Work Text:
Eddie Munson has a thing about dropping to his knees.
It often happens when he’s on stage, in the moment, feeling all the emotion of a particular line in a song. He assumes this is what some people feel like in church: compelled to raise their arms or fall to their knees or shout out loud, spurred on by worship. Eddie supposes these moments are holy: when he can hear the crowd singing the lyrics he wrote, when the energy of the venue is a buzz as palpable as the one coming from the amps.
What’s even holier though, even more worthy of worship from his knees, is Steve Harrington.
More specifically, Steve Harrington’s pussy.
Tonight is a night for worship. Eddie waits in their bedroom, standing naked at the foot of their bed and white-knuckling the metal of it. He feels saliva pool on his tongue at the familiar sound of keys in the front door.
“Baby, I’m back!” Steve calls from the entryway. Eddie hears keys being tossed into the dish in the hall, notes the switch from noisy shoes on the hardwood to the whisper of socked feet coming closer every second.
He almost drops before the door’s even opened, needing too badly to touch, to taste, to take communion on his tongue.
“Eddie?” His name comes like a hymn as the doorknob turns, entirely too slowly for Eddie’s liking.
Steve stills, hand on the doorknob, when he sees Eddie standing there completely bare and probably visibly drooling now, and says, “Hi, honey.”
At the reverence in Steve’s voice, Eddie cannot physically stand any longer; he sinks to the floor, a little too fast, noting happily the way his knees smart, the way they’ll likely be reddened tomorrow.
“Missed me?” Steve is all but purring now, understanding exactly what Eddie needs from him in the moment. He takes another step into the room but it’s still not close enough, won’t even be close enough when Eddie can touch, cannot possibly be close enough until he can consume. All Eddie can do is nod, already drifting between reality and sweet subspace.
“Sweet boy,” Steve hums, closing the bedroom door with one hand and undoing his belt with the other, “how long have you been waiting here for me? I’m sorry it took me so long to come home to you.” The grin on his face verges on wicked, and Eddie pouts as he wonders at how genuine this apology is.
“I must say, though, coming home to you already so desperate for me is something I could get used to.” Confession. A whine, high and soft and sinful, escapes Eddie’s lips: the first sound he’s made since Steve’s return. Steve laughs, more a silent bouncing of shoulders than anything, and gets his belt the rest of the way off.
In two steps, Steve closes the distance between them and brings his left hand to Eddie’s cheek: the cold of a gold band on one finger like a rush of cool water directly to Eddie’s soul. The caress is gentle for a fleeting moment, then Steve’s hand shifts to grip the back of Eddie’s skull, dragging him in and holding his face between Steve’s legs.
The heat, the smell, the scratch of denim against Eddie’s nose: it’s all exquisite and so close to what he needs.
With the hand that isn’t in his hair, Steve swiftly undoes the button of his jeans and whispers, “You can take care of the rest of that, can’t you baby?”
Eddie starts to bring his hands up to Steve’s zipper and is quickly yanked backwards by his hair.
“Ah ah,” Steve scolds, “No hands, please.”
Eddie groans in sweet comprehension and bares his teeth, pulling in close again and taking hold of Steve’s zipper. He manages to get the zipper down and dives straight back in for the waistband. This proves a little more difficult, pulling Steve’s incredibly well-fitting jeans down with teeth alone, but he manages to get them past his ass and then Steve graciously shimmies them the rest of the way down himself, clearly just as eager.
Eddie nips at Steve’s plush and furred thigh on his way back up and Steve inhales sharply, hand tightening in Eddie’s hair but not pulling, not punishing.
As desperately as Eddie craves Steve’s bare skin on his tongue, he also wants to make this last, to have Steve shaking and barely able to stand by the time he’s done, so he ignores the waistband of Steve’s briefs in favor of mouthing wetly and needily at the cloth that had already begun to darken with want between Steve’s legs.
Steve leans slightly forward to brace himself with one hand on the bed frame as nothing short of a growl rips from his throat.
Eddie flattens his tongue against Steve and licks a stripe over the curve of him, punctuating the movement with another small bite, this time to the fat just above Steve’s surely swollen and hardening clit.
The bite makes Steve twitch, curl in on himself further.
“Baby, please.” Eddie realizes that Steve’s almost sobbing, almost as starved for it as Eddie himself. “Please be good for me, baby, okay? Need it- need you to be good.”
Eddie feels himself slipping deeper into euphoria at this plea, gives a passing thought to his own aching hardness, drags his teeth roughly up to Steve’s waistband and tugs his briefs down, these coming much easier than the jeans had.
Once Steve has kicked all the fabric away from his ankles and out of the way, Eddie wastes no time in racing toward what he’s been craving. He wraps his lips around Steve’s reddened clit and sucks like he’s trying to extract something. What’s extracted is a moan like music and a violent shudder that bends Eddie’s neck even further back. He’ll bless the pain in the morning.
He eases the suction and laves over Steve’s folds, savoring the taste of him, silently swearing his devotion with every sweep of his tongue. He pulls further curses and cries and murmurs of good, so good, my sweet boy from Steve, but all sound has become distant, like the constant reassuring rush of a waterfall in the woods, as Eddie dips further under the surface, away from the physical and toward blissful unreality.
Steve hitches one leg over Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie sips from him, dipping his tongue in and out of Steve’s hole over and over again, his nose rubbing against Steve’s clit as an unintelligible litany of praise washes over him.
Somewhere through the static, Eddie knows Steve won’t last much longer. He bares his teeth once more and drags them along the length of Steve’s swollen clit with painstaking slowness. Eddie feels Steve’s orgasm like an earthquake, shaking and chaos all around him. There’s warm wetness on his face and he’s vaguely aware that he’s fallen over the edge as well.
He’s distantly aware of being lifted into Steve’s arms, of Steve’s lips and tongue paying detailed attention to his neck, his chin, his cheeks, his mouth. He’s carried somewhere else and placed into warm water, he’s fed a few pieces of something rich and sweet: chocolate. He starts to resurface.
“Welcome back, my love.” Steve’s voice sounds ragged around the edges, all its usual warmth tinged with something carnal.
“Thank you,” Eddie manages. Then, a moment later: “We should really start filming this shit.”
Steve laughs, stunned, and asks “Why the fuck would we do that?”
“I always black out and miss the part where you lose your voice screaming my name. I wanna hear it sometime.” Steve smiles and shakes his head, but not in denial. “It would just be for us.”
Steve’s smile looks the way cinnamon smells. He climbs into the bath with Eddie and kisses him, deep and reverent.
“I’ll think about it,” he whispers with a grin against Eddie’s lips, and Eddie knows that’s a ‘yes.’