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Steve is learning a little too late that Eddie is not great at following recipes, or instructions, or even suggestions.
"I think it could use more cream."
"It's a drink, not a dessert." Steve can't believe they're still having this argument. He takes the cream from him again.
Eddie pinches finger and thumb together, rocking back and forth to put emphasis into the gesture.
"You want that smooth glide."
"You're not going to taste the banana," Steve protests, which is the whole point, it's called a banana daiquiri for a reason.
"Oh believe me, you'll taste the banana, everything you put banana in always tastes of banana." Eddie defeats Steve's brief frustrated attempt to cross his arms to keep the cream away from him by simply sliding a hand in from behind and stealing it, then hovering it over the blender.
"Damn it, Eddie." Steve catches his wrist and they both get spatters of cream up to the elbow.
"I'm helping," Eddie says, as if he isn't laughing like a hyena.
"You are not helping, you're just spreading the ingredients across the kitchen." Which is Steve's kitchen, of course, because where else are people going to make a mess?
"Helping." Eddie reaches out with the other arm to swipe the cream with that hand, leaving Steve to hiss annoyance and reach for that arm too. Only to get cream flicked at him because Eddie Munson is actually five years old.
"You asshole," he says and it doesn't help his case at all that he's laughing as well when he finally manages to catch his wrist. "We have to drink this and you're going to make it taste like shit."
"We'll just put more booze in it."
"We already did that!" They briefly wrestle against the counter and Steve really shouldn't have opened the cream in the first place, because now there are spots of it on the floor, and in Eddie's hair, and Eddie is a lot stronger than his slender frame would suggest, wrists flexing under the grip of Steve's fingers and dragging that stupid carton back towards the blender.
"To cover our bartending sins," he declares, like he's taking the stupid cream to war.
"Your sins!" Steve is trying to stop laughing because this is stupid, Eddie's being ridiculous and he knows he's just encouraging him now. But it's been what feels like years since he'd been able to do this sort of stupid shit with a friend. "If you put more cream in then the rest of the carton is going in your hair, asshole."
"My hair's had worse in it, Stevie."
He absolutely believes that. He'd heard the bong water story. His shoes squeak their way across the floor when Eddie pulls at the hold he has on his arms and he's knocked into the counter hard enough to rattle the bottles, one of them teetering precariously.
"I swear to God, if the rum falls–"
"A casualty of war, it'll be a tragedy."
Steve treads on his foot and loudly protests the complaint that he's playing dirty, then half drags Eddie to the sink.
"That's it. I'm tossing the cream, say goodbye."
Eddie snorts so hard Steve feels it shake his shoulders and they briefly wrestle in the middle of the kitchen, elbows smacking into the cupboards hard enough that Steve gets what feels like a slap of cream to the face which sets Eddie off laughing again.
He uses the opportunity to lean them both over the sink, the carton spilling white blobs against the stainless steel.
"No–" Eddie thumps into him from the side and Steve registers a moment of warmth, of wet pressure and then a dig of teeth into his jaw, just under his cheek. It's quick and hard but undeniably a bite, he can feel the press of a tongue underneath and suddenly all his senses are alight, the sharp line of hurt his entire focus. His jaw throbs with it, spine tightening up, and for a second all he can think about is the fact that his pulse is still pounding between Eddie Munson's teeth.
Steve's shocked sound is the only noise in the kitchen for a second, before the carton of cream lands in the sink with a wet thud.
His face is released and Eddie sways backwards, his eyes wide like he can't believe what he'd just done. His mouth is still wet, Steve can feel saliva drying on his jaw and the slope of his neck.
Eddie takes a shuddering breath to talk.
"Fuck, I'm sorry, I got– got carried away with the–" He tries to slip his way out from Steve's hold but Steve can't make himself let go. His face is sending out hot little throbs in time with his heartbeat, and the back of his neck is prickling.
No one has ever– Jesus.
Steve knows it probably wasn't like that, he knows Eddie had just been screwing around. But he's trying really hard to get a handle on the fact that the nice neat box he'd been keeping certain thoughts in had not just creaked open but cracked straight down the middle.
"Shit." Eddie lets the word out quietly, and the exhale that comes after is shaky with guilt. They're still pressed to the sink, cream slowly dripping, and Steve can see the way Eddie's eyes slide down to where he'd set his teeth and bit down. And, fuck, ok, maybe it was like that.
And, the thing is, Steve knows how to do this, he knows how to flirt with people he's interested in, he knows how to be charming, how to be a bit of a tease to get what he wants. He's never done it with a guy before, he'd thought about it, especially after he found out that Eddie might be willing to let him feel his way through it. Only it had never happened, because Eddie flirted like breathing, and he hadn't wanted to fuck up their new friendship. But if he liked Steve enough to sink his teeth into him then maybe there's something there after all.
Which bolsters him enough to go for it.
"You know you can't just bite people you like, Eddie." The smile is not one that Steve's ever turned on Eddie before, and he's still a little breathless from the way he'd had to win a damn wrestling match. But he thinks the combination is a pretty good one.
Only Eddie's face shutters, and now he's pulling harder at where Steve still holds his wrists. There's enough genuine panic in it that Steve lets his hands slide away, slowly though and he doesn't move back out of the way, leaving Eddie leaning against the sink.
"Come on, man." The words are pointed, but Eddie makes no move to push him back so he can get past him. He looks as if he wants to though, which is not what Steve was going for.
"What, you're just going to bite me and then head out?" He means it to sound teasing, but Eddie's face does something sharp and unhappy, mouth working, and Steve knows if he lets him find words they're going to hurt coming out.
"Steve–"
"I mean normally this thing starts with a kiss, but the biting probably shouldn't have been that much of a surprise coming from you."
He watches the desperation to find some way to explain himself shake free under that, watches the way Eddie's eyebrows go up and disappear into his bangs. Cream is still dripping out of his hair to spot the darkness of his shirt.
"What?"
"So am I the only one you're biting, or–"
"Could you please stop making fun of me, I get it, ok. It was fucked up and I shouldn't have done it, I'm sorry."
Steve can see this is not working, can see the way Eddie is still so obviously looking for an exit, that maybe he's not even going to stay and let Steve feel his way through this if he's not careful. He sighs and lifts his hands, ignoring the way Eddie briefly tenses when he carefully slides his fingers in the loops that hold Eddie's belt in his jeans. He doesn't hold tightly, but he hopes that it stops Eddie from running away.
"Hey, I'm not objecting, Eddie. Stop panicking."
Eddie looks as if he's taken the words as permission to do exactly that, which is a little frustrating. But he doesn't try to tug out of Steve's hold again, instead rubbing a hand over the back of his head and muttering 'what the fuck,' under his breath.
"Did you, ah, get in the rum early, Steve?" It's somewhere between a joke and an accusation.
"No more than you," Steve says, which is true, neither of them have touched any of it yet. "Why, does it make you bite people often?"
"I don't bite people," Eddie says sharply.
"So I'm special?" Steve can't help but wonder.
"Yes!" Eddie clearly regrets that immediately. "No, I don't know, maybe it's what Buckley keeps saying, about how we're trauma-bonded, we do stupid shit without thinking about it. It's a– I don't know –that thing where your boundaries are all screwed up." He shifts, like he's uncomfortable in his own skin, trying to make more space between them, and Steve wants to give him space if he needs it, but he also really doesn't want to let him go.
"But just with me?"
Eddie's glaring at him, like he's refusing to drop this on purpose.
"What do you want from me, Steve?"
He decides to be honest, because he hates the way Eddie's looking right now, that expectation of being hurt.
"I mean, I liked the part where we were flirting," he admits, because it's true, he'd liked that part a lot. "I didn't expect it, but it was nice." Steve surveys the remains of their drink experiment when Eddie continues to give him nothing, picking up the rum and screwing the lid back on for something to do. "I'd kind of like to keep doing it, over what I'm pretty sure, at this point, are not in fact banana daiquiris."
Eddie's staring at him.
"You know the fact that I'm gay makes that not a joke," he says quietly. "At least not a funny one."
The confirmation feels tense, and has Steve holding out the rum he'd been casually swinging between two fingers.
"Yeah, I didn't mean it as one. Which is why if you're not interested then you're on rum duty." He shakes the bottle for emphasis. "And I'll find some cherries to throw on top, and we don't have to say anything else about it."
Maybe that was a little too casual, because Eddie's still staring at him.
"If I'm not interested," he mutters at last, laughing like that part's the joke.
Steve doesn't think he has it in him to keep staring at him while leaning against the counter, so he opens the fridge again, takes a moment to look inside. He can feel the thump of his own heartbeat and maybe he should get it in check if Eddie's not as into this as he thought.
"Well, we're out of cream, and I don't think mayonnaise is a good substitute, though you've proven in the past that your taste is dubious and untrustworthy. We could probably do something with buttercream but I also know that's liable to go wrong–"
Eddie pushes the fridge door shut with his shoe, and then backs Steve up into the counter while he's still talking.
"So if I kiss you, you'd be good with that?" he says, tone harsh, completely ignoring Steve's thoughts on buttercream. He sounds like he thinks the idea of it is going to scare Steve off, which proves he wasn't actually listening, or maybe Steve just wasn't very convincing.
It seems quicker to show him at this point. So Steve curls his fingers in the cream-spotted front of his shirt and pulls, catching his mouth on a surprised inhale.
Eddie's lips are warm. They're still for a moment and then they're parting for the pressure of the kiss, Steve hums a note of satisfaction and presses deeper. Eddie opens for him at the first push, lets Steve taste his mouth, finding the sharpness of lime slices that Steve knew he'd been stealing while he was hunting for glasses. It's a good first kiss, it's hard and surprised and a little messy. There are fingers in the back of Steve's hair and rings pressed to the back of his neck and Eddie's making sounds like he's been gutted.
Steve eases back eventually, his whole mouth feeling warm, lips tingly. Kissing a guy apparently is different, but not so much that he can't catch up. He finds that strangely reassuring.
"Yeah, I'd be good with that."
"Shit." Eddie looks something close to wrecked, his mouth is red, bangs pushed up into his hair and Steve isn't sure if or when he did that. "I thought you were– I genuinely thought you were fucking with me. I mean, sorry, that was good, that was really fucking good."
"I liked it," Steve blurts out.
"Huh?"
"When you bit me," he explains, doesn't care if he should be embarrassed about it or not. "I liked it."
He watches Eddie's mouth drop open, then abruptly shut. He lifts a hand and seems uncertain whether to gesture towards Steve's face or not.
"Yeah that was maybe not as platonic as I said it was," he admits, voice a little breathless like he'd surprised it out of him. "Kind of messed up of me to just dive in there though. Who does that?" He grimaces but there's a laugh in there too.
Steve doesn't know how to say it out loud, but he'd liked the suddenness of it, the way it felt possessive and instinctive, as if Eddie couldn't help it. The idea of it leaving a red mark where anyone could see. A blatant imprint of teeth. Steve's never really been with anyone who wanted to leave marks on him before.
He leans in and kisses Eddie again, hoping to knock some of the uncertainty out of his expression. If anything it leaves him looking more dazed, as if he still has no idea how they got here.
"To be honest, I kind of assumed I wouldn't be down with anything that reminded me of teeth, y'know, after what we went through. But now I can't help being curious how much I'd be good with."
Eddie swears without looking at him, rubbing damp hands on his jeans.
"People I've dated don't tend to– they're not overt in how they like me," Steve adds. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy with the flowers and the handholding and offering my jacket when it's cold, but no one has ever just–"
"Bit you on the face like a feral child?" Eddie says, and his pale cheeks are flushed red, as if even he doesn't know exactly where it had come from.
Steve offers a wry smile.
"Yeah, that was definitely a statement, kind of hard to misread." The thought only stays in his head for a second before he's letting it out. "You can do it again if you want."
"What?" The words comes out shaky on the end of a laugh. Which stops when Steve lifts his hands and nudges the tips of his fingers underneath Eddie's shirt, presses them to the bare warmth of his waist, the faint texture of scar tissue that may or may not feel the way he strokes over it.
"You can bite me again. If you want to."
Steve thinks that he does– knows it when his eyes keep straying back to the warm space on his jaw, and Steve thinks maybe there is a mark there, even if it's only redness, only a faint smear of color from the pressure.
"Fuck." The word slips free with a punch of air and Eddie takes a shuffling step forward, looking from the curve of Steve's jaw to his face, like he thinks it's a trick or something. But, yeah, Steve can see how much he wants it.
"If you don't want to, I can pack up all this mess and set up a movie or something?"
"No." Eddie's already close enough that the word hits the curve of his jaw, a flare of breath warming it a second before his mouth opens there again. The bite isn't as hard this time. There's no startled suddenness to it. It's slow and indulgent. Steve can feel the flat press of his tongue, the staggered imprint of teeth, the way they close and gently squeeze. There's a catch of something in Eddie's throat, a desperate noise smothered by the sound that comes after.
He was right before when he said that he wasn't sure he'd be into it. But now Steve has a hand in Eddie's tangled hair, sliding in far enough to feel the warmth of his scalp, the curve at the back of his neck. When he closes his hand and pulls, Eddie makes a wounded sound and digs his teeth in harder, and it's a deep sort of discomfort, a straining tension in jaw and cheek for a second before Eddie's opening his mouth again. Breathing hard into his skin with a 'sorry, sorry, fuck, I'm sorry.'
The wave of warmth that comes after is sweet, makes him want to shiver, makes him want to feel it all over again. Steve tilts his head, exposes the long line of his neck and urges Eddie back in.
There's the softness of a nose underneath his jaw, and then something which is definitely a kiss pressed hard to the skin a second before Eddie's mouth opens again. This starts out more like a hickey, something almost safe to the sucking bite of it, slow and indulgent and a little too wet, which leads Steve to suspect Eddie had never actually given one before. But then he opens his mouth wider, bites down on Steve's neck hard enough to leave him hissing. He fists a hand in Eddie's hair and holds him still, takes the solid blunt hurt of it.
There's a slide of tongue, a wet drag upwards that he knows is licking over the moles dotted there, flattening to press down as the teeth release a fraction and then bite down again.
Steve barely has to move before he's pushed back into the counter, braced there with his eyes shut and his throat ticking on a swallow. He knows Eddie can feel the movement. Steve feels cracked open, not sure how he got to the point where he wants to pull the hurt in and ask for it, to tangle it up with something so sweetly new at the same time.
He's not an idiot, he knows it's because he trusts Eddie. Eddie who's never asked him for anything, now in his kitchen, breathing wet sounds into his skin, thumbs gentle at Steve's waist, laying kissing between bites like Steve is a gift.
So, yeah, maybe they're both a little messed up, but maybe they're kind of made for each other, as crazy as that sounds. It's too soon, it's way too soon, but Steve's still digging his fingers under the belt of Eddie's jeans and urging him closer. Eddie does as he's told, squirms into him, a whine in the back of his throat, teeth gentling only to adjust and bite higher, a double catch of teeth to the skin. It almost crosses into raw, the muscle protesting, but in a way that leaves Steve groaning a breath and murmuring soft encouragement.
When Eddie's mouth breaks away he's breathing hard.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing," Steve says quietly.
"I've left a mark." Eddie's voice is silky-deep, a grating admission as his eyes stray to Steve's neck. He can feel cool air drying the saliva, and he hopes that whatever shows on his skin it's as vivid as it feels.
He tugs Eddie in and they're kissing again, slow and messy. Eddie's trembling a little and Steve feels too warm for the kitchen. They're both halfway to hard and there's no awkward moment where they realize and try to explain it away, or avoid grinding against each other. Steve just drags Eddie in by his waist, settling them together. It's good. It's still new and different for him, but it's really good.
"You want to go again," Steve asks him.
"Steve–" Eddie's looking at him like he's a prize he didn't even know was on offer, as if he hadn't had time to pine for Steve because he'd assumed he was off limits from the start.
Steve lets go of him for as long as it takes to grip the bottom of his polo and draw it up over his head, tossing it on the counter behind him, where it probably lands in smashed bananas and spilled cream.
Eddie looks stunned, staring at his naked chest like he doesn't know what to do with it. He keeps staring even as Steve gently tugs him in and then he gives one gasping breath and presses Steve back against the counter, face tucking down so he can put his mouth back on his neck, low at the curve where it becomes shoulder, opening on the skin. His hands are warm around Steve's waist, they rest uncertainly to start with but then, when Steve does nothing but make an encouraging noise, they tighten, slide around him, hold him like a lover.
God, Steve likes that.
The mouth at his shoulder adjusts, the motion somewhere between a kiss and a suck, it's followed by a hum that sounds greedy and then Eddie opens wider and his teeth press down. A garbled sound of pleasure vibrates through Steve's body. He can feel the pinch of the bite. The slow heat as Eddie hovers between sinking his teeth deeper and worrying the skin. Steve honestly doesn't know which he wants more.
He doesn't have time to decide because Eddie slides further along, towards the ball of his shoulder.
Steve threads a hand in his hair and pushes down.
"Come on," he encourages. "I know you want to."
"You're crazy, you know that. I want to–" Eddie cuts himself off. "You don't know how bad I want to. You sound so good, I can feel you in my mouth–" the words cut off for a moan, as if he thinks he'd said too much. "And the sounds you make, how the hell am I supposed to say no, Steve?" He presses his mouth back to the stretch between neck and shoulder, smears it wet, teeth biting down before Steve can urge him to again, this time slightly harder, and he knows there's definitely going to be an imprint of teeth when Eddie opens his mouth again, instead he leaves it there for a scatter of heartbeats, tongue sliding on his skin.
There's a deeper pinch when he bites down again, enough to pull a sound out of Steve's throat. A ragged hiss that can't help sounding pained.
Eddie is immediately sliding his mouth away, kissing the skin of his throat.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Steve's about to tell him to stop apologizing again, but he's starting to think that maybe that's a part of it too. Because the words shudder out of him, trail across his skin until he can drag his mouth and nose up Steve's throat, kiss the slam of his pulse.
"It's ok," Steve says quietly. "Come on, Munson, put your mouth on me."
"Fuck." The word is breathed into his collarbone and then Eddie's lifting his head, kissing him, the press of it hard and then harder when Steve opens for him, hand curling tight in his hair.
"You're not done," Steve tells him the second they part.
Eddie's eyes widen, the soft liquid of them surprised and something else…he stares at Steve like he has no idea what to do with him, as if he doesn't quite believe he's real.
Steve sets an elbow on the counter and slouches back into it. Eddie's eyes drop down to his chest, taking in the way his nipples are hard, the scars that healed along his sides and around his throat, still pink and raw, the new skin tender.
Eddie looks at him like he wants to touch them all, like he wants everything. If he's being honest, Steve had been a little afraid that no one was going to look at him that way again, not after everything his body had been through. He encourages the slow bend, the mouth that presses a kiss to the hair on his chest, then the slight rise where muscle and softness meet. Eddie lets his teeth dig there very briefly, garbling a word before his tongue presses the hair flat. His hands are no longer pulling, now they're pushing to pin Steve against the counter. That's when he opens his mouth properly, Steve's nipple under his tongue, teeth digging a ring around it. Steve can't hold the sound, the choked half-protesting rumble. Eddie's not being gentle, he can feel the throb of it, knows that the throb of it after will be worse. But Steve holds him there, feeling too hot and more eager for whatever this is to continue than he'd ever thought.
This time Eddie sucks around the bite and Steve feels the pull, feels the sting and can't help the curse that shakes out of him, torn between pushing up and pulling away. It's a wave of bites, broken by the slide of Eddie's tongue, the prodding attention to his nipple, the suck that comes after. Until Steve is shaking and hurting and all he knows is that he doesn't want it to stop.
Eddie all but gasps his way free, tongue sliding over the indentations he'd made.
"I'm sorry." The words sound drunk for a second, and thick with arousal. "That was too fucking hard, that was– Steve, tell me to stop, tell me to stop if I go too far–"
He sounds so desperate, afraid of doing this wrong, and all Steve can do is drag a hand through his hair, acknowledge that both of them are painfully hard in their jeans.
"It's ok, it's good, it's good."
"Fuck," Eddie sounds wrecked, disbelieving. "Is it?"
"Yeah," Steve promises, and he means it. He threads his fingers in Eddie's hair and encourages him to move across, to give the other nipple attention and this time he's ready for the sharpness, for the hands that hold the muscle, thumb pressed to Eddie's own spit-slick chin as he digs his teeth in, sucks the peak more gently than the one on the other side before he's moving again, biting the soft muscle leading to Steve's armpit, the flesh there tender in a way that makes him flinch hard.
"Sorry," Eddie says again, the word tight this time like he means it. Steve just digs nails in his scalp, feeling the wet throb of that hurt low enough that he knows he'd let Eddie do it again. But still not sure if he loves it or hates it.
"You want to–" Steve swallows, no thought in his head to take back what he's about to say. "You want to take this upstairs?" He doesn't even really know what he's offering. He knows he's offering more, he knows he's offering the chance for Eddie to get his mouth on more of his skin, to sink his teeth into more of his soft parts. He wants it enough to put a little more into the words than he normally would.
Eddie's staring up at him, eyes almost gone under his hair, mouth open and wet and red.
"Did you really just ask me that?" he sounds breathless and Steve can't look away from the softness of his lips, and wonders if they taste like him. He gives in to the urge to lift a hand and rub his thumb over the lower one, letting it dip into Eddie's mouth. There's so much give, he can just slide right in, rub gently over his tongue and watch his eyes go dark, before he pulls it out.
"I'm serious," Steve says, and he can't help smiling at how dazed that makes Eddie look. "But if you don't want to–"
"No, I mean yes, I do, I really want to, are you serious?" He immediately looks embarrassed at whatever Steve's face is doing in response to that. "Shut up, I have no idea what's even happening right now. This feels like some sort of sexy fever dream or something."
Steve's trying not to laugh.
Eddie shakes his hair out of his face, tongue moving over his lips and Steve can't believe he'd gone half a year not thinking about kissing him only to find himself obsessed with the shape of his mouth. It feels obvious now, he's almost mad about it.
"I'm into it though, whatever you want, anything you want, I can–"
Steve leans in again, kisses the shape of a word into stillness.
"Doing something we both want is kind of the point here." Steve's still a little stunned that they've found something that fits them both, something he never expected.
"Well shit, that's almost everything," Eddie mutters, before his mouth pinches shut, as if he thinks offering to do 'almost everything' with Steve might somehow be a turn-off. "Not that I want to sound desperate or anything, though who the fuck am I kidding."
Steve decides this would probably be easier if he just wraps a hand around Eddie's wrist and heads for the stairs, so he does exactly that, leaving cream and bananas across the counter to clean up later, or tomorrow.
Eddie doesn't say a word up the stairs, but he follows, and the hand wrapped around his wrist becomes a hand tangled up with his. Eddie's rings press against his knuckles, palm a little sweaty, which Steve is going to take as a compliment.
Steve lets him go long enough to sit on the bed, bare-chested and stretched out like a gift, and all Eddie can do for a long moment is look at him, eyes sliding from the curve of his shoulder to the left side of his chest and Steve knows he's looking at the imprint of his own teeth in the skin. Steve can still feel the hot throb of it.
"You're gonna have to wear a shirt," Eddie says faintly. "For...shit, for a while maybe."
Steve spreads his legs wider, makes room, makes it obvious.
"You gonna come over here and make sure of that?"
Eddie doesn't have to be told twice. He has a knee on the bed, hands on the covers either side of him, and Steve pulls him the rest of the way, kisses him hard. The kiss slides sideways, becomes an open mouth at his throat, a sigh vibrating through the skin.
"Can't believe you let me get my mouth on you."
"You can put it anywhere you want," Steve tells him.
There's a long, drawn-out curse against the skin, a brief sink of teeth that has him groaning.
"Tell me you mean that."
"Yeah, yeah, absolutely, you can put it anywhere you want." Steve thinks about that for a second and adds, "though no teeth on my dick or my balls."
Eddie's whole weight sinks into him with a shuddering laugh, the hands he has splayed on Steve's skin pressing in, then pulling like he can draw Steve up into him.
"Fuck." They're both so hard, if that hadn't been obvious in the kitchen then it's painfully obviously now. Steve nudges up and Eddie hisses and turns his head, wet mouth open at the right side of Steve's chest, smearing lips and tongue against his nipple. He waits for the sting, for the dig of teeth, nerves alive for it.
"You'll tell me if it's not ok, right? You won't let me keep going if you're not into it."
"Yeah." Steve tangles a hand in his hair. "Promise, put your teeth in me, Munson."
"Fuck me." It's garbled, a desperate disbelieving sort of hunger to it, and then Eddie's sinking and opening his mouth, and biting into the right side of his chest again.
It hurts. Steve's had worse, and he's had different, but this hurt is soft and it comes in waves, digs of teeth like Eddie wants the feel of biting over and over, a gentle series of presses. Steve is enjoying the way his hair falls across the skin, following every dig and bite and hasty kiss. It's ticklish and barely-there next to the much fiercer sensation of teeth in him. Eddie always unlatches before Steve is ready for it, feeling the throb and the rush of blood and the ache of it before Eddie moves on, slides lower licks a path across his stomach and bites quick and soft there too, enough that Steve's thigh jerks outwards. He can feel the spread of Eddie's chest where his dick is still crushed tight inside denim, the weight of him briefly sweet and heavy and perfect.
He reaches down, thumbs open the button of his jeans and then nudges at the zipper to release some of the pressure.
Eddie must be able to feel what he's doing, he breathes hard into him, head tipping up and back to look at Steve up the length of his body. His eyes are wide, his mouth wet and red, hair a wreck where Steve's been tugging his hands through it.
"You'll tell me when to stop, yeah?"
Steve hums agreement. He feels warm and relaxed and sore and the last thing he wants to do right now is make Eddie stop. Instead, he tangles a hand in his hair and nudges his mouth back down to his body, feels the moan Eddie leaves there, heavy and hot against the skin.
Steve holds him there, dragging nails across his scalp as Eddie shifts and bites and trembles in a way that makes him think that maybe they need to take their clothes off. But the thought of that is huge and liquid and a little overwhelming. As if everything they've done so far hasn't been that too.
Still, it's only fair.
Steve moves his hand to the back of Eddie's shirt, bunching his fingers in the material and dragging it upwards.
"Eddie, come on man, I want to feel you."
Eddie takes his mouth off of him with a gasping noise, as he straightens to his knees, cheeks flushed, eyes so wide they look wet. He's tenting his jeans so obviously it looks obscene. He's the first guy who's ever been hard for Steve and there's something overwhelming about that too. Eddie catches his eyes for a second, a flicker of something that might be him asking if he's certain that he wants to see him too. Steve's only answer is a tug and Eddie bends into the movement, letting Steve draw his shirt all the way off.
Steve's already familiar with the stretch of him, all long arms and deep scars, dark hair under his arms and tattoos scattered across the unbroken skin. The necklace that holds Eddie's guitar pick bounces against his chest, hair falling to rest with it. Steve catches him between his hands, sits up enough to haul him in for a kiss, spreading fingers everywhere he knows Eddie's been reluctant to let anyone see and watches his eyes fall shut on a sigh.
"Pants too, come on, I want it."
The wavering sound that chokes out of Eddie in response to that has Steve helpless not to kiss him again, to feel the frenzied press of his mouth, so wet inside where it's been leaving imprints all over him.
"Come on, get naked for me."
The belt is stripped free in a series of awkward tugs, leaving his jeans loose enough that Steve can nudge them down as far as his arms can reach, until Eddie takes over, pushing them down his legs in one movement. He stops, still half tangled in them, to watch Steve slide thumbs into both his jeans and briefs and push them down. It's almost as if Eddie hadn't realized that at some point he'd get to see Steve naked. He drops bunched black denim on Steve's bedroom floor and crawls back onto the bed, dragging Steve closer and pulling in an almost panicked breath of air when his thighs spread for him.
He looks so hungry.
"No teeth in my dick or my balls," Steve reminds him, hating how the sick little thrill of it makes him want to change his mind, say anywhere, anywhere at all. But he knows that's just his horny brain talking. That shifting moment when you're so hard that everything seems like half a good idea.
"I remember," Eddie says, the words hoarse and desperate. "Can I still put my mouth on you, please?"
"Yeah, yeah." Steve slides a hand under Eddie's hair, finds the back of his neck, the stretch of it bare save for the silver chain that he threads a thumb under as he pushes him down. Eddie seems to like that a lot, catches the soft side of Steve's hip under his mouth, between his teeth. The skin there is thin and sensitive, it's going to purple under the slightest pressure, the sharp ache of it almost too much when Eddie digs his teeth in, then sways back to see the shape he'd left behind. He has his long hands on Steve's thighs, the rings clicking gently as he eases him open. Steve watches Eddie lick his lips and he wants it, he wants it so much.
But instead Eddie slides up to kiss him again, one hand spreading gentle over his dick, cupping it and thumbing at the head with a whine of excitement. Steve is tempted to echo it.
"Can't believe you're letting me do this."
The words drag a laugh out of him, a little delirious, because maybe part of him can't believe it either. Steve understands because if he tries to imagine letting anyone else...anyone he'd ever had in his bed. No one fits. No one fits as well as Eddie does. Which is less of a shock than he expects.
"Didn't think anyone would let me do this."
In answer, Steve spreads his legs wider, pushes down on the top of Eddie's head until he's groaning and sinking his teeth into Steve's thigh, worrying the flesh until it stings, stings, fucking stings. Steve is trembling and thinking about dogs and vines and biting things but he has the frizzy softness of Eddie's half-curls between his fingers and something about it makes his insides settle, feel the hurt without the fear. Feel the way Eddie breathes his name into the wet skin, panting like he's been running, mouth slow and desperate and so good.
"Eddie, Eddie, please–" He doesn't have to say anything else, Eddie pushes his thighs open wide and bites him lower, more gently at the softness of his inner thighs, wetly against the low curve of his ass. Gentle, gentle, so fucking gentle under his balls, in a way that makes Steve gasp towards the ceiling, feeling as if he's been cracked open.
The whole world goes fuzzy when Eddie licks over him, grips his thighs tight and presses his tongue inside without hesitation. It leaves Steve swallowing air, feeling the steady push of it where his body gives just a little, wet and strange in a way he likes almost too much. He doesn't say no when Eddie drags his teeth there too, crawls closer on the bed until he can rise over him, pressing his open, wet mouth to the hard line of his dick. He doesn't use his teeth, just kisses messily at the length of him, the head already sticky, and Steve is shaking with it. Eddie gives one cracked, hungry hiss of his name before he's urging Steve to roll in the bed. He doesn't even think about refusing, until he's fisting his hands in the sheets, face in the pillow, ass up.
Eddie bites so hard into his left ass cheek that he actually fucking squeals. It should be humiliating but instead he's gasping something that sounds like a sob into the pillows as Eddie breathes 'sorry, sorry, sorry,' and then bites him again, exactly as hard. Steve counts the seconds as he shifts to the other side, takes a breath, feels his mouth open where the flesh is soft and full. Eddie bites down, nose pressed to the curve of his ass, fingers dug in his skin, teeth sharp and hard in a way that he knows is going to leave a mark, that he's going to feel every time he sits down for days and he yells a protest but doesn't say stop, doesn't move, just swears and hisses and yelps into the pillow when it doesn't.
Eddie lets go eventually, the sound that trails out of him reluctant, a kiss pressed to the sting he'd left behind. He slides up Steve's back, choking quiet little apologies into the spread of his shoulders. Until he's sinking all the way, pressing the solid line of his dick into the curve of Steve's sore ass. He can't seem to move for a second after, breathing hard and murmuring Steve's name, fingers tight on his skin.
Steve reaches back, grabs the material of his boxers with one hand and pushes at them.
Eddie whines and grabs his hand.
"Steve, if I move right now I'm pretty sure I'm going to come."
"Would you rather do it inside your boxers or over my ass?" he says pointedly.
Eddie's choking on air but he gets the message, clumsily pushing his boxers the rest of the way and kicking them off.
It's the most vulnerable position Steve has ever been in, especially when Eddie sinks again, completely naked, his obviously hard dick pressed into the crack of his ass, and the twitching heat of it has Steve's fingers curling in the sheets, breathing through a steady thrum of arousal that tells him to push back, to brace himself and take it.
"Can I open you out and look?" Eddie asks, voice quiet like he thinks Steve's going to say no. When that might be the filthiest, hottest thing anyone has ever asked of him.
"Yeah, fuck, do that."
There's no pause, just warm hands on his cheeks, which are still sore on both sides with the stinging print of a bite. Steve can feel the metal of Eddie's rings as he's spread open, wide enough that he must be able to see everything, naked hole on full display. His face is burning as the soft slide of what is obviously Eddie's dick moves between them. It's stupidly sensitive and insanely hot and Eddie is literally shaking. Steve doesn't think he's going to last any time at all.
He's right because he counts barely half a dozen slow pushes through that spread open space before Eddie swears and staggers to a stop, whining out all his breath in one go. Steve feels the pulses of warmth that come almost immediately after, sticky-wet across his asshole. He feels the slick little nudge against the give of it that has Eddie breathing his name, sounding shocked at himself.
"Sorry, sorry."
There's the heavy sag of a forehead between his shoulder blades and Steve gives him half a minute, feeling the trail of come sliding down to his balls, before he's rolling in the bed, sticky ass pressed briefly to the sheets, so he can catch Eddie's flushed red face and pull him down. Eddie takes the kiss like he didn't think he was going to get another, hands tight on Steve's waist as they each try and press each other into the pillows. Until Eddie abruptly realizes that Steve's still hard, the thrust of him angry red, tacky and wet at the head. There's a ringed hand around him straight away.
"Fucking rude of me to leave you hanging," Eddie mutters. "Look at you, this is beautiful, I'd put this anywhere you wanted."
Steve's still breathing through that thought when Eddie spits into his hand and reaches for him again, thumbing the head wet and squeezing down in a way that tells Steve a lot about what Eddie likes. He's close enough that it doesn't really matter, his whole body is prickling and desperate for it, skin sore and red and he knows some of these bites are going to bitch at him tomorrow, but Steve doesn't care. He does not fucking care. He's moaning into Eddie's mouth while he watches him from far too close, not even blinking, sweaty hair stuck to his face, teeth in his lip. Steve comes watching him right back, which should probably be weird but he thinks they've maybe gone past weird and made it out the other side. He doesn't care, not when it feels this good, all that sensation narrowing to a point, a shivery silky clench and release that leaves him boneless in the sheets, come streaked up his stomach and over the curl of Eddie's fingers.
Eddie keeps stroking him, the shift of his hand sticky and too much, and Steve bears it for a second just to hold the edge. But eventually he has to smack Eddie's hand away and kiss him, then immediately slump deeper into the bed when he can't hold himself up anymore.
"Fuck," he says simply.
"Holy shit, yeah." Eddie's clearly having the same thought.
"So that's a thing we're both into then, apparently." Steve thinks it's fair to admit to it, after all of that.
Eddie lifts a hand and drags it through his hair.
"It's…it's…yeah. I can't believe you let me do any of that."
If Steve's being honest with himself, he's thinking the same thing. He thinks some of the bites are going to really hurt when he has to eventually get dressed again. But, surprisingly, he doesn't even hate the idea that much.
"Ah, if you want to kick me out of your bed now–"
"I swear to God, Eddie, if you leave me here to go through my bisexual crisis and biting thing all on my own…"
Eddie snorts laughter, before strangling it back, as if he belatedly realizes Steve might have been serious there.
He really can be kind of stupid sometimes. Steve rolls into him, throws a bare leg over one of Eddie's and notices that he's still hard, he thinks he could probably go again.
Steve could probably go again too.
"Any objection to being my first boyfriend, Munson?"
"Jesus Christ," Eddie breathes out all in one breath. "Ah, no, none, no objection. In fact, I'm pretty sure I could die happy right now."
Steve slides over in the bed, considers the drawer on that side, with a mostly full bottle of lube and a strip of condoms.
"Hold that thought."