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So, despite what some people - ahem, Mrs. Click - might've thought, Eddie Munson is not a dumb man.
Sure, his grades and his three-time tour of senior year might've suggested it, but (and hear him out), the shit that they'd taught in the claustrophobia-inducing confines of Hawkins High was boring. Boooorriiinggg , all eight syllables included. Which was why he'd failed. And then failed again. And by the third time, he'd kind of, sort of, maybe retained enough information to scrape by with solid 2.0 GPA, a prayer, and a thank you to all the teachers that didn’t change exam questions from year to year.
Truly, it was a proud moment for the Munson family line, even if Al Munson hadn’t been there for Eddie to rub his face in it.
But that was straying too far from the point of Eddie’s observations. Fact: he wasn’t dumb. Moreover, he considers himself to be a pretty good read on people. Kind of has to be, when he’d been Public Enemy Number One in high school. Had to know who he could trust or, at the very least, who he could sell to without getting ratted out or beat for all his trouble.
So, despite Steve Harrington’s every effort to play it cool, Eddie knows that something’s been off for the last few days. Shit, he can practically taste it in the air, something saccharine and artificial stinging the back of his throat every time he and Steve stumble through another awkward, stilted conversation.
It’s like talking to an ex you’re still not over (and Eddie would know what that looks like, given he’d been privy to Steve and Nancy’s fumbling conversations all through the almost-end of the world, and then a little while after). Except they’re not exes. They’re roommates. They’re supposed to be best friends, allegedly . But last Eddie’s checked, best friends don’t hide things from one another.
And Steve’s been hiding.
It’s going on week two now, and at first Eddie - much to his own shame - is a little oblivious. He chalks it up to Steve being tired. Long hours working to pick up the slack on his half of the bills (which Eddie has offered to cover, mind you), followed by night classes at the community college mean that Steve’s been slogging through the last few months like a zombie. The bags under his eyes have bags of their own, and Eddie had figured that, with finals coming up on the horizon, Steve’s been buried away in his room, studying.
Maybe that’s partially true, but it’s not just that. It’s the way they haven’t spent more than ninety seconds in a room together in days (Eddie knows, he’s counted). It’s also the way that, whenever they do happen to find themselves sharing space, Steve looks at him. Like he’s looking into Eddie’s soul or something, dark, wide eyes boring into his own until Steve suddenly seems to realize what he’s doing and finds some excuse to make a hasty retreat.
And that’s got to be a little fucked up, right? Steve’s got no right to stare, to splay Eddie’s heart open with that Medusa gaze of his and then just fuck off like Eddie’s the one who did him wrong. Because he didn’t. Hand on the Bible, swear on his life, Eddie’s gone through and scoured every interaction they’d had over the last few weeks and he cannot for the life of him figure out what he’d said, or done.
Sure, he drank the last of Steve’s milk the other week and forgot to toss their laundry in the dryer one time, but that’s pretty par for the course, okay? Steve doesn’t mind. Or he didn’t, at least. And if that precedent has changed, Eddie thinks he should have been told about it. So they’d be on the same page or whatever.
But this silent treatment is maddening. Eddie feels itchy all over, like he’s getting hives. Like he’s allergic to a lack of Steve Harrington’s attention.
He might be, to be fair. There’s just something about the guy. His ridiculously good looks, for one. Sure, Steve had been handsome like, always . Probably came out of the womb with a perfect curl of hair sweeping over his forehead. In high school, Eddie had watched Steve from a distance like all the others weirdos and freaks and queers. He’d never call it pining , but he did have eyes. He knew what pretty looked like and he, unfortunately, knew his type.
The tragedy, however, is that ridiculously good looks are not actually Steve’s most defining feature. Sure, they rank up there, but if that had been the only thing then Eddie might not be here right now, sitting parked in front of Steve’s closed bedroom door and glaring at it like it’s done him some deep, personal wrong.
He had been hoping to intercept Steve on his return home from class. To confront him and put a rest to all this nonsense. It’s taken him days to hype himself up to this point, and for Steve to somehow slip under his nose is a little cruel of him, actually. Even if he doesn’t realize the kind of mental anguish he’s putting his bestfriend-roommate through.
Eddie doesn’t think he has it in him to hype himself a second time. Hence the sitting, legs crossed, elbows on his knees, and chin propped in his hands.
It’s eerily quiet in the apartment. Usually someone (Eddie, mostly) has music playing, or a movie in the background, or raucous laughter and half-yelled conversations from one end of the space to the other. But it’s silent. Eddie would think Steve’s asleep if not for the occasional creak of floorboards and the passing of his shadow under the slit at the bottom of the door.
Surely this means he has to come out sometime , Eddie thinks, perking up when Steve’s shadow stops. He thinks he should be more embarrassed about it, honestly, but fuck it, who is he kidding? He’s been sitting on a big, fat, mortifying crush on Steve and his bitchy attitude and his kindness and his uncanny ability to rattle off sports statistics at the drop of a hat for a long time.
And Eddie knows , okay, that Steve is so, so out of his league. That the fact they’re even as good of friends as they are is a statistical anomaly if not an outright cosmic fluke. He should be grateful they’re even this close as it is. But Eddie’s a greedy fucker. Greedy enough to cling to life when by all means he has no business to. Greedy enough to follow Steve out to Chicago, to insert himself in the other man’s life with an uncanny amount of brute force. Greedy enough to think, sometimes, maybe , that the looks Steve sends his way mean more than they do.
It’s inevitably going to be the source of his downfall, this hubris, but Eddie’s made it this far, and sometimes, sometimes , it feels like Steve’s encouraging him to go a little further.
Or maybe Eddie is delusional (a not unlikely possibility) and these last couple of weeks have been Steve’s way of subtly trying to put some distance between them.
Which, rude , if that’s the case. Eddie doesn’t know Steve to not be confrontational, if something bothers him. It’s one of those things that Steve is weirdly, paradoxically proud of. Something about seeing the look on his dad’s face, he’d mentioned, whenever his parents were around long enough for them to get into it.
So either Steve’s been possessed by the world’s shyest ghost or -
Or it’s something else.
Eddie’s saved from entertaining any other possibilities by a sudden clatter from behind the door. Steve’s shadow jerks, and the sound that punches from him makes the hairs on Eddie’s arms stand on end. He sounds like he’s in pain, kind of sounds like he’s dying , actually. Eddie’s never heard a noise like that from Steve, not even when demobats had gone and taken a few chunks out of him.
So he doesn’t think, okay? He doesn’t consider potential repercussions when he springs to his feet and pushes the door open, poking his head inside.
“Steve?” It’s stronger here, that artificial sweetness Eddie’s been tasting for the last few days, and in the middle of it all, hunched on the floor with his forehead pressed to the shag is Steve, both arms wound around his middle like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t hold on tight. On one side of the room, buried under what must be every blanket in their apartment as well as several shirts Eddie’s been looking for recently is Steve’s bed, and all the other furniture has been shoved haphazardly off to the side so the path to Steve’s nest is as straight and unimpeded as possible.
Which, okay , Steve Harrington has a nest. It’s not that Eddie’s surprised by that, exactly. The guy’s an omega, and omegas like, do that. Even if Steve doesn’t exactly look the part, which whatever , Eddie isn’t exactly the typical alpha, either. What’s more surprising is the presence of his own clothes, tucked and arranged in a neat little semicircle where Eddie assumes the head of the bed is.
It’s kind of damning evidence, actually, and it freezes Eddie on the spot until Steve loosens another quiet groan, tilting his head to glare blearily up at Eddie, what Eddie can see of his face flushed red and beaded in sweat.
“Are you gonna - you gonna fucking stare or what?” Steve grinds out, pinching at his own sides, pushing himself into a tighter ball when another cramp threatens to tear him from the inside out.
It’s nice to know Steve’s still as charismatic as ever.
But he has a point; Eddie hasn’t moved since banging through the door, and that’s not very becoming of a roommate-bestfriend who’s roommate looks like he’s about to start his heat. Or maybe he’s started it already. It’s kind of hard to tell, and as Eddie squats down beside him he takes a good whiff. The scent is still muted, still sterile and uncomfortably sweet, and Eddie’s curiosity must not be subtle if even Steve, in his state, can tell what he’s trying to do. Steve rolls his eyes, prying one hand away from his stomach to push his hair aside and snag the hem of his t-shirt, revealing not one, but four scent patches slapped haphazardly on and around his bonding gland.
“Jesus, man. You trying to give yourself a heart attack?” Eddie’s not panicking. He’s not, no matter how much his own heart kicks between his ribs and his hands flutter uselessly over Steve’s tense form.
“Might beat this,” Steve groans, and there’s - Jesus H. Christ - there’s tears in his eyes. He’s not outright crying yet, but it’s definitely toeing the line and Eddie ends up wincing in sympathy. Something in him finally cracks when Steve tenses again, biting at his bottom lip to choke down another pained sound. Eddie stands, hooking his arms around Steve to pull him to his feet. He’s honestly not that strong and Steve is kind of dead weight against him, every muscle tight and unyielding like a board, but they make it work. Eddie shuffles forward one step at a time, easing them deeper into the room and sitting Steve down on the edge of his bed-nest.
He talks the entire time, too, huffing around his words until Steve’s no longer in his arms.
“You seriously weren’t going to tell me?” Eddie sniffs the air again, and okay, sure. It smells fake and it doesn’t smell good but maybe he’s biased because he still kind of likes it. It stokes the fire of something in him, at any rate. Makes him want to fix it, whatever the hell it is.
“That wasn’t exactly part of the plan, no,” Steve answers, burying his face in his hands with a barely-there sniffle.
That hurts. Even if they’re not - even if there’s nothing more between them, they’re still friends. For all that he’s bold and outspoken and generally easy to get on with, though, Steve’s a pretty private guy. Doesn’t like inconveniencing people. Keeps his problems to himself.
Eddie kind of hates that about him, if he’s being totally honest.
Plus, this shit is way more inconvenient now. Eddie says as much, taking a shuffling step back while alternating between crossing his arms over his chest and fiddling with a curl of his hair.
“I could’ve - I don’t know - I could’ve gotten you stuff,” he starts, and now there’s an undercurrent of righteous indignation bubbling up within him. “Not spent the last two days looking for my Iron Maiden shirt. I could’ve made arrangements, since you want to be alone so bad. And then you wouldn’t have to kill your fucking liver or whatever with that many patches, and - ”
“Okay! I fucking get it! ” Steve snaps, jerking his head to level Eddie with a look that should have absolutely killed him on the spot. It’s a miracle he’s still standing, honestly, arms thrown out like he’s winding up for a spiel.
Immediately he feels bad, snapping his mouth closed with an audible click of his teeth. Agitating an omega on the cusp of heat is probably not Eddie’s smartest move ever. Probably ranks pretty high up there with getting eaten by demobats. Especially if that omega is Steve , who Eddie adores. Who shouldn’t have to look fucking miserable, ever. Who honestly has no damn business being so pretty with tears carving twin paths down his reddened cheeks.
“I get it,” Steve repeats, pulling his feet up onto the edge of the bed so he can shuffle towards the headboard. “Village fucking idiot, Steeeve Harrington -”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Eddie interrupts him, cutting off whatever he’s about to say.
“Yeah?” Even like this, Steve manages to look like he’s striking out on a warpath, jaw working around the words he wants to say. Eddie can practically see him weighing his options, deciding what vile mockery he’s going to spit to bring this conversation to a swift and bitter end.
Except he doesn’t. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing hard, and reaches for a pillow, breaking eye contact while he finds one he can hug close to his chest. “Then what did you mean?” he asks, deflating. Eddie kind of wants to kick himself, because now he’s really done it. He’s backed into a corner, because whatever he says moving forward is going to show too much of his hand.
Or he could lie, but that’s not something he wants to do, he realizes. Definitely not about this. Not to Steve.
“I mean…” he starts, clearing his throat and looking at the bed, the Black Sabbath shirt that’s right next to Steve’s head - anywhere but directly at Steve, really.
“I mean you should have someone to take care of you,” he finishes. “Take some of the burden off your shoulders. And I’m not saying it has to be me or anything –”
“Are you offering?” Steve interrupts him, and they really have got to stop doing that to each other, Eddie thinks deliriously, brain coming to a screeching halt as the question registers.
“Am I - am I offering ??” He must sound some kind of way. Incredulous or dismissive or whatever, because Steve’s expression darkens, eyes narrowing as he moves to pull a blanket over his shoulders.
“Nevermind. Forget I even asked,” he mutters, sucking in a hard breath through his nose. His scent goes sour, acrid at the back of Eddie’s throat, and if not for the absolute psychosis clearly propelling him forward to hover just at the foot of Steve’s nest, he might have booked a hasty retreat.
As it stands, Eddie scowls, annoyed that Steve’s annoyed and annoyed even more by the fact of his annoyance.
“ Dude , if you’d just let me fucking finish!”
Steve just grunts at him. It’d be funny, in a kind of pathetic way, if Eddie didn’t know that Steve was hurting. But Steve doesn’t kick him out, so Eddie takes that as an indication to continue. He clears his throat, manages to look a little sheepish when he speaks again.
“I didn’t know it was an option, okay? And - and if it is , then yeah, duh. Of course I’m offering. You’re my best friend -” and the deepest object of his unrequited affection, but Eddie’s gonna burn that bridge when they come to it, “- and it beats having to go beg Chrissy for a place to stay for the next couple of days, right?”
The attempt at humor seems to work, because Steve gives a little snort and looks at him again, mouth twitching to hold back what Eddie’s pretty sure might be a smile.
“I’d love to hear you beg,” he mutters, and oh - okay. Yeah, it’s totally normal to pop a boner over a joke. Cool. The embarrassment crawling up the back of his neck must be palpable, because the tension breaks as Steve barks a laugh, something akin to a too-hard exhale as in the next moment he’s wincing again, hands pressing into his stomach.
“Should’ve seen the look on your face, man,” he grunts, and Eddie can’t help but laugh a little himself. “To be fair,” he says, finally reaching out to touch because he has permission now, he thinks. “It’s usually the other way around.” His palm settles around the back of Steve’s neck, fingers scrubbing carefully through his hair while he toys the edge of one of the scent patches with his thumbnail, resisting the urge to just rip it all off.
Thankfully, Steve seems to get the idea and reaches up himself, peeling each one away from his skin and balling them together. “Guess I don’t need these now, huh?” he asks, tossing them towards the trashcan next to his nightstand. They land perfectly because Steve’s a bastard like that, but Eddie can’t find it in himself to be disgruntled. Because Steve’s scent is really something else . It starts to clear of that antiseptic sweetness almost immediately, mellows and deepens into something Eddie wants to plant his face in and huff like a dog.
Someone should bottle that shit, seriously.
“So, uh -” Steve breaks his absolutely insane internal monologue, clearing his throat and reaching up to nudge Eddie’s hand away from his neck. Eddie obliges, even if he’s not thrilled about it. Then Steve’s eyes are on him, pupils blown so wide they eat up most of his irises.
“- how do you wanna do this?”
And isn’t that a question for the ages? Eddie resists the urge to shrug, to let Steve take the reins because it’s his heat, after all. Steve’s probably feeling just as awkward about the whole situation, even if he manages to hide it better.
“Naked, preferably.” Eddie doesn’t know where the bravado comes from, but he’s always been good at flying by the seat of his pants. A mark of a great DM, or so he thinks.
“You’re so full of shit, Munson.” Steve seems to appreciate it, too, snorting as he reaches for his shirt. Out of the two of them, Steve’s never really had a problem being undressed. Eddie would need both hands and a few of his toes to count how many times he’s seen Harrington’s naked ass in the mornings, so it’s no surprise Steve takes the initiative, scooting back towards the headboard as he peels out of his sweats and t-shirt and then, just like that, drapes across his pillows like a goddamn sculpted Adonis.
Eddie nearly chokes on his tongue, watching the way Steve’s muscles move and his thighs flex as he spreads them open. He’s always tried really, really hard not to look, so everything he’s ever seen has been out of the corner of his eye and bolstered by a healthy dose of fantasy. It’s honestly a lot to take in when it’s staring him so blatantly in the face now, soft and slick and framed by a meticulously-groomed bush.
He must be staring too long, the silence stretching heavy between them while he ogles Steve Harrington’s pussy, because Steve starts to close his legs, clearing his throat with an awkward-sounding cough.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t -”
Eddie finally kicks into gear at that, rushing to grab Steve by the knees and pry his thighs back open. “No!” That’s not it. That’s so far from it it might as well be in another stratosphere, and Eddie doesn’t even care that he looks a little frantic and a lot pathetic as he finally brings himself to kneel between Steve’s legs. He tries to save face, though, loosening his death grip on Steve’s kneecaps.
“Just let me admire it for a second, sweetheart,” he says, and is instantly gratified when Steve glances away, lip wedged between his teeth and a coy, dark look in his eye.
His smug sense of victory doesn’t last him long, though, because not a moment later Steve winces again, tense under his hands. “You can admire it later,” he manages, sliding his ass down until he’s laying spread around Eddie’s thighs. “When you’ve fucked a knot into me.”
“Jesus, fucking Christ -” Eddie’s knocked flat on his ass once again and that’s what, the fourth time in ten minutes? He isn’t sure, but it’s got to be some kind of record. Especially when Steve manages to flash him a mean little grin like he knows what he’s doing, his own hands coming to toy with the hem of Eddie’s shirt.
“Just ‘Steve’ is fine, thanks.” And then he has the audacity to wink . Bastard.
Eddie barks a laugh, and it’s really all he needs to finally kick into gear, grabbing Steve behind the knees and shoving them up to his shoulders.
“The fucking mouth on you, man,” he mutters, and when Steve’s hand wraps around his forearm he gives the back of Steve’s thigh a reassuring little squeeze. “Gonna eat you out now, I think.”
“You think - ? ”
Steve doesn’t get the chance to finish, too busy choking on a gasp when Eddie finally puts his mouth on him. It’s not Eddie’s proudest moment, to be fair. He’s usually better at this sort of thing, doesn’t come off so desperate as he basically faceplants into the slick folds of Steve’s pussy.
But these are unprecedented circumstances and all that, and Steve doesn’t really seem to mind it either, if his fist in Eddie’s hair is anything to go by. It’s a good barometer for how he’s doing, and Eddie quickly learns that the bump of his nose along Steve’s clit and the slow, methodical drag of his tongue is what makes Steve tense up around him and loosen the sweetest, prettiest moans Eddie's ever heard from deep within his chest.
Every little punched-out noise and flex of Steve’s fingers just feeds more into Eddie’s justifiably-inflated ego. He feels good , and when Steve starts yanking on his hair instead of pulling him in closer he only redoubles his efforts, humming at Steve’s warning of “‘m gonna cum , fuck–”
It’s not like he would’ve gotten much of a chance to move even if he wanted to, anyway, because no sooner does Steve inform him of the inevitable that he actually follows through, thick thighs clamping around Eddie’s ears and slick flooding his mouth. It’s messy, soaks his chin and drips into the blankets spread out under Steve’s ass and Eddie thinks he could just die happy right there, boxed between Steve’s legs as he tries to catch every drop.
Such is not his fate, however, and it isn't long before Steve is shoving his face away, clumsy and uncoordinated while his body trembles with the aftershocks. Eddie sits up on his knees, smug as he wipes at his mouth with the back of one hand and helps guide Steve's legs back to the mattress with the other.
“ So …”
Steve shushes him before he can finish, half-heartedly waving a hand in his direction.
“Shut up.”
“I haven't even said anything.” Eddie can't help it; he's grinning like a fucking psycho, fingers drifting towards the apex of Steve's thighs to trace along the pretty, pink lips of Steve's cunt, glossy from spit and the slick that's still dripping out of him, like Eddie hadn't just licked every drop out of him.
Steve's hips twitch, but he doesn't say anything, so Eddie keeps toying with the sensitive skin while they both come down from whatever the hell just happened.
The scent of antiseptic is all but gone now, and in its place there's nothing but Steve , concentrated to the nth degree. Eddie inhales deeply and doesn’t have the shame necessary to feel weird about it when Steve cuts him a look from between his spread fingers, clearly amused. Whatever. Sue him, but Steve smells good and Eddie doesn’t feel like arguing about it. Instead he pinches the inside of Steve’s thigh with a wicked grin and laughs outright when the omega yelps, delighting in his victory just long enough for Steve to launch himself at him. Eddie finds himself flat on his back, half-hanging off the bed with a lapful of Steve Harrington and it feels kind of like the start of so many of Eddie’s fantasies.
His hands drop to Steve’s hips, settling there like that’s how they’ve always done it, holding him back so that their noses just barely brush.
“You know, that was like, really hot and all but it’s not exactly a permanent fix,” Steve mutters and the first trickle of embarrassment inches up Eddie’s spine. He clears his throat, glances away from Steve’s dark, searching gaze.
“Yeah, well. You’re gonna have to give me a second.”
Steve looks adorably confused at that, eyebrows knitting together and head tilting. He looks like a fucking puppy, all sweet and unsure. Then he looks down between them, at the not-so-subtle patch of wet staining Eddie’s sweats.
“You didn’t !”
“Shut up!” He’s mortified, horrified , and if not for the fact that Steve still straddles him Eddie’s pretty sure he would have booked a hasty retreat by now. Steve opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, and before he can think twice about it Eddie clamps a hand over the omega’s mouth.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up !”
The sound of Steve’s laugh vibrates across his palm anyway, and then is followed by the drag of his tongue, teasing and coy and so fucking, goddamn –
“ Ugh! ”
There’s no words, okay? Only an overwhelming sense of something bubbling in Eddie’s chest. He shoves at Steve and they end up rolling all across the bed, a tangle of flailing limbs and laughter until, somehow, Eddie’s still pinned to the mattress, Steve’s thighs locked around his hips and hands wrapped around Eddie’s wrists.
They’re panting, both flushed, both a little wild, so Eddie can’t be blamed for what he does. Steve’s just so close and so pretty, and when his tongue drags across his bottom lip all Eddie can do is chase it, straining upwards to catch that bottom lip between his teeth. It’s messy, but Steve does not take long at all to get with the program, pushing Eddie down and surging into the kiss. It’s wet and uncoordinated, all teeth and spit like Steve Harrington didn’t have a fucking reputation , but it’s still the best damn kiss Eddie’s ever partaken in. He licks into Steve’s mouth and when he finds his hands finally free he flips their positions one more time, dropping his weight on Steve’s chest just to feel the omega instinctively wrap around him.
Fingers scramble at the back of his t-shirt, yanking at it until he gets with the program and lifts up enough to pull it off, tossing it aside. He’s not even fully done with that when Steve starts yanking at his sweats, shoving them down his thighs with mounting desperation.
“I’m working on it, Jesus ,” Eddie huffs, raising up to help Steve get him naked.
“Yeah, work a little faster, man.”
Fucking brat.
But that’s something to explore later, Eddie thinks, sinking back between Steve’s inviting thighs. The first real touch of bare skin is hot, perfect . Kind of feels like coming home, which Eddie knows is an insane comparison to make. But he does anyway, and when the tip of his dick nudges at Steve’s entrance the sound that punches out of him is downright obscene, like a full-body groan he can’t choke back on.
Thankfully, Steve seems similarly afflicted. He whines, kicks his hips, and when that doesn’t get him what he wants he opens his gorgeous, sinful mouth.
“C’mon, Eddie. I need it.”
He’s flushed and wide-eyed, cheeks rouged, expression open and desperate, so how is Eddie supposed to deny him anything at all? He rolls his hips against Steve and yeah, okay. He’s been back to rock hard for a little while now, so it’s easy to slip the tip right in just far enough that Steve starts squirming. The omega pulls out all the damn stops, too, locking his ankles around Eddie’s back, whining . It’s honestly unfair but Eddie doesn’t want to rush it, not when Steve’s so fucking tight around him that he thinks he should pull out and finger the guy as like, a courtesy.
In fact, he moves to do just that when Steve’s nails dig into his shoulders, the blunt tips anchoring in his skin.
“ Fuck me ,” he hisses, pushing down with his heels against Eddie’s ass to drive home the point and Eddie sinks in another inch before he manages to gather himself, stopping the powerhouse that is Steve Harrington with a goal.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Which is like, mostly the truth, but it’s also complicated and weird and not something Eddie can coherently explain when he’s buried halfway inside the guy. Like, there’s no normal way to say that he kind of wants to know what Steve looks like after he’s been slapped around a little bit, if he gets all teary and dopey. If he says ’thank you’ afterwards.
So yeah. Eddie thinks he’s keeping it together really fucking well, all things considered, but Steve’s narrow-eyed stare makes him squirm anyway.
“Yeah you do.” Which is so not what Eddie expects to hear. He scrambles, but before he can really get himself worked up - or simply pass away, which is definitely an option worth considering - Steve just grins at him, showing off his dimples. “I want you to.”
And that just seals the deal, doesn’t it. Eddie groans, dropping his forehead to Steve’s shoulder as his hips drive him in a little deeper. He’s so fucking greedy for it and he’s not about to argue if Steve wants him to, but he still moves slow, forcing himself still any time Steve tenses or clenches around the length of him.
It’s for both their benefit, truly. Steve’s got a lot of heat to be getting through and Eddie runs the risk of popping his knot embarrassingly fast, so he needs a few moments, thank you very much.
It’s still far too soon that he bottoms out but again: he’s greedy. That’s been well-established and Steve keeps making these soft, keening little noises interspersed with words of praise, with reassurance that Eddie feels ’so fucking good’ and ’please, Eddie - need you deeper’ .
“You’re going to kill me,” he muffles into the skin of Steve’s throat, starting to move when Steve demands him to. “You’re actually, actively killing me.”
Steve just huffs a breathless little laugh and Eddie feels the pressure of a kiss against his temple. Which - for fucks sake - what kind of lab did they grow Steve Harrington in to make him so fucking sweet and filthy and bratty and everything Eddie’s ever wanted?
It doesn’t take long for them to pick up speed, pulling out as much as Steve’s legs allow before he fucks back in. They find a rhythm, each stroke easier once Steve’s body opens up to him. The frankly obscene amount of slick sticking to his thighs and the curve of Steve’s ass helps, too. It coats his knot, makes Eddie tremble every time he pushes in deep enough to feel it press inside, and just like that he’s close . Feels like he’s going to pop off any second. He says as much into the crook of Steve’s throat, the words whiny to his own ears, and it’s honestly a miracle Steve gets any of it.
But he must, because he unhooks his ankles and gives Eddie the space he needs to chase that high, to pull out almost the whole way and watch himself fuck right back in, Steve’s puffy, pretty little cunt stretching around the thick bulb of his knot as it finally pops inside. Steve latches almost instantly, clamping down like a fucking vice , and all Eddie can do is grind their bodies together until he locks, jaw falling open on a silent shout as he starts to cum.
He’s sprawled unceremoniously across Steve’s chest when he comes back. Not that he thinks he’s gone anywhere, but the last couple of minutes are definitely fuzzy in retrospect. His dick is still pulsing, though, Steve’s pussy squeezing rhythmically around his knot, and the omega too is trying to catch his breath, chest rising with every inhale. Eddie feels fingers scratching against his scalp and untangling the mess that’s become of his hair and it’s good . Everything is just so good.
“You gonna keep crushing me the whole time?” Steve’s voice filters through some minutes later, coupled with a tug on one of Eddie’s curls. The words are teasing, though, and it’s not like Steve’s letting him go exactly, one arm still slung lazily around Eddie’s waist.
Eddie simply burrows himself more firmly against Steve, cackling as a jerk of his hips makes them both groan.
“Some fucking jock you are, if you can’t even hold little old me.”
“ Rude .” Steve tugs a little harder, and for a moment Eddie thinks that maybe he is hurting the guy, but when he lifts his head with an apology at the ready Steve just draws him closer for a lazy kiss. They ease apart a small eternity later, and Steve falters before he speaks.
“My heat lasts for three days, usually,” he starts. “You don’t have to call out of work or anything, though. This should tide me over, –” ’but’ is left hanging, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to soothe it with a quick kiss, hopefully shutting up whatever post-nut insecurity is bubbling up under the surface.
“You kidding?” he whispers, winding his arms between Steve and the mattress to hold the omega close. “And miss out on all of this? You owe me after avoiding me for the last month , Harrington.”
“I have not –”
“A month!”
Steve rolls his eyes but there’s the blinding smile again, all dimples and sunshine, that Eddie loves so fucking much so he counts it as a win even as Steve snorts at his dramatics.
“I’ll call in after a nap,” he continues, pillowing his head on Steve’s chest again. “Unless you want me to try and go out to the phone while we’re still –”
“Go to sleep or put your mouth to better use, Eddie,” Steve mutters, managing to sound equal parts amused and exasperated, and as Eddie latches on to the underside of Steve’s jaw to leave him a hickey he’s definitely going to bitch about later, he thinks that really there’s no arguing with that.