Chapter Text
Somewhere between Steve chugging one more beer, kneeling down between Eddie’s legs, and staring wide-eyed at his clothed bulge, it occurs to Eddie that this is really happening. The guy he’s been hopelessly in love with since March is about to wrap his perfect pink lips around Eddie’s dick.
Platonically.
Beggars can’t be choosers.
And as Steve Harrington– holy shit– hovers impossibly closer, in some kind of weird hypno state, so fuckin’ entranced by the idea of Eddie’s cock he thinks his jerk off lube might have some dark magic properties, Eddie is positive there’s gonna be a lot of begging.
Eddie’s dick is well– tweaking out. Had started getting all trigger happy and twitchy the minute it saw Steve. The guilt should’ve softened him out, but no, he feels damn-near Catholic the way it got all his wires crossed, got him chubbed up in no time. He hadn’t noticed, of course, because every time he sees Harrington it’s like his upper half and lower half splits in two, and the pelvic side gets a twenty minute head start.
It’s also chafing like a bitch against his sweats. Reminds him of his bout of scrot rot he got when he was thirteen. Wayne had taken him on his first fishing trip. His only fishing trip. Came back from Kentucky with a Petri dish of bacterial diseases and a pubescent dick that felt like an army of fire ants were doing practice drills on it. Not to mention Merle Taylor’s thorough assessment of the disease before handing Wayne a tube of antifungal cream in exchange for fixing her shower.
This was not as bad. At least this could be cured by lobbing his hands off and joining a nudist colony. His dick doesn’t itch really, but it is probably missing like, three layers of skin at this point. He should opt for aloe– like, rationally, but any warm, wet mouth would be pure bliss. The fact that it’s about to be Steve Harrington’s? Eddie’s gonna start knockin’ on those pearly gates any second.
Steve has a hand inching up Eddie’s thigh, a strong, furrowed brow, his Adam's Apple is bobbing against the hard line of Eddie’s knee. He’s taking rattling breaths. They both are. Although Steve’s sound a lot like he’s just muttering, okay, here goes nothing, over and over again until he believes it.
A pinky the size of most people’s index brushes past his junk. His dick doesn’t get the light-touch memo. It twitches violently, all hyper towards where Steve’s giant hand was resting at Eddie’s waistband. (He should really be incorporating those massive paws into more of his personal time. Maybe if they had started out with hand stuff instead). Steve watches it twist, all stupor and awe, as though he didn’t have the same thing swinging between his legs.
And Eddie watches, as Steve blows air through his teeth, probably does a gold medal-worthy gymnastics routine in his head, flips and somersaults, then lands on a smile. He whistles loud and sure towards Eddie’s groin, “Okay. Here goes nothing.”
With a firm grip, he pulls Eddie’s sweats down to his ankles.
It suddenly occurs to Eddie how Eddie Jr might look to the outside viewer.
Splotched red and swollen and bulging, and not even close to in a fun way.
Steve spooks, eyes massive and potentially moments away from bucking Eddie in the face. “Jesus, dude, when was the last time you went to a clinic?”
“No it’s um– uh.” Eddie stutters, “Overuse.”
“Oh.” Steve shrugs to Eddie Jr. Blinks. Gasps. “Oh.”
Eddie feels himself turning um. Little Eddie colored, “Yeah, I uh, fair warning here, man. Might be shooting blanks.”
“That’s– yeah.” Steve scratches his hair. Nervous. His tongue flits out of his mouth, “No problem. Sorry for– sorry.”
Eddie might be too high for this. He watches his cock bob dangerously close to Harrington’s face, “We can uh– do this another time. If you want. Next week?”
Steve looks at Eddie’s dick, angry and garish, then up at Eddie, who offers what he hopes is a sympathetic smile, then back at Eddie’s dick. His expression turns indignant.
“Woah! No, no, no. I did not spend the last month trying to figure this shit out just for you to bench yourself.” He slaps a hand on Eddie’s now-bare thigh. “No way, Munson. I’m gonna suck your dick. Today.”
The last month trying to figure this shit out?
Eddie’s barely wrapped his head around what was happening. Because he’d been freaking out for so long about this, but shit, so had Harrington. Two totally different crises. He kinda envied Steve’s, if he’s being honest. His had sucked. At least Harrington’s had some moral clarity, some vaguely consenting parties. Probably could say it out loud without fearing godly punishment. Had Harrington told Buckley about what happened? Spilled his guts the way she’d upchucked blue lagoon? What had she– oh shit.
His dick was in Steve’s mouth.
Oh fuck. His whole goddamn cock was in Steve Harrington’s mouth. Down his throat.
Harrington went in all gung-ho, man of action. His fingers digging in sharp at Eddie’s waist. He’s gagging, sputtering, tongue shoved awkward at the back of his mouth, pink lips stretching wide and taut around him. Not unlike the exact delusion Eddie had been having not thirty minutes prior. Not so delusional now, huh?
Ten seconds down and Steve’s throat twitches violently. He chokes, red-faced and retching, spasming around Eddie. He scratches up Eddie’s raw junk and gasps for air.
“Shit.” Eddie hisses, “Teeth, Steve.”
“Sorry.” Steve blinks hard, drool pooling in the corners of his mouth. It puts all of Eddie’s 2am fantasies to shame. He coughs low, “Fuck– sorry, man.”
Eddie sighs up to the ceiling. Maybe this was a sign. Skip out while you still can, save your soul, etc. At least give Harrington a proper breather, some time to assess whether this was actually something he wanted or just one of those weird fixations of his, like Heidi Hanson’s gum chewing. But then he glances back at Steve, perfect hair mussed, eyes wet and glassy, chest heaving, a thin line of saliva still connecting those plush, perfect lips to Eddie’s cock, and he’s pretty sure he’d say anything to get his mouth on him again.
He rubs a hand down his thigh, fights the urge to give Steve’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Nay, that was off limits, the bard must charm with his silver tongue, “Normally, I don’t mind really. Definitely appreciate the enthusiasm, Stevie. Just in my uh, current condition.”
His very hard cock bobs between them, riled and red.
“Oh yeah. Of course.” Harrington talks into his lap. Then he looks up, hazel eyes flaming a bullseye into Eddie’s goddamn soul and says, “Hey, Eddie?”
His voice is already hoarse, like they were at the other end of this. Eddie can’t imagine how gone he’ll be once they’re actually done. “Can you like– like you did that night?”
Everything stutters for a second. Whatever clarity he had going into this splinters, just slightly. Eddie was under the impression this was gonna be a learning experience, experimentation for third prize at the science fair, strictly paws off. He stammers, “You– you want me to touch you, Stevie?”
“Just um– my–” Steve lifts his hand away from where it lingered at Eddie’s waist, where the dusting of finger pads on bare stomach kept making him shudder. He scratches light at the back of his head.
Eddie doesn’t need a flashing arrow to take the hint. He pulls his fingers into Steve’s hair, more powdery and brittle than normal. Steve had really dolled up for this (if he loiters too long on that thought, there'll be no hope left. One-way ticket to Pennhurst). Instead, he rubs circles at the top of Steve’s head, pushing into the taut skin, finding those spots he knows Steve likes. “Like that?”
The moan Steve lets out is obscene. So much louder and whinier than the little sounds he made the last time. Moans with his entire body. It shakes through him.
Eddie’s voice goes up like, eight octaves again, decidedly unsexy and totally against his will, “Christ, Harrington, you were holding out on me.”
“Didn’t want you to know.” Steve says it small, choked and ashamed. He bullies a cheek into Eddie’s thigh, rests his head there like a little lap dog. Eddie keeps kneading his fingers into his skull. Harrington hums, was turning to putty on him.
“You really like that, huh?”
Steve moans again, broken and pathetic. Blubbers into Eddie’s leg. So very receptive.
“You want me to just keep doing this, Stevie? I can keep going, no blow job required.” He means it. Probably. He’s pretty positive he’s figured out where Steve’s wires got tangled here. And yeah, he’s a piece of shit, but he wants Steve to want it. Plus he could still die knowing Steve Harrington had wrapped his perfect lips around his dick for a whole ten seconds.
Steve pouts– Jesus Christ– pouts up from where he’s dribbling on Eddie’s thigh.
“No.” It’s more of a whine than anything, “Want you in my mouth, Eddie. Wanna make you feel good.”
Holy shit. One touch and Steve Harrington turns into a fucking succubus. Eddie unlaces his fingers from Steve’s hair. No driving under the influence here. “You’re sure?”
“Hey.” Steve blinks slow. Swallows. His voice still has its haziness, but there’s something clearer in it. His free hand comes up and holds Eddie’s hand in place. “I’m sure. You keep at this. I’ll keep at that. Capiche?”
Eddie’s breath rattles out of him, “Yeah. Okay. Uh– capiche. Just– it’s okay to take it slow. I like slow. You can um, wrap your lips around your teeth– as like, a barrier. And breathe through your nose. And uh– tongue is your friend.”
“Want me to do your laundry too, Munson?” Leave it to Harrington to go from sweet to bitchy in ten seconds flat. Eddie was dick over heels. Incurable.
He glances behind him, to the Socks of Sauron scattered on the floor of his bedroom, “Well, actually–”
Steve turtles out his neck, eyes bulging with it, “Dude.”
“Maybe avoid hands. You know, given my predicament?”
To get this show back on track, he grabs the base of his dick in his fist, slick with Steve’s saliva, and gives it a familiar, stinging pump. Clamps his eyes shut at the rush of pleasure pain. Eddie Jr. bobs along, hard as ever. Eddie’s got a weird sort of pride about his babymaker’s sheer resilience.
He pets that shined hand through Steve’s hair, lands just above his nape, scratches circles there. Steve’s eyes flutter, like Eddie’s fingers are making his brain melt. “Got it. S-sure. Yeah…”
And then Steve leans back over. And then a slow lick, the pointed tip of his tongue touched down at the base of his cock, tracing up up up along the jutted vein mapping toward the head. It’s perfect, delicate, deliciously wet.
Eddie tugs at Steve’s hair. Feels the stutter of that tongue as Steve moans at the tension. “Doing perfect, Stevie. Just like that.”
Steve’s tongue reaches the overwrought head and it’s a goddamn dream. He swirls at Eddie’s tip and Eddie can’t help but grip tighter. He licks into the slit, traces along the friction-burnt underside. The relief of cool-slick, irritated skin pools in his gut, it’s a stinging pleasure, like biting a live wire. Eddie feels like a live wire. He scratches into Steve’s scalp, indulges him properly.
And shit– Steve goes looser, way looser. Bubbles a sloppy kiss at the tip of Eddie’s cock, spittle thick, before parting his lips around again. He sinks down around the head, lips tucked over his teeth, and well, yeah, sucks.
“Oh fuck.” Okay, yeah, it’s a screech. Kind of hard to be quiet when your spank bank’s matinee idol was vacuum cleaning your brain out of your dick. It hurts, too. Not exactly supposed to suck out your fresh-made scabs. But it hurts in that bright, holy-goddamn-shit-Steve-Harrington-is-sucking-my-cock way.
He kneads his free hand into the nape of Steve’s neck. Not to push or guide, just to work at him, return the favor. This was a learning experience after all. This was about discovery. Eddie discovers that if he pulls at the tension in Steve’s neck, Steve’s mouth moans vibrations all around him. He discovers that Steve will start sliding up and down his shaft if Eddie scratches into that sweet spot behind his ear, swirling and sucking, careful but firm around his raw dick. He discovers that Steve gets even looser, takes him down further, when Eddie babbles out how good Steve is doing. When he tells him good he’s making him feel.
When Steve comes up for air this time, Eddie wants to get down on his knees too. Start praying that this won’t be a one time thing. Anyone who looks this beautiful after sucking cock deserves to be doing it all the time.
“G-good?” Steve drools, pink and flushed, blinking tears out of the corners of his eyes.
Eddie presses his nails light at Steve’s hairline, pushes the loose strands out of the way. Steve hums contentedly. “So good baby. Perfect.”
“Good.” Steve smiles.
He sinks right back down.
He sinks all the way down.
Bobs his head so Eddie’s tip hits the back of his throat, over and over and over. Holy shit. Eddie’s fingers massage circles on his head and his throat takes his cock with shocking ease. Nothing like the retching he’d done before. Eddie’s hands rubbing into him and Steve’s gone pro.
“Doing such a– f–fuck– just like that, yeah– Jesus–” The suction Steve’s getting nearly makes Eddie see white. Mouth the perfect wet hole, like it was designed to fuck, “Doing such a great job for me, Stevie.”
Steve blinks up at him. Honest-to-god grins with his lips stretched around Eddie’s cock.
And then he’s whimpering, whining as he chokes Eddie down. He’s got a hand between Eddie’s legs, teasing at his balls. Eddie’s making his own noises, can’t help it, has to make up for how quiet he had to be the last time. He wants to scream to the whole goddamn universe that Steve Harrington’s sucking his cock like he was made for it.
“So fuck-fucking good.” Eddie grunts, every bit of composure locked into making sure his fingers keep pushing into Steve. “Making me feel so good. Taking it so well, baby.”
Steve’s goddamn exquisite like this, lithy and pliant and stuffed full of cock. Pliant like Steve’s his little doll. Like all he needs is a little tug on his strings to turn into a needy little slut. God. Eddie was gonna get like, thirty times more creative with his fantasies after this.
Steve lifts his palm from its vice grip at Eddie’s waist. His hand waves awkwardly, trying to find its place. At first, Eddie wonders if Steve wants him to untangle out of his hair, lace their fingers together. He knows he’s into that gooey stuff. It’s one of the best things about him; he’s a lover boy, through and through. But then he reaches to the back of his head, pushes his hand against Eddie’s kneading fingers. Pushes his own head impossibly further down Eddie’s shaft. Inhales at Eddie’s untrimmed pubes like they’re a damn rose garden.
“Oh?” Eddie breathes. Whatever horned up devil that’s been fucking with him lately totally has the reins now. “Want me to fuck your throat, sweetheart? Want to go stupid on my cock?”
Steve moans out. Blinks his puppy eyes up Eddie like he’s begging. Eddie gets the message. He grabs into that perfect, fucked hair. Uses his other hand to sweeten the pot, rubs out the tension in Steve’s neck. Feels him go totally lax, happy for Eddie to have his strings. And then he guides Steve’s head up and down his shaft. Slow at first, and when he’s sure Steve can take it, he starts to fuck him true.
And Steve, shit. Steve takes it like a dream.
The sounds he gets out of him are pure bliss. God. He’d never seen someone so happy sucking cock, not even in the pornos. He keeps staring up at Eddie, all cow-eyed and fuzzy and bright. Corners of his mouth turned high like he won the lottery. Like Eddie’s the one putting on the show here.
His eyes flutter shut and his mouth feels even sweeter. Eddie might worry the guy was asleep again if not for the pretty little moans he keeps whining out– if not for the rutting– Steve’s hips shifting solid against Eddie’s calf— chasing another high.
Eddie was losing his composure real fast. “So– shit– so good, baby.”
Steve’s hips stutter against his leg. “That’s it, doll.” Eddie goads, massaging into his scalp as he fucks into Steve’s throat. “Get rid of all that tension, sweetheart.”
Now that he’s choosing the pace, it doesn’t take long. It’s been building. It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle he’s managed to last this far. He can hear himself getting just as fucked out as Steve’s throat contracts against him. “Oh fuck, Stevie.” he’s babbling. “Shit, baby. So close. Been fucking dreaming of this.”
If Steve was good before, that turns him into a fucking machine. He humps like an untrained dog at Eddie’s leg. Bobs his head. Chokes around him. Sucks his fucking soul out.
Eddie shrieks as he comes. Well, orgasms. His cock twitches down Steve’s throat, but he’s pretty sure nothing shoots out.
Steve blinks up at him, lips smeared with drool. His cock slips out of his mouth, softening and garishly red. Concerningly red, perhaps. Another-visit-to-Merle-Taylor’s red, even. Steve doesn’t seem to notice. His smile is hazy. “Knew you’d be loud.”
Eddie feels like a truck ran through him. “I can’t believe you’re real.”
Steve’s lashes flutter and he laughs again. The guy is like, totally spaced out. He rests his chin against Eddie’s bare thigh, presses a slobbery kiss there, “Can we– again soon?”
Eddie's own laugh is incredulous, out of breath. He pets a hand through Steve’s hair. “You had fun?”
“So much fun.” Steve grins lazy, dazed. Then he leans over, gives the soft head one last lick. Teases at the empty slit. It’s sweet. A goodbye lick. “But I wanna– wanna taste you next time.”
“Yeah. I’ll um, try to keep it to– uh, one a day.” He watches the saliva dribble out of Steve's mouth, loose on his tongue. Fuck. There was no way. His hand would be fused to his dick from this day forth.
“Good.” Steve barely sounds like himself. Or does but, just, like he’s all spongy. Weirdly formal. He pats at Eddie’s knee. Stumbles to his feet. There’s a damp spot in his 501s. “Thank you, Eddie.”
Eddie pulls his sweats back up over his spent junk, cringes at any friction not caused by Harrington’s perfect throat. God. He needs to screw his head back on, somehow. One of them has to. Steve looks like a total mess. His eyes are drooped and heavy. He’s really, really out of it. “You sure you’re good to drive, Harrington?”
Steve blinks slow at him. Licks his bottom lip and chews at it. His smile is starting to get real unsettling, real quick, “‘M good. Eddie.”
Which yeah, no. No bueno. “Did you– Shit, Stevie, did you take som—”
Eddie doesn’t get the chance to finish. Because now those dewy, fantasy lips are pressed against his own. The tiniest nibble of teeth into chapped lips. The too-familiar salt of Eddie’s own cock brined on his tongue, peaking through, searching. Steve deepens it, just a second, presses them into each other, hand raised to Eddie’s two day-old, barely-there stubble.
Woah. That step was definitely not included in Blowjobs 101.
Steve pulls away with a pat on the cheek and that same, dopey, far-away grin, “Thanks Eddie.”
Eddie barely blinks before the door slam reverberates through the entire trailer.
He hears the rev of an engine. The trodding of tires on a gravel path. He has no clue what the fuck just happened.
His cock is saliva-soaked, the phantom of Steve Harrington’s perfect lips tight around his shaft. The phantom of Steve Harrington’s perfect lips on his lips. He has no clue what the fuck just happened.
Maybe he wakes up tomorrow and finds out Rick laced his stash with acid. That he’d been hardcore hallucinating this from the very start. Maybe he wakes up in a world where Harrington never speaks to him again. Like what was supposed to happen once they finally talked. But maybe, maybe Steve really meant it. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow and the guy he’d been in love with since March (hopelessly, irrevocably, physiologically concerningly) really wanted to suck his dick again. Maybe he’d wanna make it a full-time thing.
Maybe.
Maybe.
But right now?
Well. Right now, Eddie has a date with his right hand.