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Eddie is buzzing, high on adrenaline like always when they’re playing a show. He’s still not used to this, it’s still something he can’t quite wrap his head around – to watch people dance and sing along to their songs, to hear their roaring applause and deafening whistles, to know they’re here for them.
It’s electrifying.
A fucking dream.
They’re still considered newcomers but Corroded Coffin are finally climbing their way out of the gutter; they’re making it, step by step, and one day not too far in the future, they’ll be on top.
It’s all Eddie ever wanted, all he and his best friends have always fantasized about back when they were still a bunch of loser kids dreaming of becoming rockstars while terrorising Gareth’s poor parents (and the whole neighbourhood, really) with the horrible noise coming from their garage.
The dream is reality now, success not only a possibility but a fact. It would be poison for Eddie's already too big ego but thankfully, there's always someone bringing him back down to earth when he gets carried away.
They’ve got a label now, signed record deal and all and-
“Great show, guys! The people seemed to really love the new song.”
Yeah, and that. They’ve got a manager now, too.
Steve Harrington.
The guy whose appearance makes him stick out like a sore thumb from the sea of blacks and greys and dark reds around him. The guy who doesn’t look the part but actually likes what they do. The guy who doesn’t give two fucks about what others think of him because he’s not here to make friends, he’s here to do his job. And he’s pretty good at that.
Good at a lot of things.
At first, Eddie hated the idea of having a fucking babysitter on tour with them. Someone to watch their every move, someone to keep them out of trouble (where’s the fun in that?), to make sure they don’t fuck up their reputation. Someone to handle all their business affairs for them, as if they couldn’t take care of it themselves.
Now, Eddie’s actually glad they have someone to deal with everything – from interview requests and setting up their tour schedule to negotiating their contracts and booking their gigs. Steve handles it all, allowing the band to enjoy the fruits of their labour without having to deal with the annoying parts of being in the music business.
And that should be all there is to it. Just a business relation based on what’s in the band’s best interest.
But it’s not.
Not behind the curtains, backstage, when no one is looking. Where, hidden in dark corners, Steve and Eddie share a secret.
A secret that could ruin it all.
Because it’s unprofessional, could get them both in trouble. Could get Steve fired, possibly. Maybe even put Eddie’s – if not the whole band’s – career on the line if the public ever found out about it.
But that just makes it even more thrilling.
Eddie has always been drawn to that, the forbidden, things that could cause irreparable damage. And throughout his life, he’s come to ask himself more than once if this is really worth it. If it’s worth risking it all just for giving in to his reckless impulses.
But the answer has always been the same. Now even more so than ever.
He knows it’s wrong, dangerous, a game he shouldn’t be playing because playing with fire will get him burned.
The problem is that he’s a sucker for the pain.
And being ruined by Steve Harrington is worth everything.
“You comin', Eds?”
His friends and some members of the crew are looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to get his ass up off the couch in the green room. They’re headed for a club, made plans to celebrate another successful show.
Eddie was part of that plan, is supposed to go with them. He should go with them. They’re off for two days before the tour bus will take them to their next destination – another show, another city. Downtime is rare these days and he’s aware of how uncharacteristically weird it is for him not to want to go and get drunk, get wild, succumbing to the night life and its endless opportunities to drown for a few hours.
But there’s something else waiting for him. Someone else. Standing at the far end of the room, seemingly unfazed by what’s going on around him. Eddie knows it’s not true, though. That beneath the calm and unbothered exterior, there’s a monster rattling at its chains, growling, ready to be let loose.
From the corner of his eyes, he can see Steve throwing daring glances at him, can see his grip tighten, crinkling the papers in his hands.
“Uh, sorry guys. I think I’m gonna sit this one out. I’m tired as fuck.”
Jeff gives him a look that tells him he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying, rightfully so. Eddie hates lying to them, really. But what else is he supposed to do?
“Maybe I can catch up with you later? Take a little nap before heading out?”
Eddie hates how much of a bullshit excuse this is. What he hates more, is the way Jeff’s eyes move to Steve, just for the flicker of a moment, like he knows exactly what’s going on, before his gaze settles back on Eddie, expression unreadable.
“God, you’re so lame. When did you become so lame?” Gareth jokes and Eddie’s grateful for it, for taking some of the tension away.
“Ah, I’m just doing you a favour, Gare. Maybe it’ll finally get you laid if I’m not there to steal all the attention.”
This earns him a round of laughter and although this is exactly what he was aiming for, he silently apologises to his friend for using him to deflect from himself.
“All right, suit yourself. If you change your mind, call me.”
Thankfully, Jeff seems to have given up trying to convince Eddie to go with them, and when he turns to leave, everyone else says their goodbyes and follows.
Once they’re out of earshot, Eddie lets out a deep sigh.
“God, I thought they’d never leave.”
Steve finally turns around to face him and Eddie wants to crawl out of his skin. Feels like a deer in headlights under Steve’s piercing gaze, his usually soft eyes now filled with something like rage. Something dark that makes Eddie shudder nervously, sending a thrilling sensation of fear and excitement right down to his core.
Eddie can’t move, feels glued to the sofa, can’t stand up, can only watch Steve slowly moving closer.
“Yeah? Why?”
Steve stops right in front of him, looming over Eddie with his all-consuming presence, the look in his eyes sardonic and mean, making him feel so small, so worthless. Making him twitch and throb hard where his leather pants seem to be getting tighter than they already are.
“Y-you know why.”
He hates how nervous he sounds; how shaky his voice is. Hates it and loves it because that’s the effect Steve has on him. What he does to him just by looking at him, not even touching him, not yet.
“Do I?”
Eddie’s legs part without his conscious doing, making room between his thighs, offering space for Steve to occupy.
“Steve, please.”
Eddie hates how whiny he sounds but he knows Steve loves when he begs.
“Think you’ve earned it?”
He wants to scoff and tell Steve to go fuck himself. That he doesn’t need his approval. Eddie could get what he wants from someone else easily; he’s a fucking rockstar after all. People are lining up to only get a look at him; they’d be all over him if he let them.
He could catch up with his friends, could go out and have fun and wouldn’t need to even try hard to get someone, anyone, to fuck him.
Problem is, he doesn’t want anyone else. He doesn’t want easy.
He wants bad, and wrong, and dangerous.
He wants Steve.
More than he should. More than he’s allowed to. More than he’d ever let Steve be aware of.
This is a game. A dirty little game with complicated rules, rules Eddie hates but he loves the rewards he gets for playing along.
He needs Steve to ruin him. And if he has to play dumb and beg for it, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.
It’s a small prize to pay, really, if put in perspective. Because what Steve offers in return is better than anything Eddie had ever experienced before. Better than Kitty Flipping or Tripping or Boosting. Better than any fucking mix of drugs and definitely a lot more toxic. Worse, so much worse and yet the best fucking thing in the world.
Steve’s hand in his hair brings him back, fingers twisting into his messy curls, tightening at the base, pulling his head back roughly.
“I asked you a question.”
Steve’s eyes are gleaming, reflecting the fire that’s burning inside him, raging and hot- God, he’s so fucking hot when he’s like this. Demanding and rough and unforgiving.
“I- No. No, I haven’t. Don’t deserve it.”
Satisfied with his answer, Steve brings his free hand up to his chin, thumb tracing his bottom lip in almost soothing motion, softly gliding back and forth.
“Gonna have to work for it. Show me how much you want it.”
Eddie hates the needy sound that breaks through his lips, loves how it opens his mouth for Steve’s thumb to slide in almost accidentally, almost as if he didn’t mean to.
He doesn’t tell Eddie what to do, doesn’t have to. Eddie complies unbidden, closes his lips around the digit weighing down his tongue, the pad dragging over his wet muscle while Eddie begins to suck.
It’s degrading – not even an hour ago he was standing in the centre of a stage, overlooking a sea of people cheering for him, screaming his name, hanging on his lips, drinking up his words, his songs. Worshipping him like the star he is.
Now, he’s looking up at Steve like he is the one worth being idolized, unable to speak, silenced by his own greedy mouth.
It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, this role reversal, this power exchange. Being in this position should make him realise what a fucking fool he is. But he can’t help it, can’t stop.
He wants this, wants Steve to take it all from him. The fortune and fame, the high of being on top of the world. He wants him to break him down, to pull his head back out of the clouds and send him to hell where he belongs for risking it all. For being so stupid, so reckless, so ready to give everything for this man’s attention. Not love. That’s not what this is. It can’t be. Love would ruin everything, not just his career.
Eddie’s heart doesn’t have a say in this, can wallow in solitude for all he cares.
This can’t be his priority.
Not when Steve pulls away to unzip his pants. Not when he offers what Eddie’s so desperate for. Not when – just for a while – Steve lets him forget who he is.
“Open your mouth, baby.”
Baby.
Because Eddie Munson doesn’t exist right now.
The man sliding off the sofa and onto his knees is nothing but a hot, wet hole for Steve to sink into. Parted lips trembling, jaw slack, tongue waiting, eyes rolling back when Steve’s cock finally pushes inside. Pushes deeper, agonisingly slow, barely giving Eddie a moment to savour the taste before he pulls back out.
The whimper falling from his lips is a broken sound, weak and pathetic but Eddie doesn’t care. He wants Steve to know how desperate for it he is.
“More, please?”
Steve smiles and it’s a vicious one, calls him a slut before he relents, gives Eddie what he’s asking for. More, deeper, in and out, back and forth, pushing his hardness all the way to back of his throat.
And Eddie takes it, lets Steve fuck his mouth, fast and rough, doesn’t care that he’s drooling all over himself, doesn’t care about the filthy-slick noises they make, loves the sound of his own struggle to swallow and breathe and moan around the intrusion.
“God, baby. You’re so greedy. Can’t get enough of it, huh? Such a whore for my cock. You just love being down on your knees for me, don’t you.”
It’s a statement, not a question, because he already knows the answer, knows it’s true. Because this isn’t the first time they’re doing this.
It started months ago, after they had their first sold-out show in Chicago. They celebrated way into the early morning hours, not even rockstar style – just some booze and only a handful of drugs, no groupies taken backstage, just the band and crew having a fun time – and Steve made such a fuss about it, scolded them for being stupid and loud and drunk and irresponsible. Called Eddie in the next morning when he was still hungover and tired, told him as the frontman, he should lead by example and not be the first whose drunk ass ends up unconscious on the floor.
And Eddie hated it. Hated the stern tone, the condescending look, and how small it made him feel.
Then, frustration turned into anger; he was ready to fight because who did that asshole think he is talking to the Eddie Munson like that?
The Eddie Munson who, not even ten minutes later, found his ego in shattered pieces while he was bent over the office desk, with his pants down by his ankles and Steve’s spit coated finger three knuckles deep inside his clenching hole. Whimpering and begging for Steve to give him more, to give him everything, all of him. And Steve did. Opened him up and fucked him good, hard and quick, like he was possessed, and Eddie was a goner then.
He doesn’t remember when exactly the tension between them had shifted from mutual dislike to this ravaging desire to take and be taken, hands balled to fists in each other’s shirts, breathy insults shared from one mouth to the other when their lips clashed together violently, more bite than kiss, both fighting for the upper hand like dogs.
But the fight wasn’t fair because how fair is a fight between a feral wolf and a lost little puppy? Eddie never stood a chance. Didn’t even consider to take the out Steve offered before he turned him around and pushed him down, hand on his buckle, Steve’s body pressed against him from behind, his voice vibrating in Eddie’s ear – ‘That’s what you need, isn’t it? Someone to take over control. Because beneath all that attitude, you’re just a weak man begging to be taken.’
Up to that moment, Eddie hadn’t even known that he was into this. That being lured into submission by another man could be so... freeing.
That Steve’s words and the way he handled him, played with him, used him, would bring out a part of him he never even knew existed.
That it would unleash something dark and twisted inside him when Steve claimed him. Painted his back with his cum and let it trickle down his tailbone, watching the mess he’d made before licking it up and giving it back. Sharing his release with Eddie in a filthy exchange – an open-mouthed kiss, more spit than hot breath, nothing soft and romantic about it.
But in that moment, after coming harder that he had ever come before, exhausted and sweaty, held in the other man’s arms, Eddie knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay away, to not come crawling back for more.
It should’ve been a one-time thing, a mistake they’d both regret and try to forget or maybe laugh about in secret when no one is listening but Eddie has always been good at making bad decisions and what is this if not the best worst decision he’s ever made?
This, meaning the sneaking around each other. Letting Steve face-fuck him behind the tour bus or being pressed up against a bathroom stall with one hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.
This, meaning what they’re doing right now, with Eddie on his knees, choking on Steve’s cock, breathless and vulnerable and exposed to possibly prying eyes because they didn’t even lock the doors and they’re still at the venue, could get caught any minute because they didn’t even try to hide this time.
It’s like with each time it happens, they become less careful, more stupid; one cock-drunk, the other high on his power rush, both of them out of their minds and out of control, unable to think clearly.
And Eddie knows it’s wrong, knows he should put an end to it before it’s too late but he can’t keep himself from coming back for more of the same. He can’t stay away from it, this backstage romance, this bad romance based on lust and reckless desire. This thing between them that leaves Eddie trembling and mindless and caught in a haze of absolute bliss each time when it should leave him ashamed and rueful instead.
“God, you’re so beautiful like this. Such a beautiful, perfect mess.”
Eddie’s jaw aches and his lungs protest and with every snap of Steve’s hips, he loses himself a bit more in the noise and the feeling – his own choked-up sounds and Steve’s husky moans, that familiar burn in his throat and the stinging in his eyes. He wishes it would last forever but he can feel how close Steve is, knows it won’t take long before his tongue and lips will be covered in Steve’s cum, filling his senses with the sweet bitterness, not only in taste but an overall feeling that consumes him.
“Ah, fuck! That’s it, baby!
Steve’s hand in his hair is his lifeline, keeping him here on the ground, preventing Eddie from floating too high while he swallows and licks and savours the taste he knows so well. He loves the flavour of Steve falling apart.
“So good, God, look at you. So hot. Taking it all so well.”
Steve’s praise is music, a song still unwritten whose melody echoes loud in his mind – one day he’ll sing it back to him, will sing it for the whole world to hear and no one will know what it means. No one but Steve.
“C’mere, baby. Wanna kiss you.”
Eddie struggles to stand, knees weak and legs like jelly. Steve helps him once he’s done buttoning up his pants, holds him steady, wraps his strong arms around Eddie’s waist. So close, Eddie is sure Steve notices how hard he is. How pent up and horny and ready to burst at the seams but he doesn’t seem to care, ignores Eddie’s cock that’s aching within its confines, goes for his mouth instead. Reclaiming part of what’s his when he prys Eddie’s lips open with a greedy tongue, chasing the taste of his own release. Licking inside, demanding, and messy and deep. And Eddie lets him. Always does.
Steve’s kisses are never soft, never real; they never kiss without purpose, without the intention to share spit and cum and still, locking lips and twisting tongues with Steve is fun, it’s good, it’s never enough but that’s okay because he knows that it’s all he’s ever going to get.
There’s noise coming from the other side of the door, voices and footsteps and Eddie knows what that means but it still hits him like a bucket of ice-cold water when Steve instantly steps away. It rips him out of his hazy state, too quick, too harsh, and he feels like falling, slipping down into a pitch-black void that swallows him, befogging his senses, his mind. He feels lost and confused; his body’s swaying, legs threatening to give out underneath him.
“Eddie, what’s-“
Steve steadies him with both hands on his shoulders, slowly guiding him back to the couch where he makes him sit.
“Are you okay?”
He really is not but he nods anyway, doesn’t want Steve to worry, just needs a moment to calm his racing heart and clear the fog in his mind.
The footsteps and voices come closer and closer but then, another door opens and closes somewhere in the hallway and they both let out a relieved exhale.
Immediately, Steve crouches down before Eddie and brings his hands up to his face. They’re warm and soft and it feels so good Eddie wants to cry, feels overcome with emotions he can’t explain. His body is trembling, cold shivers running down his spine – it feels like he’s coming down from a trip going straight into withdrawal and he hates it. Hates how pathetic he is.
Steve’s closeness is soothing but the look in his eyes is daunting. There’s anger and concern and something else shining back at Eddie from the other man’s hazel eyes and the urge to apologise to Steve for whatever he did wrong is there but he can’t speak, can’t bring his lips to part and let the words out that are trying to choke him.
“Gonna get you to the hotel. It’s been a long day and I think you should rest.”
When they arrive at the hotel, Steve doesn't hesitate before sliding and arm around Eddie’s waist, holding him close to support his weary body. And he doesn’t even let go when they pass through the lobby where the receptionist greets them with a professional smile.
Eddie should cared more, should at least try to bring some distance between him and Steve – they are too close, too intimate for a public place like this. But Eddie doesn’t care, cannot bring himself to leave the comfort of Steve’s warmth, doesn't want any more distance between them than necessary to walk without stumbling over each other.
People will probably think he’s drunk, insinuating typical rockstar behaviour, commiserating the poor guy at his side for having to take care of him. That’s fine; he can live with that as long as Steve’s name stays clear.
Eddie often wonders if people notice the way he looks at him sometimes. He’s caught himself staring at Steve more than once, seemingly unable to control it. It’s become worse over time, a clear sign that they should stop, that they’ve gone too far, that Eddie is already too deep into- whatever this is.
They should cut the strings and go back to being professionals. Mr Munson and Mr Harrington. The star and his manager. Not Baby and Steve, ‘Steve! Please, more!’
“There we go,” Steve says after unlocking Eddie’s room and leading him inside.
He lets go of him then, and Eddie instantly misses his touch, feels cold without it – but Steve doesn’t give him a chance to complain. With his calm but strict tone Steve tells Eddie to undress and get into bed while he’s scavenging the mini bar for water. And Eddie has no choice but to comply, wants to please, to be good, so he does as he's told.
Dressed down to his boxers, Eddie climbs into the queen-size bed that feels too big for just one, wondering stupidly what it would be like to share it with Steve for the night. Not to fuck, or not only for that, but to lie here together after, chest to chest.
“Here, drink that.”
Eddie takes the bottle Steve hands him, feels like a kid, so small again but not in that pleasant way that makes his skin prickle and his insides churn.
“A-are you mad at me?”
He hates how choked up he sounds but the lump in his throat makes it hard to speak around. And it only gets worse when Steve looks at him, a crease between his brows, his lips pressed together like he’s choosing his next words wisely, probably contemplating whether to yell or let Eddie down easy.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
The question catches Eddie off guard. He doesn’t know why; there’s no reason for Steve to be angry because Eddie did nothing wrong. But then why does it feel like he did?
“If anything, I should be mad at myself for not taking care of you after-“ Steve sighs, rubs his hands over his face before he continues, “I’m sorry. You deserve better.”
Something in Eddie breaks, shatters to pieces because-
“Are you saying you don’t want this anymore?”
This, meaning Eddie. Because he is a risk, a mistake, right? He couldn’t even blame Steve for wanting to end it. But it hurts all the same.
“I’m saying, I will do better. Because you deserve it.”
There’s a softness in his voice Eddie never heard before and the tentative smile in the other man’s face is enough to make his heart flutter dangerously. It makes him bold, or stupid, or maybe both, but the question is out before he can think it through.
“Can you- can you stay with me? Just for a little bit?”
Eddie can practically hear Steve’s inner monologue, the argument he’s having with himself. He should go. Now would be the perfect time to get through the hallway unnoticed because the others are still out and he wouldn’t have to worry about one of the guys catching him sneaking out of Eddie’s room, forcing him to lie and make up excuses to explain his late-night visit.
“Please?”
This time, Eddie doesn’t care how needy he sounds, how needy he is, because even the thought of Steve leaving has him fighting against the tears that are threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes.
Without saying a word, Steve starts to untie his shoes one by one, undresses slow and systematic, neatly folding up his shirt and pants like he’s got all the time in the world, while Eddie is losing his patience.
Steve’s body is a divine work of art; Eddie can’t remember ever getting a better look at him than right now. Can’t remember ever seeing Steve fully naked, not all of him at once, because they’re always in a hurry, always having to make do with the barest minimum of effort - the less they undress, the easier it is to make themselves presentable should they get caught.
But now, Steve is standing before him, his perfect body a feast for his eyes, bare and beautiful. And Eddie’s cock twitches hard, comes alive with the pulsing need for Steve to touch him, fuck him, to finally close the remaining distance, those few steps that feel like they’re miles apart because he’s still not where Eddie wants him.
“Steve, please!”
He’s begging now, doesn’t care how pathetic that makes him and Steve doesn’t seem to mind either because he laughs, dark and cocky, before he finally climbs onto the bed.
Hands in the blanket Eddie had covered himself with, Steve drags it off his body to reveal what’s beneath, eyes flicking down to the obvious tent in Eddie’s boxers.
“Oh. Looks like someone’s in need of attention.”
Steve goes straight for his waistband and Eddie lifts his hips unprompted, helping get rid of the only barrier between his aching cock and whatever Steve will offer. His hand, his mouth, just a hint of tongue – Eddie will take anything at all.
“My poor baby. So hard, so desperate for me. Didn’t even get to come earlier when you let me fuck your pretty mouth. So happy just to be a hole for my pleasure, huh?”
Eddie whimpers and it’s one of those sounds he’d be ashamed of if it wasn’t for the way Steve’s eyes go dark, pupils blown wide like he’s on drugs, like he's high on Eddie’s desperation.
“Gonna make you come and then I’ll fuck you so good, so hard, you won’t feel your legs tomorrow. And you won’t be able to wear one of your slutty little stage outfits for days because I’ll mark you up, cover you in bruises only you are allowed to see. Because you’re my dirty little secret. And I am yours.”
It’s nothing short of a miracle that Eddie doesn’t come right then and there but he knows it won’t take much for him to lose it.
Steve’s mouth is on him and Eddie keens, cries, screams, uncaring of who might hear. Because that mouth is glorious, his talented tongue flicking and licking, massaging up and down his shaft, his balls, his taint. Steve’s mouth is everywhere and when he finally closes his lips around the tip of Eddie’s cock, throbbing and dripping, and begins to suck- Eddie comes. Spurts his release into the waiting heat of Steve’s mouth without warning because his orgasm hits him with such force, that he doesn’t even realise it until it’s too late.
It’s embarrassing how quick he came. Embarrassing and wonderful because Steve promised him more, after, and he doesn’t stop. Swallows Eddie’s cum and keeps sucking his cock until he’s soft and spent and useless, before making true to his words. Biting and kissing, Steve’s mouth wanders from his cock to his thighs to his stomach and sides, leaving red and purple art on every inch of his skin.
It is heaven and hell because Eddie can’t stop the begging and whining, moaning like a slut while his hands are helplessly holding on to Steve’s hair, following his lead as he wanders and stops and goes up, down, up.
Eddie’s rarely aware of the barbells in his nipples - he’s had them for years, they’re part of his body - but there’s a sudden explosion of pain and light and flickering stars behind his lids when Steve’s teeth close around stainless steel and pull.
“Ohmygod! Fuck!”
He swallows Steve’s name before it spills because he’s loud, God, if anyone passes his room they’ll know exactly what’s going on inside. But he can’t keep it down, not when Steve’s heavenly torture draws whine after plea after choked off breath from his mouth, again and again, uncaring of the mess he’s already made of him.
And then it all stops so sudden Eddie’s brain can’t keep up. It’s like someone has turned off the light and left him in complete darkness, wondering, waiting, expecting nothing and everything at once. Before he even registers that Steve was gone, he’s back again, a demonic grin on his face, triumphantly holding up a sachet of lube as if they both didn’t carry them around in their back pocket all the fucking time because-
Well. Because they’re horny and stupid, so stupid, but Eddie doesn’t care, can’t care, wants, needs, tonight and tomorrow and next week. Wants Steve whenever and however he can have him, for a minute or an hour, it doesn’t matter.
May it cost him his career or his life, Eddie’s gone for that man, gone forever, a lost cause. There is no turning back, no way he could ever, would ever let go of Steve again. He needs him. And he needs him inside now.
“Calm down, baby. God, you’re greedy. So impatient. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
It’s with horror Eddie realises he said parts of it out loud but he doesn’t have time to worry about it.
Steve tells him to hold up his legs and Eddie abides, bends his knees to expose himself. And this time, Steve doesn’t play. There’s no unnecessarily mean teasing, no withholding, no hesitation when a cool, slick finger presses against his rim, circling his muscle once, twice, before pushing in.
“Oh, fuck!”
Eddie’s eyes roll back – it’s not even the feeling that makes him want to cry happy tears, it’s the prospect of Steve finally taking him out of his fucking misery.
He’s rock hard again, throbbing and leaking, making a mess of his own skin and body hair while Steve’s making a mess of his hole with nimble fingers pushing in, in, deeper with every thrust.
Around him, the world dissolves into a blurred mass with Steve at the centre of it all, three, maybe four fingers deep. And Edie cries, lets the tears fall freely, couldn't hold them back if he wanted to. It's all too much. It’s overwhelming, to be allowed to fall apart without rush, without the fear of being caught. Right now, he doesn’t have to think about tomorrow. Doesn’t have to worry about someone walking in on them.
Right now, it’s okay to let go.
And he does, falls apart when Steve pulls out his fingers and lines up his cock instead, hard and thick and giving, when he pushes inside. Inch per inch, Eddie loses himself a bit more to the feeling, the way he’s stretched around Steve's dick, becoming one with the other man in this dirty dance, making filthy sounds, both panting and not even trying to hide their ravenous lust for each other.
Steve fucks him slow, like he’s enjoying it too much to make a run for the finish line. Each thrust goes deep, pushes Steve’s cock right into the core of Eddie’s existence, where its dark and hot, where his insides create the perfect mould, the perfect space for Steve to sink into, to stay, and each time he pulls back out, Eddie dies a little. His moans and whimpers have become silent cries, each thrust a breath, each pull another tear.
Steve fucks him, and it’s softer than ever before. Still hard and demanding but Steve’s mouth is on his neck, kissing the sensitive part beneath his ear while he whispers praises and naughty things, showers Eddie with this strange kind of almost-love that makes him go insane.
Steve fucks him, and it’s like always but it’s not because it’s better, deeper, more than he ever offered before and Eddie wonders how he'll ever be able to settle for anything less than this.
“Touch yourself, baby.”
Eddie feels like he’s in trance, hand moving on autopilot guided by Steve’s raspy voice when he wraps it around his own cock while Steve readjusts, bends Eddie in half and fucks him for real.
The pace of his hips snapping against Eddie’s thighs – the skin rubbed raw and covered in bruises – is relentless. Each drag of Steve's hardness against his insides brings Eddie closer to the abyss. His own hand is hopelessly trying to find a steady rhythm but every time Steve hits that bundle of nerves Eddie stops, tightens his grip, trying his best not to come too soon. Not again. He wants this to last, wants to keep going as long as Steve lets him, wants them to fall together this time.
The grip of Steve's fingers is tight and possessive, nails leaving crescent shaped marks where they dig into skin. And the noises they make are obscene, slick and wet and desperate.
“Gonna- gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Come on, Eddie. Come with me.”
And Eddie does. He slips, sinks, drowns- and falls. Comes all over his fist and his stomach while Steve paints his insides with cum, fills him up like he promised. Gives, and gives, until he breaks down on top of him, uncaring of the mess Eddie made.
For the first time, they stay like this - two trembling bodies riding out the wave of their orgasms, breathless but blissfully calm. Two hearts beating fast where their bodies align, embracing each other's overheated skin. Face-to-face, not with Eddie bent over while Steve fucks him from behind, with their clothes uncomfortably crumpled around them. They're naked and soft, skin blessed by the holy trinity of sweat, cum, and tears - they're a mess together. A beautiful, wonderful mess. And Eddie wishes they could stay like this forever.
He knows they can't, already dreads the moment Steve will eventually get up and get dressed and leave. Sneak out of Eddie’s room, praying that no one will see him.
Hoping their secret stays just that, a secret. Something that only exists between them.
There’s a knock on his door and at first, Eddie thinks he’s still asleep, still dreaming, because when he opens his eyes, he finds himself curled up against Steve, the other man’s arms wrapped around him. They’re sharing the bed and one cover, sharing body heat and air and so little space it would be suffocating, if it was anyone else.
The beside lamp is still on but the room is now illuminated with sunlight, a warm glow to indicate that they’ve slept through the night, together for the first time.
Waking up in Steve’s arms had never been in the cards and yet, nothing about this feels wrong. It should but it doesn’t. How could this be anything but fine when Steve looks so peaceful in his sleep? When lying next to him allows Eddie to let his fingers glide over Steve’s skin, gentle and slow, careful not to wake him. When here, in this little bubble of happiness, Eddie can pretend that it’s real.
He knows it isn’t. But where’s the harm in pretending, just for a little while.
Another knock rips Eddie out of his daydream.
Fuck.
“Eddie? Are you up? Is Steve with you?” Jeff’s voice comes from the other side of the door.
“Some guy from the label needs to talk to him and he’s not picking up his phone.”
Fuck. Shit, shit, FUCK.
The bubble pops the moment Steve startles awake next to him, hair tousled, eyes droopy – but all Eddie can think is how bad he wants to kiss him. Wants to lick over his lips, dry from sleep, wants to know the taste of Morning-Steve, just to memorise it.
The knocking continues and Eddie knows he has to answer if he doesn’t want Jeff to break down the door.
“Uh, yeah I’m awake. Just give me a minute!” Eddie calls out to his friend on the other side, rubbing his face to muffle a groan. Beside him, Steve curses under his breath and jumps out of bed. He collects his clothes, throws one apologetic look over his shoulder before he vanishes into the ensuite bathroom.
Jeff, impatient as he seems, knocks again and Eddie reluctantly walks over to open the door.
He’s wearing only his boxers from last night, not thinking about the state Steve left him in, the colours he left on his skin. Because he’s too focused on putting on a fake smile to cover any emotion that might otherwise show on his face.
“Hey! How was your night? Did you have fun? Sorry I didn’t make it. I fell asleep and only woke up a few minutes ago.“
“Eddie, where’s Harrington?”
“I- Why would I know where our manager is?”
“The lady at the reception said you came in together last night.”
Eddie’s heart races, beats so hard and fast he’s sure Jeff can see it.
“Yeah, we did but we-“
“Just tell him to pick up his damn phone, okay? We’re meeting for breakfast in 30 minutes.”
Jeff pats his shoulder, broad and heavy and it should feel unbearable, the weight of it, because he doesn’t deserve the friendly and understanding look in his band mate’s eyes. Eddie’s a liar and Jeff knows more than he should, still offers a smile and a nod, a silent assurance that feels a lot like him saying ‘Your secret is safe with me.’
Eddie closes the door with a heavy sigh, calling for Steve who opens the one he’s been hiding behind, fully dressed now, hair neat, phone in his hand.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I'm sorry.”
I’m not, Eddie wants to say but he bites it down, doesn’t need Steve to know about the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.
“Guess you should go. We're meeting downstairs in half an hour so I think it’s safe for you to-“
Suddenly his words get trapped on his tongue because Steve’s mouth is on his, dry lips and morning breath included, and he kisses him, just a tender touch but a real kiss this time. No purpose, no tongue, just a pure, unhurried kiss that leaves Eddie breathless. Makes it feel like his heart is suddenly made of butterflies, fluttering and swirling, dancing behind his rib cage.
“Y-you kissed me,” Eddie says dumbly when they part, implying a question he doesn’t dare ask because it’s easier to drown in false hope than to confront the truth. Searching for the answer in Steve’s eyes regardless, hoping to see if there’s meaning behind him breaking this unwritten rule.
There’s desire in his eyes, a darkness Eddie’s seen so many times before. This controlled obsession that never fails to bring him to his knees.
Steve traces the line of his jaw, fingertips flitting down his neck, thumb pressing into a bruise by his collar bone like he wants to remind Eddie of its existence, remind him of who put it there.
“I’m not ready to share you with the world, Eddie.”
You’re my dirty little secret. And I am yours.
Maybe Eddie is delusional for finding love confessions hidden in words that could mean one thing and another or nothing at all but he’s already been burned so he might as well let the flames consume him whole.
“Okay,” Eddie says, and finds that it’s true. That deep down, he, too, isn’t ready to show and tell.
Because he’s greedy like that, wants Steve to himself. Even if that means he can’t have him all the time.
And even if it feels like something has shifted between them, it doesn’t change the fact that he is in ruins for this man who came to claim his body and mind and heart. That even if the rules of their game might change over time, he’ll always be playing along. In dark backstage areas or warmly lit hotel rooms, Steve can have him, all of him, always.
He’ll be his secret and his mistake.
He’ll be his lover.
He’ll be whatever Steve wants him to be, today and tomorrow, come what may.