable of seeing and—partly by extension—less capable of fighting. Her eyes tear up almost immediately, so much that she can barely keep them open. Her lungs burn in protest as she takes in a breath.

They’re in a long corridor. There’s a finite amount of smoke coming from the canister—if they wait it out, it will inevitably thin out. So this was more just a distraction, then. A flashy entry. Just enough time for whoever they’re up against to—

It takes her a few seconds to spot the figure through the smoke.

She thinks back to the files on the subject. Medium, reddish brown hair, pale blue eyes. 182 cm. Trained in combat. The stranger in the hallway has their face obscured by a gas mask, their hair hidden under a hood, but she can tell by the musculature of their exposed arms that they appear to be well-trained. In their right hand, they are carrying a long, slender weapon. From one end—attached to a metal chain—is a sphere, lined with spikes, each of them carved down to a sharp point.

It must weigh half a ton, from the way it drags the chain down, but the figure wields it easily, as if it weighs absolutely nothing.

“That’s our guy!” Junior yells, at the same time as Biggie shouts, “Stop right there!”

Both of them charge forwards. It all happens in a split second. The figure adjusts their grip on the weapon to turn the wooden handle of it outwards. Then, before either of the brothers have a chance to react, they’re swung outwards by the sheer momentum of the rod. Biggie hits the ceiling with enough force that the concrete above them rumbles, the impact spiderwebbing the ceiling above them. Slabs of concrete rain down from the point of contact. The figure drives Junior straight into one of the walls at an awkward angle which renders him almost immediately unconscious.

Yuna can feel her own heart pounding in her ears. She slinks back into the darkness, pressing herself to the ground so that hopefully, the stranger will forget that she is there—or that she is even a threat to begin with. Seeing what they’re capable of, she isn’t sure she could do much in this situation to begin with.

How long has it been since the last time the path split off into multiple routes? When Yuna turns to look, the hallway before them and after them seems to stretch on and on. An endless concrete tunnel, with the white, sterile lighting of a laboratory space. Nothing to shield themselves with, and nowhere to hide. It’s a strange location to pick a fight in. What exactly was this place built for?

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the figure says to Sun-Gu, grinning. Half of their teeth have been replaced with gold tooth crowns. When they grin, the gold catches the light, winking. “Thirty seconds, huh? Your teammates couldn’t even hold their own for that long? It’s a damn shame. I didn’t even get to use the weapon as it’s intended to be used.” They tilt their head, staring down at Sun-Gu with a look of contempt. “I guess you could thank me for being merciful. But if I’m honest…”

Their smile darkens into something sharper, something hungry. “I just didn’t want to stain a flail of this quality with anyone’s blood but yours.”

Was this entire mission a setup, to get Sun-Gu into one place? Is the subject really in possession of any classified documents at all?

Sun-Gu twists away—not to evade, or not in preparation to attack. His shoulders hunch forward, his expression twisting. He coughs, roughly, down towards the ground. It’s the kind of cough that suggests that he’s been coughing like this for some time now—harsh and throat-scraping.

That’s when it registers for Yuna.

He’s ill. It seems painfully obvious, in hindsight, now that she’s realized it.

During the motorcycle ride here, he’d been careful not to touch her, Yuna realizes. Sun-Gu is always careful with his own space—he has an awareness of it, even outside of combat, that she thinks would be unusual for most. Even with small things—the ways he gestures, the way he holds himself—she gets the feeling that none of it is accidental.

When she looks at him now, she notices—a slight, near-imperceptible flush to his features. He’s breathing a little more heavily than normal. Instincts he can hide. Instincts he can cover for. But there are some things which no amount of physical awareness can hide.

He has a fever, then. That’s probably why he hadn’t wanted her to touch him. He’d known that if she’d made contact with his skin, she would’ve felt it, and she thinks he probably hadn’t wanted to raise any concern.

Sun-Gu is here, on a mission, fighting a well-trained stranger on his own, equipped with nothing but a pocket knife, with no armor and no with no reinforcements. On any normal occasion, Yuna might trust him to be able to hold his own—she’s seen what he’s done, alone against a crowd of hundreds—but this time, it’s different, because Sun-Gu is unwell.

The figure looks surprised, at this. “Ah,” they say. Yuna can’t help but think they look like a predator, honing in on their prey, only to find that said prey is already bloodied and limping. Like someone surprised—but pleased—to find their job already done for them. “Don’t tell me you’re already not in tip-top shape? That’s a shame.”

Sun-Gu coughs, again, his chest shaking. Yuna feels a pang of worry in her chest. He really does look unwell—and he hasn’t said as much of a word to deny it, which is telling. She looks around for anything to help him with— If she were to call for reinforcements, she thinks it would take too long for them to find them all here, underground, in the elaborate array of tunnels.

The weapon they’re holding is heavy, which affects its maneuverability, and to some degree, its speed. But Sun-Gu’s knife is much more of a close-range weapon, which means that while Sun-Gu will have to get up close to them to even make a mark, the stranger would be theoretically able to fatally wound him while standing a meter away.

The figure presses forward. With the swing of one hand, the metal ball and the chain arc outwards neatly, directly towards Sun-Gu. For such a heavy weapon, Yuna is surprised to find that this person wields it with impressive speed. It’s nearly too fast for her eyes to track. Sun-Gu evades, easily, but the figure swings again, and again, and again. At this speed, it almost looks as though they’re slicing the air into shreds.

If Sun-Gu were to be hit, his body would stop all of the momentum at once, and the spikes would easily puncture skin, drive themselves into tissue and skin and bone. Worse, Yuna realizes, if the weapon makes it to Sun-Gu’s body—even if it’s lodged in a relatively nonfatal area—the figure will easily be able to drive it directly into a vital organ. That means that if Sun-Gu fails to dodge cleanly on just one occasion, this fight will be over.

That’s another thing, too. Sun-Gu’s radius of attack is limited by the length of his own arm. But the figure can stand in one place and swing the weapon anywhere that the length of their arm, the long rod, the chain, all put together, can reach.

“If I had a little more patience, I might even have waited for you to get back to full health, so that this could be a more memorable fight,” the figure says.

Sun-Gu’s breath hitches. His opponent is not kind enough to pretend not to notice. They drive forward, intending to use the moment of temporary weakness to their benefit, just as Sun-Gu jerks forward with a forceful, “hHh’EEZschHH-uH!”

Sun-Gu evades, but only barely. How he is able to predict the trajectory of the metal ball, even distracted, even with his eyes closed, Yuna isn’t sure. But it’s clear that he isn’t done, and by the time his eyes are already falling shut for another. He’s afforded a sharp, desperate breath, before his shoulders jerk forward again. “hH’nGKt-! Hh… hh-IIIH’DZSshH!”

He coughs, after, as if the sneezes have somehow irritated his throat further.

The stranger grins. “...But I suppose having your head as a prize would be consolation enough.”

They sweep the chain in a wide arc, directly for Sun-Gu’s neck. Sun-Gu crouches for a moment, then takes a running leap up into the air, righting his trajectory with one foot to the wall to land behind them. He’s put his knife away, Yuna realizes. But there is nothing here—no props, no furniture—for him to repurpose into a weapon.

“Sorry,” Sun-Gu says. The expression on his face is not one of remorse. It’s one of clear, bitter irritation. He’s annoyed, she realizes. “You’re right. I’m not feeling my best today.”

It’s an admission, loud and clear, but the way he says it, it doesn’t sound like an admission of weakness. Up until now, he has been observing, Yuna realizes, as he’s done before—passively taking in the stranger’s fighting style, their handling of their weapon, their habits, their tells.

“So,” Sun-Gu says, flatly. When the stranger swings again, Sun-Gu snags hold of the chain while it’s in mid-air, and—as if it’s weightless—yanks the stranger towards him. He takes hold of the chain with his other hand, testing its weight. The smile on his face is utterly cold. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

—

Afterwards, when they leave the warehouse, the sun is starting to rise. Yuna finds a text from Glory Club on her phone from an hour ago, presumably from the chairman. It’s curt: Do not proceed. We have reason to doubt the motives of the group which supplied the intel. Ironically, there was not enough reception underground for their warning to reach them in time, but she thinks that Sun-Gu must’ve realized much earlier.

Biggie and Junior are a little worse for the wear, but other than that, neither of them is concerningly injured. Biggie claims that he doesn’t have a concussion, but he doesn’t put up too much of a fight when Yuna insists that when they get back, their first stop will be to the medical ward to get fixed up.

Speaking of Sun-Gu: he is quiet, which is not unusual. Sun-Gu has never been the most talkative person, but Yuna suspects that today, there’s more to it.

“I can take us back,” Yuna says, trying not to make it sound pointed. It’s usually Sun-Gu who steers, but Yuna has enough experience with the St. Petrus V4 to handle a forty minute trip on paved roads, and enough experience too to know how to speed just enough to stay in control of it.

“It’s fine,” Sun-Gu says, flashing her a distracted smile. “It will be faster if I drive, because I won’t have to navigate.” He retrieves his own helmet from the seat compartment. Yuna spends a moment to watch him. He isn’t injured, nor does he look any less alert—he’d gotten out of the battle without so much as a scratch to show for.

But there are little hints, here and there, to exhaustion. The way he clears his throat before speaking, so quietly she can’t tell except for the slight bob of his throat, the slight furrow of his eyebrows. The way he pauses to clip his helmet, shielding his face with one hand from the gleam of the rising sun, as if his head is already hurting. The way he looks relieved to be sitting down, the way his hand lingers, a little shaky, on the motorcycle handles before he steadies it, looking faintly annoyed.

Of course, for someone like Sun-Gu, where—on the battlefield—any sort of slight miscalculation could be the difference between life and death, where trusting his body to function exactly as he’s used to is crucial for his success, Yuna isn’t surprised that any sort of bodily inefficiency would be an annoyance, even more so for Sun-Gu than for most.

At the same time, as she stares at him, she has to wonder—just how long has he been unwell? Had she not been awake during the battle—had she been unconscious, then, like the other two—would she even have noticed? How many times in his life has he been ill and just proceeded? Yuna doesn’t know what his relationship to Peter is—whether he’s a long lost cousin, or someone who trained under him before, or something else. But she knows, from the way he fights, that he must’ve had years of combat experience even before he joined Glory. No one is born with that amount of expertise, that level of near-inhuman intuition.

In the past, when Sun-Gu found himself in life-or-death situations, had he proceeded like he is now—as though everything were normal? As though any affliction he was suffering through privately was not even worth the attention of his own team? It makes sense, she thinks—that he wouldn’t broadcast any weakness openly, especially for any potential adversaries to listen in on. But if he’d been so careful to hide it from all of them, how would he take it if she acknowledged it out loud?

“Is something wrong?” Sun-Gu asks, watching her now.

“No, nothing at all!” Yuna says, quickly. Think, she tells herself. She returns his smile, a little sheepishly. “I was just thinking… I’m a little hungry. Do you think we could stop at a convenience store on the way back?”

Sun-Gu blinks, a little surprised. But then he nods. “Of course,” he says.

She fiddles with her own helmet until it’s securely on. Then she gets onto the motorcycle, behind him, and waits for him to take off.

—

True to his word, Sun-Gu stops at a 24/7 convenience store on the way back. But when Yuna asks him if he wants anything to eat, he waves her off with another smile. “Not enough time has passed after that fight,” he says. “I’m still too worked up to eat something.”

Bullshit, she thinks, but she steps inside the store nonetheless. Inside, it’s heavily air-conditioned, pleasantly cool. She picks out a sandwich from the fridge for herself, and one for Sun-Gu, while Biggie and Dokgo—who have followed them here on their scooters—load up on containers of cup ramen and ready-made hot fried chicken. Yuna snags a bottle of water from the fridge. Then she’s sure no one is looking, she takes a blister pack of aspirin off the shelves, along with a travel pack of tissues, and pays for it through the self-checkout station.

Biggie and Junior are still inside by the time she’s done shopping, so she heads outside, the plastic bag in hand.

She finds him still seated on the motorcycle, his helmet still on. He’s sitting ramrod-straight, his shoulders stiff, his head ducked slightly to avoid the sun. To anyone else, he might look alert—perhaps even nervous—but Yuna knows better. It looks as if he is doing everything in his power not to fall asleep.

His breath hitches. He gasps, his body jerking forward with a loud, “hHHD’TSHhh-Uh!”, which seems ridiculously unrelieving for how loud it is, and sighs, tenderly massaging the bridge of his temples. So the headache from earlier hasn’t gotten any better, then.

She watches him for a moment longer—watches him duck forward into his arm with another ticklish sneeze, and emerge with a liquid sniffle—and wonders when this had all started to feel like second nature.

Caring about him, that is.

When he hears her coming, he looks up to her. “Done with breakfast already?”

“Not yet,” she says. “But I got you a sandwich.

“Ah, thanks,” he says. “Though, didn’t I say—”

“You’re not hungry right now, I recall,” Yuna says. “You can save it for later. But I have something else for you too.”

She hands him the aspirin and the bottle of water. Sun-Gu stares down at them for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I am not injured,” he says, at last.

“I know,” Yuna says, casually. “The aspirin is for your headache. That’s been bothering you all morning, right? It might help with your fever, too, but I think the best antidote for that would be some proper bedrest.”

For a moment, Sun-Gu just stares at her, his eyes a little wide. Then he laughs. “You really don’t let anything past you, do you, Yuna?”

“That’s right,” she says, crossing her arms. “So you were trying to hide it.”

“Not exactly,” Sun-Gu says. “I just didn’t deem it worth mentioning.”

“Three to five days of bedrest, and lots of warm fluids!” Yuna says, jabbing a finger into his chest, accusingly. “That’s what people recommend for illnesses like this. Not a killer mission first thing in the morning!”

“You are very prudent,” Sun-Gu says, looking mildly amused.

“You don’t think it might’ve helped to mention your illness to someone you trust? The chairman, or even me?”

“I fail to see how that would’ve made any difference. It’s not as though the mission could have waited.”

“Fine, then.” Yuna says. “You might not agree to take it easy. But I’ll keep noticing as long as you keep being irresponsible.” She means it as a threat—that in the future, if he ever dares to be so reckless, she’ll be the first to notice. And if Yuna thinks he should be resting, instead of on a mission, she’s not going to keep her mouth shut about it.

But when she looks over at Sun-Gu, he is smiling.

#sneeze kink #snz kink #sneeze fic #sneezefic #snzfic #this was really fun to write 😭😭 though writing the action was certainly an experience #i love yu//na so much... half the fun was writing everything from her perspective and thinking abt what she might notice and how #this fic is influenced a lot by y//una and pet//er's dynamic in ep14; specifically his acknowledgment of her perceptiveness and #the covert act of kindness he shows her at the end #i am kind of scared this fic might only appeal to me because people aren't familiar w the fandom 😭 i was actually not intending to #write anything initially for that very reason. but then my d took the wheel #but this was a good break from my more serious writing (yvverse) and a fun character study in general; life has been really rough this week #and so it was nice to have an outlet #my fic

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jaskiers-lutkulele-of-sex · 9 months

Note

It’s another poop desperation holding game, but this time it’s at an amusement park with roller coasters. Eddie is already properly touching cloth standing in the line for a ride with Steve. Steve is insistent to keep the game going when it gets to their turn to take their seats and strap it.

hell yes.

Amusement parks are such a good time, and what a good challenge a roller coaster would be.

Like, in the line on the way there, the intention had still been just to hold as long as possible, but even though they'd talked about public or semi-public accidents before, they both liked the thrill but didn't actually want, like, to actually get caught... still, Eddie thought, he could hold through, like, one more ride and be fine. Especially a ferris wheel. like, it takes a little while, but Eddie gets to sit the whole time, so that's pretty good.

Eddie's focused on that, on the fantasy of being stuck on a ferris wheel like this, with Steve (maybe even with Steve intent on making it up to him, up there, out of sight...) and doesn't notice how quickly they are making it through the line.

he doesn't break out of his private thoughts completely until the next wave of desperation hits and he almost doesn't clench up in time, totally lets the monster he's been holding back peek out for a moment, unable to walk as Steve nudges them forward. he stumbles a little, and it pokes out a little further, before he gets a hold of himself and forces it back.

"Fuck, steve, that was close." he whispers, close to steve, disguising the move as a bit of roughhousing- retaliation for being pulled along.

"Hot as hell, though. thought you were gonna lose it for a moment there."

"I almost did. Fuck, I'm glad we're almost... to the... Steve. What line are we in?"

Because now that they're so close, Eddie realizes that actually, what he thought was just a crowd getting closer, was actually Several lines, parallel, because the entrance to ferris wheel was actually right next to the platform to get onto the roller coaster.

Steve scrunched his face a bit.

"Roller Coaster? Like we planned- Roller coaster and then, if we can manage it, ferris wheel to end the night."

Eddie had completely spaced that they'd meant to do the roller coaster again. they'd ridden earlier, when eddie wasn't so desperate yet, and now eddie remembered the thrill, and telling Steve they had to do it again, later, because it was such a good challenge.

fuck. fuck he'd completely forgotten, assumed they were in the other line, which they're right next to and just.... fuck.

"Fuck, Stevie, fuck. I forgot."

Steve's eyes got wide.

"You.. forgot? you, oh shit. did you think this was the other line?" and steve gestured at the big wheel with its rocking little baskets...

Eddie nodded, grimly.

"Oh. shit. are you... can you... ?"

Eddie rocked a little in place, stepped forward again, twisted a little.

"Fuck, I don't know. um, probably not this and that? like, I don't know about another line... actually, maybe we'd better just..."

But steve's concern was slowly morphing back into interest.

"Sure, yeah, you say the word, we can go back, but. um. I mean, it might be easier at this point, just to wait?"

Steve wasn't wrong, they'd moved into the section of line with actual bars and dividers, sections of stairs, and navigating their way out would take some work, they really were quite close to the end... but also...

"I don't know. I don't know if I can, uh, handle this one. like, uh, this.

And Steve nodded sympathetically, but also eddie watched him reach down real quick and adjust himself in his jeans.

"Uh," Steve pulled together, "Uh, either way. you, uh, you make the call. but, uh... I bet you can make it?"

Eddie narrowed his gaze

"You really think so, or you hoping I'll fail?"

Steve nodded.

"Yes."

they were literally two cars away from the end, when Eddie had to stop again, or shit himself.

It was so hard to not let on, to anyone else, and though the line was so tight at this point that he absolutely couldn't say anything, the tight press of bodies did mean he could reach out and grab steve's forearm, dig his nails in as he fought for control.

the line moved again, but Eddie couldn't, if he relaxed at all, it was over.

"What's his problem?" asked the guy behind them, a brunette girl with little more than a bikini on, hanging off his arm.

"He's, uh, nervous," Steve covered, "Doesn't like, uh, heights. you guys want to go ahead?"

Steve let the couple around them, and another few folks, and eddie breathed, and made it through, and could move again.

"Fuck, steve, this is a bad idea."

Steve clapped him on the shoulder.

"It's gonna be fine! You got this."

Steve had one hand in his pocket, and Eddie glared.

Steve grinned, unrepentantly.

And then there was one car, and then it was their turn.

Eddie was a little shaky, legs a bit unstable, from the tension, and steve gallantly ushered eddie in first, across, making sure he got in alright.

Sitting down was mostly a relief, although the change in pressure in his abdomen sucked, but Eddie held onto bravado... right until the ride attendant came along his side and shoved the shoulder/lap bar down tighter, ratcheting in a couple more clicks, right against eddie's gut.

"don't want to be sliding around," the guy said, before checking the next one.

"Steve." Eddie said, starting to panic.

"You got this, " steve encouraged. "You're gonna be fine."

the ride engaged, sending their car forward, ticking upward along its rails. the change in angle helped, bar not pressing so much, but it also released some of the pressure from where he had been pushing himself down into the seat, subconsciously trying to keep it all in that way.

"Fuck Fuck I don't know..."

"I do. It's gonna be fine. even if it's not fine, ah, it's gonna be fine."

Eddie peeked over, at the little noise, to see that steve was holding the handle on his chest bar with his right, outer hand, but that his left hand, next to eddie, was actually suspiciously not visible.

"Steve. Really?"

Steve laughed.

"Fuck, I can't help it."

"Yes you fucking can. If I've gotta wait, so the fuck do you."

Steve raised his left hand in surrender, and then reached over to squeeze Eddies thigh.

They were cresting the hill.

"You got this. it's gonna be-"

and they were off.

Eddie absolutely did have it... for about 80% of the way. the thrill actually distracted him for a bit, and he found himself shouting along with everyone else.

even through some of the drops and twists, eddie still held out okay.

partway through, though, they ascended again, and Eddie realized what was coming next, and unfortunately for him, whether his own nerves made it worse, or whether he'd just run out of luck, as they shot into the double-loop, his gut cramped again.

Eddie tried, he really, really did, but

"Fuck! Steve! Fuck I'm- Fuck!"

as the centripetal force squeezed them back, down, up into their seats, no amount of muscle control could save eddie, and he felt the pressure like he was a tube of fucking toothpaste, relentless, and as the pressure finally let up, and he could feel everything again, there he sat with what had to be at least a few inches of shit in his shorts, too far out to do anything but admit to himself that it had happened.

"Eddie?" steve asked, as they rounded the last corner and headed for the platform "You okay?"

Every bump and jerked shifted eddie, made the log slip out a little further, and a little further. Eddie needed it to stop moving, right now, it was too much.

"Steve, it's, i'm, steve i'm doing it..."

Steve reached down and grabbed eddie's knee again, and eddie jolted and felt a little more slip out.

"It's fine. You're good. we planned for this, remember? All you have to do it get out at the end, and I'll walk behind you, and we'll head out. no big deal."

Eddie couldn't respond, fighting the urge to push for all he was worth, almost certainly red in the face.

The car stopped, and the bars popped up, and people started getting out.

"Come on, eds, we've gotta go."

"Steve." Eddie managed, just barely.

"I know, come on..." Steve was standing, and he waved off the ride attendant. "My buddy is just a little dizzy. Scared of heights, but he wanted to try, you know?"

The wave wasn't ending and Eddie knew he had no choice, he was only drawing more attention.

"Ready eddie? I'm gonna help you up." Eddie wasn't ready. "One, two- "

Steve pulled him to his feet, and eddie turned, and miraculously kept everything in place... until the big step to get back onto the platform. He stepped with one foot, and pushed off... and felt the rest of the log slide out into his pants.

He tried to freeze up again, but steve was right behind him, guiding his stumbling walk,

"Steve, stevie, I-"

"I know, " Steve assure him, quietly, "I know, but no one else does."

Eddie kept moving, no one right near them, steve comfortingly close behind him.

It was uncomfortable, and embarrassing, but when eddie slowed before the stairs down, steve bumped into him from behind and eddie could feel how hard he was, and that was gratifying as hell, so he kept on.

"How obvious?" eddie asked, as they did the last of the stairs, before they had to rejoin the crowds.

Steve hung back a little, and then reassured- "Really, not bad. no one would know unless they were looking, your jeans are so dark, or unless they..." and steve groped his ass, with the last of their cover, and groaned, and grabbed himself.

"Come on, steve, gotta get out of here first." Eddie reminded, and steve fumbled for a moment, and then collected himself.

they were just past the gate, almost back to the van, when eddie got hit with another wave, everything else having moved to fill the space, but still wanting out.

"Fuck, steve, i- hmnng-" and steve looked around rapidly, and then tugged eddie between two bushes, in a row lining the parking lot.

"Go on" he said, and eddie didn't even need the permission, immediately dropping into a half-crouch, and giving into the urge to push.

another large log came, and eddie felt his shorts, and his regrettably tight jeans, reaching capacity.

"Ah- ah- fuck, there's so much, steve."

"Fuck." steve hissed back, rubbing himself again, on top of his own jeans, not looking away.

"ah- ah- okay. okay i think i'm good for a minute."

Eddie straightened back up, and he could feel the weight of his accident this time, enough to cause his clothes to sag a bit. he reached for his belt, unthreaded the tongue, and tightened it a few notches (he'd relaxed it earlier, hoping it would help).

they made it to the van, and eddie passed steve his keys, figuring maybe neither one of them was Fantastic to drive, but steve had more experience driving under, uh, stress, and eddie could already feel-

yep, even as he opened the passenger door, and shook out the trash bag he'd had tucked there, to put down on the seat In Case, his guts twisted again, and he immediately capitulated, looser mess now squishing in around what he'd already lost, started to squeeze forward.

Steve clearly heard it, and recognized the stance, probably could smell it by now, too, and he dropped into the driver's seat, closed the door, and immediately started fumbling with his fly.

"Dude," eddie protested, breathless, still pushing

"Nope." Steve countered, equally breathless. "You're done waiting, and I can't fucking drive like-- Fuck!"

and that was it, apparently, Steve closed his eyes, and arched into his hand and came.

at least he had the courtesy to cup his free hand around the head of his dick and catch most of it.

... not that eddie hadn't come in a spectacular mess all over the driver's seat, and other places, before. but still

"You fucking owe me, Harrington." eddie grumbled, as he now faced the reality that he was going to have to fucking sit in his mess until they got home.

"Absolutely," Steve agreed, with a dumbfuck grin.

#asks #scat desperation #messing #steddie kink fic #Alternatively #And they actually make it to the ferris wheel #They mess around but make it off okay #And then the drive home is Steve basically edging in the driver seat while Eddie tries not to be foul his van

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