Chapter Text
"fuck."
eddie hasn't been able to sleep. at all. it's well past 5 in the morning now, a sigh escaping his lips as he glances at the clock from under his covers. he should be used to this, he thinks to himself, but the reason is just as annoying no matter how many nights pass. even though he gets sleep in during the day, it still doesn't change the reality of exhaustion. his fingers tap to some loud thrash drum pattern as it plays in the background, an attempt to will himself out of overthinking again. he stares at his guitar, thinking about practicing for the next Coffin gig, but ultimately rolls back over to face the wall in frustration.
the one thing he can form coherent thoughts about, unfortunately, is steve "the hair" harrington. he's not pleased about it, but the daydreaming keeps his mind just busy enough to get some rest, so he doesn't try to stop it anymore. at first, it was just corny domesticity. cooking dinner, watching tv, the usual rom-com bullshit, which… even then was unusual enough for eddie to be thinking about. but, eventually, it twisted into something more carnal.
when all else fails, his mind goes to steve in his bed. or him in steve's, whichever works. he knows he shouldn't be thinking about this, but the guilt almost makes it more pleasurable. steve's mouth pressed against his dick, coaxing another strangled moan out of eddie as he splits him open with his fingers. eddie rubs his eyes with his hands, trying to avoid the inevitable. he knows what happens next, what always does. he imagines steve trailing his mouth down his neck, leaving bites, obvious enough to anyone who would care to look, eddie pulling steve's hair to somewhat alleviate the pain. he imagines what steve would taste like when their mouths collide – wet, forceful. he imagines the force of steve's body combining with his own as he forces him down onto the bed.
eddie slides a hand down his boxers, surrendering, as always, to his imagination. he doesn't even need porn anymore. he winces at how embarrassing that is to admit to himself, feeling that he's already soaked. my fucking god, munson. what a mess you made, steve's voice says slyly. he hums at the imaginary voice, covering his face with his other arm. he immediately goes to rub his clit, not patient enough to bother trying anything else. he gasps, the unexpected sensitivity tumbling over him. he forces his eyes to shut, straining to feel imaginary steve's hands on him, his voice, anything, mouthing a "fuck" in frustration at himself in response. he goes to dig his nails into his thigh, an attempt to ground himself. eddie slowly circles around his clit again, muffling his desperate sounds with a bite of his already sore bottom lip. an image of steve fucking him roughly enters his mind, eliciting a small sigh from him as his hips buck up into his hand as the slick sounds of his pleasure mix with the music blasting in his room. eddie's mouth opens around nothing, his eyes strained closed as hot pressure builds at the bottom of his stomach. eddie, cum for me. be a good boy, you can do it. he lets a brief moan escape as he finishes on command, a gesture to the imaginary lover in his head.
his breathing slowly returns to normal as his body goes limp in exhaustion. when he wakes again, the feeling of an empty bed will eat him alive, but for now, all his fuzzy mind can think of is the vision of steve big-spooning him as their hands loosely grasp together. he smiles lazily. night, steve.