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Eddie couldn’t care less about basketball, has not once participated in this stupid game whose rules he still doesn’t really understand. He doesn’t have to, is the thing. Not now, that the coach seems to have finally given up on trying to get him on the field.
It seems like, as long as Eddie actually turns up for classes instead of skipping as usual, and sits quietly on the sidelines, keeping his truculent antics down for the time being, he might get to pass. Barely, but who cares. It’s the easiest out he’s ever been handed, and he guesses it’s only because the coach would rather betray his own principles than having to deal with him another year.
And while Eddie would rather be anywhere else than here, in the gym, where the air reeks of testosterone and sweat, and the ape-like grunts of the guys fighting over a stupid ball fill the room, he’s not stupid enough to let this opportunity slide.
It’s embarrassing enough that he’s the oldest in his class, certified super senior who couldn’t even get his shit together after the second time, now in his third round at 20 years old, and still only pushing through by the skin of his teeth.
Not because he’s stupid, or a hopeless loser, but because this fucking system isn’t made for freethinkers like him.
So, he’s here. Attending PE like a good little student – although he didn’t bother to change out of his usual clothes, because he sure as hell isn’t going to join in on the... fun.
Fighting the bullies and occasionally running from the cops keeps him fit enough, there’s no need to make a fool of himself tripping over his feet or, God forbid, having to get into a one-on-one with one of the jocks who always take this whole ball-in-basket game a little too serious.
It’s fun to watch, though. Because when is he ever allowed to gawk so openly at sweaty dudes in short shorts, sometimes even bare chested?
Not that he finds any of them attractive, God no. That would go against everything he believes in. Still, it’s a feast for his eyes and his gay little heart to follow their movements, to observe those strong legs run. To watch them shove and push each other around like it’s just an excuse for them to touch.
He often wonders about what goes on in the locker rooms after, even more so in the showers. They must sneak glances at each other; there’s no way they don’t at least secretly compare sizes. Probably pretending not to care about what goes on between their mates' legs, only letting their eyes linger when they are sure they’re unwatched.
The thought makes Eddie laugh because really, how pretentious is it to throw around slurs, to call others out for being queer when they are the ones regularly holding a literal sausage fest in the showers. Swinging free in front of each other without shame, sweaty balls and all.
Whoever thought it was a good idea to have hormone-fuelled boys share the showers with no chance to maintain any privacy at all, must’ve been a sadistic bastard. Like, honestly, what the fuck?
That’s just one of the reasons Eddie rather skips PE than having to deal with this shit. He’s been called a sicko and a freak enough times to know what they think of him, so sharing that kind of space with other guys just doesn’t seem like a good idea, ever.
But of course, the school doesn’t give a fuck about people like Eddie, insisting on their one-rule-for-all policy, unwilling to compromise or offer alternative solutions.
‘Your concerns have been acknowledged, Mr Munson, but the principal’s decision is final. If we started to make exceptions, we’d only open the door for more complaints and frankly, we’re here to teach, not to waste our time on matters of personal preferences.’
Personal preferences they called it, as if Eddie chose to be outed in front of the whole damn school after someone caught him kissing Jason Carver in Grade 10. Fucker obviously told everyone Eddie had done so against his will, completely distorting the truth of him being the one initiating the whole thing. But what’s new? Eddie had always been called out for being different, what’s one more tally on the long list of reasons to push him around
God, he can’t wait to finally turn his back on this fucking school. Find a job, move out, make a life worth living out of the mostly shitty cards he’d been dealt at birth.
He’s going to make it this time, tells himself every day he’s doing this for his poor uncle who still, somehow, hasn’t given up hope on him. It’s what gets him out of the house in the morning; what keeps him here, is solely his stubborn determination not to end up like his father, that useless high school drop-out piece of shit.
If that means he has to sit his ass flat while watching the boys play their idiot game, so be it.
“Good game, guys! See you next week. Oh, uh, Munson? A word, please.”
At that, Eddie can instantly hear the hushed snickering coming from his class mates, whispering to each other, grinning like the fucking dumbasses they are. He doesn’t care, though, flips them the bird just for the sake of it behind the coaches back.
Ugh. Of course, there’s a catch. Why did Eddie think he was finally off the hook for real? Stupid teachers and their stupid helper syndrome. Why can’t they just let him suffer in peace for a few more months while he’s waiting for the year to end?
Reluctantly, he follows the coach to the small staff room and stops in the doorway, watching the man wipe his sweaty face with a towel.
“Coach Harrington,” Eddie addresses him, nodding politely in some fake show of respect, “What can I do for you, Sir?”
He’s being a shit and he knows it, can’t help it sometimes. It doesn’t however seem to bother Mr Harrington, whose expression doesn’t show any sign of annoyance.
Not yet, Eddie thinks to himself, knows he has a way of riling his teachers up. It’s the only joy he has in these depressing halls, so sue him.
“Should be asking what you can do for yourself, Eddie.”
Ah, here we go.
Eddie doesn’t even bother hiding his eye-roll, scoffing at the coach’s words.
He’s heard it all before.
Coach Harrington does get some credit for not going down the pity route however; he never has, which Eddie truly appreciates, but-
They both know it’s a waste of time, so why bother?
If this wasn’t the last period, on a fucking Friday, nonetheless, he wouldn’t mind hanging back to talk. Hell, he’d probably invent some bullshit story just to have an actual excuse for why he’s late for the next class. But it’s the end of the day and Eddie can’t wait to hop in his van and leave the school grounds behind, so Harrington deciding to give him a pep talk now, annoys him big time.
The coach is nice guy – generally speaking. He’s still a teacher, and therefore Eddie’s natural enemy, but… BUT.
Steve Harrington is the kind of guy Eddie could see himself getting along with just fine if they knew each other differently.
He’s one of the younger teachers. Like, mid to late thirties maybe? Eddie isn’t sure. But he’s cool. He’s not trying to be, just is. Eddie likes him, but he would rather eat his own tongue than say that out loud.
Just like he’d never tell a soul that he finds him kind of hot – for a teacher. Especially when he’s running around in his ridiculously tight shorts, showing off more than just his skills. That man is fit. Has an ass to bite into and thighs Eddie would not mind being suffocated with.
Okay, enough.
The voice in the back of his mind sounds insane, which he is not.
“Munson? Are you listening?”
Eddie must’ve spaced out for a while, going by the dorky way Harrington’s waving his hand in front of his face.
Adorable.
“Yes Sir, I’m listening. I know you mean well, okay. No need to give me the old ‘If you want something, you gotta work for it’ speech, really. I know I need to do better, and I will. As soon as I get my diploma and get the hell out of here.”
Harrington smiles and maybe Eddie isn’t supposed to see it because he turns his head away before shaking it, both hands on his hips, putting on his ‘disappointed mother’ stance.
Or rather… daddy.
Eddie snorts, amused by his own thoughts and this time, Mr Harrington seems genuinely pissed.
“Doesn’t it get boring?” he asks and maybe if Eddie had listened to what he said earlier, he’d know what he’s talking about. But he didn’t, so now he’s just confused.
“I mean- isn’t it exhausting always trying to be anti everything?”
He steps closer, and something about him suddenly towering over him makes Eddie straighten his posture, eyes locked on the coach.
“Of course it’s exhausting. It’s always easier to follow along like a useless sheep but that ain’t me, Sir. Sorry to disappoint.” Eddie grins, feels cocky – he doesn’t have much to lose anyway.
“Ah see, that’s where you get it all twisted, Munson. It’s not about you refusing to blindly following whatever people tell you to do. It’s about you wasting your life. Making it so hard for yourself for what? Do you think that makes you special?”
Ouch! Okay, that one hurt.
“Does it make you feel good to be an outsider? Doesn’t it suck that you’re still here only because you couldn’t be bothered to grit your teeth for once and just do what’s expected in order to- how did you phrase it? Get the fuck out of here?”
He’s mocking him, clearly. And it makes Eddie’s blood boil with anger. Harrington hasn’t raised his voice, keeps his tone level while throwing verbal punches at him, and Eddie is truly flabbergasted.
“I- I’m trying,” he stammers, hates how weak he suddenly sounds. How weak he feels with the other man staring him down, standing so close now Eddie could count the pretty moles on his face if he had the mind to do so.
“No, you’re not. You’re doing the bare minimum and sometimes not even that.”
It’s a lie. The coach doesn’t know shit about how hard Eddie is trying to do good. How much it takes to fight through each day.
“Why do you even care?” There’s no bite in his question, none of the frustration and anger he feels inside coming through. He sounds pathetic, like a kid desperate for attention, for someone to tell him he’s worth the struggle.
“Because,” Harrington takes another step forward, “I know you can do better. And I hate to see you throw away your life for nothing but an act.”
Eddie swallows roughly, feels his heart rate pick up. Mostly deaf to his words, he can only focus on the movement of Harrington’s pretty pink lips. It’s distracting, and it must be obvious, because one hand comes up to grab him by the back of his neck, giving him no other chance but to look into Harrington’s eyes.
“Always pretending it’s all about ‘fucking authority’ when the real problem isn’t authority, it’s you not being able to follow the simplest rules.”
Eddie feels heat spread where the broad palm is splayed across his neck. Heat pooling in his lower half, too, where something stirs, and pulses, and rattles at invisible bars.
This is bad. He should probably tell the older man to let go, should bring distance between him and the coach, but he’s stuck. Feels trapped despite having every possibility to step back, walk away, run if he must but he can’t. Because he doesn’t want to.
“Make me,” he presses through his clenched jaw, fists curled at his sides to keep his hands from trembling.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Harrington chuckles, low and vibrant.
Fuck. FUCK!
Why is this so hot? Doing things to Eddie he won’t be able to hide much longer, not if his body betrays him.
“Want me to tell you what to do, is that it?”
No.
Yes?
Eddie’s mind is reeling; he’s fighting for clarity, needs to get level, needs to get out before he does something stupid.
“What makes you think I’d listen?”
Shut up. God, you fucking moron, just SHUT UP!
That has always been Eddie’s problem, hasn’t it. That he just can’t keep his big, stupid mouth shut. He’s heard that so many times and here is again, talking himself into trouble rather than out of it.
“Don’t challenge me, Munson.”
Oh, but he does. Can’t stop himself from taking yet another step forward. One step that brings him way too close to the man whose hand suddenly tightens in his hair, pulling just almost enough to make it hurt.
“You do not want to test me.”
There’s something dangerously dark in his voice and his eyes but not the kind that tells Eddie he needs to stop. He should, obviously, but he can’t shake the feeling that they both want something else instead.
It’s stupid, risky, wrong. So, so wrong. But when has Eddie ever made smart choices?
“I said- MAKE. ME.”
Loss of control is a scary thing.
When your ability to make conscious decisions gets undermined by raging instincts that orchestrate your every move. When, somewhere in the far back of your debilitated mind, you know you shouldn’t do what you’re doing but whatever has taken over, won’t let you act on better judgement.
This is what’s happening to Eddie. And it doesn’t help at all that he still has half a mind to tell himself that this will finally be the stupidest thing he’s ever done. Because that, too, doesn’t stop him from inching forward.
It doesn’t stop him from closing the last remaining distance between his mouth and-
Oh, fuck!
Something pulls at his hair with such force that his head snaps back, causing him to wince at the stinging pain.
His brain comes back online, thoughts racing just like his heart as the shock sinks in. Dread and embarrassment making him feel like crying.
He fucked up, hasn’t he? Big time. This will get him expelled. Wayne will hear about this and that will be the final straw. Eddie better get home and start packing, run away before news get to his uncle, to save him the disappointment.
What the fuck was he thinking?
“Eddie! Look at me!”
Harrington’s voice rings in his ears, loud and clear now but to his confusion, he doesn’t sound mad, not really. And when Eddie blinks back into reality, out of his spiralling thoughts, he realises that the hand that was holding him back is now cradling his face almost gentle, almost caring.
“I- I didn’t mean to-“ he stammers, desperately trying to come up with an excuse even though he knows there’s no way he can talk himself out of this.
“Didn’t give you permission, did I?”
Huh?
“You think you can just take what you want, is that it?”
“N-no, I-“
“Making demands like a misbehaving brat.”
Eddie is losing his mind. He must be, there’s no way this is really happening right now.
“Apologise.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough.”
The hand on the side of his face wanders, fingertips sliding down until they settle on his jawline. The grip is unnecessarily tight, not painful but just shy of too much. Eddie should probably try to shake him off, shouldn’t put up with this – he might not know much but he’s pretty sure this isn’t how teachers are supposed to discipline their students.
“Say it again. Like you mean it this time.”
Under any other circumstances, Eddie would fight it, would tell the other man to fuck off. He’d use his fists if he had to, has done so many times to save his ass. But this is different.
He doesn’t know what it is but there’s something about Harrington’s tone and how he says it, that messes with him. It’s disarming, makes him feel weak. Like his body as well as his mind have gone completely pliant, soft.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I promise I’ll be good.”
It’s strange how easy those words spill from his tongue and how good it makes him feel when he sees the shadow of a satisfied smile flitting over the older man’s lips.
Eddie wonders if Harrington is enjoying this. If making him cower is giving the coach some sort of power rush. It probably does, going by the pleased look on his face. But the thing is, Eddie doesn’t mind. Because in a weird, inexplicable way, this is doing something to him, too. He can’t quite name it, this feeling inside. How his mind is suddenly so at ease.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Harrington loosens his grip but keeps his hand where it is, thumb stroking the underside of Eddie’s bottom lip in barely noticeable but somehow pacifying motion.
“Seems like you can follow orders, after all. Maybe you just need someone to teach you some manners.”
This is so wrong. Eddie doesn’t know what kind of game they’re playing but he knows that it needs to stop.
Is Harrington flirting with him? And why doesn’t it bother Eddie? Why does everything in him yearn for more of whatever twisted method he’s using to- to what? Break him? Is that what this is?
“I think,” Harrington leans in, his face so close to Eddie’s now he can almost imagine their lips touching for real, “deep down you want to be a good boy. You just need someone to tell you how to be one.”
He doesn’t comment on the whimper slipping from Eddie’s mouth but they both heard it, there’s no doubt about it.
Eddie wants to die of shame but the coach keeps going as if it was nothing. As if calling him a potential good boy doesn’t fuck Eddie up in ways that are too overwhelming to fully grasp. As if he can’t see what he’s doing to him – if Harrington stepped just a little bit closer, he could feel it, too. Because Eddie is hard.
He’s sweating, face burning with unbearable heat, heart hammering in his chest, cock throbbing in the confines of his suddenly too tight jeans.
It’s so wrong. So electrifying.
Eddie wants more of it, needs it like air. He’ll do anything just to hear him say those words again.
“Teach me, please,” he hears himself beg, “Teach me how to be good-”
for you, he keeps to himself, lets the unspoken words linger on his tongue for a moment, savouring their bittersweet taste before he swallows them down.
“Please,” he says again, doesn’t even feel ashamed anymore for how pathetic he sounds.
Something in Harrington’s expression shifts, and it makes him shudder. His eyes darken, tongue swiping greedily across his teeth as his hand finds its way back to Eddie’s neck.
“You know I can’t” Harrington growls through gritted teeth, “Gonna get us both in trouble.”
His fingers twitch, like he can barely hold himself back from tightening his grip again. He sounds almost pained now, like he's fighting a war with himself not to do anything stupid.
Unfortunately, Eddie isn’t half as strong.
He knows he’s treading a dangerous path, but any reasonable thought he might’ve had is now drowned out by an overwhelming need.
He wants to get burned for playing with fire.
“Steve,” Eddie whines, not even realising he just crossed another red line calling him by his first name, “Please, I’ll do anything.”
For a moment, time seems to stop, and Eddie counts the seconds until he’ll be thrown out and sent to hell.
But that doesn’t happen.
He can see the moment Harrington breaks – right before he feels the impact of it.
Their lips clash so sudden, so violently, Eddie nearly chokes on the startled noise breaking free from his throat.
Steve kisses him like he’s trying to eat him alive. It’s rough and so fucking hot, Eddie forgets how to breathe. It’s fucked up how good it feels, how in all its wrongness, Eddie still can’t find no reason to stop. Opens his mouth for Steve’s tongue to lick inside, uselessly fighting back with his own like he has any chance of winning this battle, keeps chasing the other man’s taste like an addict desperate for his next high.
“I’m going to ruin you,” Steve groans when he pulls away, his breath hot on Eddie’s spit-slick lips.
It’s his last warning. Clearly meant to scare him, push him away for his own good.
But it’s too late for that. Eddie is already too far gone to back out now.
“I want you to.”
He’s not sure what he expects. Maybe for Harrington to physically shove him away, or to run. Save them both from this moral downfall.
But all he does is stare. There’s anger in his eyes, deep resentment, but it doesn’t feel like it’s directed at Eddie. More like self loathing, disappointment over his own weakness, his incapability to resist the temptation. Hate mixing with lust that has them both in a choke-hold.
“You wanna learn how to behave? Be a good boy?”
The words hit Eddie like a bucket of ice cold water, make him shiver, breath catching in his throat when he takes a big shaky inhale and nods.
So he’s made up his mind, then.
All that’s right now thrown overboard, leaving nothing but sinful desire as their compass, bound to steer them in the wrong direction, where they’ll crash and sink with no chance of being rescued.
Eddie is ready to go down.
“Want to be good for you.”
Steve hums, letting go of Eddie’s neck before taking a few steps back. And for a split second, Eddie thinks it’s over before it even starts.
It’s not.
With the distance between them, Eddie can see that Steve’s just as affected by everything as he is. His growing interest impossible to hide in these stupid tiny short he’s wearing.
“You’ll regret it.”
He sounds strained but that doesn’t take away from the unmistakable excitement swinging in his voice.
“Prove it.”
Eddie’s patience is wearing thin. He knows that’s the whole point; Steve is teasing him, playing with him, testing him. It’s what he asked for, after all, delirious as he is.
Doesn’t mean he can’t play along. Lean into his bratty side just to give Steve another reason. It worked before when he didn’t even do it on purpose – surely it’ll work again, now that he knows how to use it to his advantage.
“Making demands again, are you? Thought I’d told you to ask for what you want.”
Oh God, Eddie is going to come in his pants if Steve keeps using that voice on him. He sounds mad. His voice is so low, the vibration of it feels like it’s seeping right into Eddie’s skin.
“Turn around,” Steve commands and Eddie doesn’t think twice before he complies.
From behind, he can feel Steve coming closer, and holds his breath when two strong arms bracket him, not to touch or hold but to shut the door of the staff room with a harsh thud that makes him flinch.
He feels trapped like this, facing the heavy wooden barrier with the older man so close at his back he can feel his hardness pushing against his tailbone.
“Hands on the door.”
Again, Eddie does as he’s told without questioning it. Has no control over his own body anymore, lead only by Steve’s voice.
Steve’s hands come down to his waistband, fingers hovering over the button of his jeans like he’s still trying to hold back, resisting the urge to strip him down and free his cock, touch him where he’s aching, soiling his underwear with dribbles of precum.
“Want it,” Eddie whines, doesn’t recognise his own voice anymore. “Please, Steve, I-“
Lips connect with the side of his neck, hot and wet, kissing every inch of skin they can reach. He stops at his ear and whispers, “You can do better than this.”
At first, Eddie doesn’t understand but then Steve says one word, that makes his world explode into a billion tiny particles.
There’s no coming back from this.
“Beg.”
The sound he makes is less moan, more sob, something pitiful and pathetic and weak. But he doesn’t care, can’t, not when Steve answers his chorus of whiny pleas with nimble fingers that relieve him from the tightness digging painfully into his crotch.
The button pops open, the zipper comes down, and just when Eddie thinks he finally gets to feel Steve’s touch where he wants it most-
Steve is gone. Taking his hands and body heat with him.
Eddie’s knees nearly give out at the head rush that follows; he feels like crying, caught up in horny frustration, cock pulsing with need and nothing there to ease the tension.
“Shh, keep it together,” Steve’s voice comes from somewhere behind him, still close but not close enough. Sounding softer than he has any right to, after torturing Eddie like that.
“Promised I’ll teach you how to follow orders. So you’re gonna listen very carefully and do exactly what I tell you. Do you understand?”
Eddie bites his tongue to keep a small whimper from bubbling up, the echo of Steve’s words holding him in a tight grip.
“Yes, Sir. I- I understand.”
He’s a mess, doesn’t know what came over him, why it feels right to suddenly switch back to calling Steve Sir, when they’re so clearly past the limit of any formalities by now.
“Good boy,” Steve croons, his voice closer now, breath tickling the shell of his ear. “Now strip. Pants down. Let me see you.”
Eddie’s hands are shaking, trembling like the rest of his body, buzzing with nerves, all senses on overdrive, but he does what he’s told, pushes his jeans and briefs down, not all the way, just to free his ass and balls, dick slapping up against his belly when it’s finally free.
From behind, he hears fabric rustling, and even though he’s facing away from him, he knows Steve mirrors him. Imagines what he looks like – his muscular thighs on display where his shorts have come down. Wishing he could see what Steve’s blessed with, if he’s big, hairy, leaking at the tip just like he is. Wondering if he likes what he sees looking at Eddie’s bare ass. If the tattoo on his right cheek makes him smile.
“Touch yourself,” Steve commands and breaks Eddie out of his thoughts.
Without hesitation, he takes himself in hand, collecting slickness with his thumb, pulling at his foreskin, his fist tight around his shaft. He starts slow, has to if he wants this to last more than 30 seconds, can already feel the need for release building and rising.
“Let me hear you,” Steve tells him, and Eddie couldn’t hold it in if he wanted to.
Parts his lips to let out a soft moan, then another, voice growing louder with every stroke of his hand.
“That’s it. Doing so good, Eddie. So good at following the rules.”
Steve’s voice is breathy, the words broken by little puffs of air. He sounds worked up, and more than ever, Eddie wishes he could see him, watch him fuck his fist in the same rhythm as he is.
“Please, Sir. Can I- can I turn around?”
He waits with bated breath for the answer that follows promptly.
“Nuh-uh. That’s your punishment for your little stunt earlier. Maybe that’ll teach you to behave next time.”
Next time.
Next time?
Eddie moans so loud he’s sure if anyone stepped into the gym right now, they’d hear him even through the closed door.
This can’t mean what he thinks Steve’s saying but the mere thought of getting to do this another time nearly sends him flying over the edge.
He grips the base of his cock hard and takes a few deep breaths, doesn’t want it to be over so fast.
“What’s the matter, Eddie? Already giving up?”
Steve is teasing him now, has this smug lilt in his voice that drives Eddie insane.
“N-no, Sir. Just- just need a second.”
Unexpectedly, a hand comes up to his hip, fingers digging into his side almost possessively. Steve’s mouth is back on him, teeth biting gently into his lobe, the touch of his lips making him break out in goosebumps.
Standing so close now, Eddie can make out the shape of him. Feels the slick heat of Steve’s swollen tip brushing his back, knuckles grazing his skin on every upward motion of his hand.
“Come on, Eddie,” Steve whispers into his ear, “Let go for me. I know you want to.”
There is no more holding him back now.
Three stuttering flicks of his palm are enough to take him out. Eddie comes with a cry into his fist, gets taken under by the sheer force of the shock wave rippling through his whole body.
“Fuck, Eddie! You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Steve groans, and then he bites his shoulder, thrusting his hips once, twice, before he comes and spills his release all over Eddie’s bare skin. He can feel it trickling over his lower back and ass, and he’s sure that if he could, he’d come again just from this.
Breathless, Eddie slumps against the door, his sweaty forehead pressed against the cool surface, and he waits with a racing heart for shame to creep into his mind.
It doesn’t happen, though. Because Steve doesn’t give him a chance to dwell in guilt over what they’ve done, no. He makes it worse. Adds another sin to the list when he kneels down behind Eddie and drags his tongue through the mess he made. Licks him clean, and- fuck it!
Fuck the rules, fuck behaving. Fuck everything. Eddie needs to know what it’s like.
So he turns around without warning, finds Steve on the floor looking up at him through hazy eyes, shiny lips parted around a silent question.
“Kiss me, please.”
To his surprise, Steve doesn’t deny him this time. Stands up on weak legs and brings their mouths together. Shares the taste of his own cum mixed with the salt from Eddie’s skin. Pushes it deep inside where their tongues savour the remains of it.
There’s a place in hell reserved for them, Eddie is sure, but right now he doesn’t care about wrong or right. Doesn’t care what consequences their actions will have in aftermath.
Because Steve Harrington kisses him like a lover would. Passionate and deep and they only part when breathing becomes mandatory for them not to faint.
“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve says again, but this time, it’s with a smile on his lips.
“Yeah, fuck,” Eddie agrees, feels light-hearted and good in ways that shouldn’t be possible.
He should fear the inevitable drop once reality starts sinking in. Should start begging for forgiveness now, or maybe pray, because this will definitely come back to kick his ass harder than any other thoughtless crime he’s ever committed.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s Steve who says it, and Eddie’s heart sinks.
“I shouldn’t have- hey. What’s wrong?”
Eddie turns away, can’t deal with the rejection. It’s not like he thought this was any more than a stupid mistake. He knows it wasn’t. Still, Steve already regretting it makes him feel like the biggest fool on the planet.
“Eddie, look at me.”
He does, can’t fight it because Steve’s hands are on his face again, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“I’m not- I didn’t mean I’m sorry for- God. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m your fucking teacher, and I- I should know better. But you’re so-“
Eddie’s never seen him fumble for words like that, and it tickles the little devil on his shoulder.
“I’m so what?” he asks, acting all innocent, big eyes blinking up at Steve.
“You’re my ruin.”
It’s more of a confession than Eddie could’ve expected, feeding his already too big ego.
“Yeah? Thought you said you would be mine.”
They’re both chuckling at that, the tension between them dissolving into something soft.
“Maybe I could be,” Steve offers and Eddie’s heart skips a beat. “In 4 months. When you graduate and finally get the hell out of here.”
It almost sounds like a promise, feels like one too, when Steve kisses him again. Just a quick, gentle touch of lips, before he pulls away to tuck himself back into his shorts, reminding Eddie that he got too distracted to actually look, when he had the chance.
Ah, shit. Now he really hopes there’s going to be a next time.
He pulls up his jeans and wipes his hand on it carelessly before turning back to Steve once more.
“So, does that mean you’re gonna let me pass?” he asks with a big, cocky grin, feeling overly confident now.
“Sure. If you show up to class in actual sports wear and participate. No more loitering on the sidelines. I want to see you sweat, Munson.”
Eddie groans and rolls his eyes, but secretly he thinks, he might have found just the right motivation now, to pull through.
Because now, there’s more than a stupid diploma waiting for him on the other side.