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Part 2 of Tumblr ficlets
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Published:
2025-08-11
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1,059
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1/1
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Important Stuff To Do

Summary:

Eddie has Important Stuff To Do. Like ogle the hot construction worker. And fall in love.

Notes:

I posted this (and a few others) on Tumblr a few years ago. Finally decided to put them in an Ao3 series. They're just drabbles but they're my drabbles and I wanted them all in one place like a dragon hoarding gold. Sometimes fluffy, sometimes smutty, sometimes cracky gold, but, like, same vibe. Imagine me sitting on a giant pile of words, breathing smoke out of my nose.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

 

Eddie has Important Stuff To Do. He's a busy rockstar with a never ending list of stuff his manager and agent keep reminding him that he needs to get done while he's not on tour.

But. His house is being remodeled. And one of the carpenters or handymen or journey...men? Journey people? Whatever. One of the dudes in a tool belt. Well - he's hot as all hell and Eddie can't seem to find a single fuck to mark off that Important Stuff To Do list.

Every day this man shows up in jeans that hug his ass, a tool belt slung low to one side and this pristine white polo shirt with a logo over his left pec. The other people - people not men because there are actually three women in the mix, don't be sexist, all with arms that could crush Eddie, and if he was into chicks, he'd be looking respectfully - are all in various dark colored shirts with a similar logo on the back or in the same spot on the chest.

But White Polo is the only white polo. Ergo, White Polo must be in charge. He does seem to give a lot of orders. He's got big sexy hair and a strong voice. The first time Eddie was close enough to hear him talk, he had some feelings about that strong voice giving him orders. The kind of feelings he explored later that night in his own bed. Alone. With a lot of lube.

It's not a mean voice though, not aggressive. Rather, it's the kind of voice that steadies you in a storm, a voice that anchors you, that you can rely on. The kind of voice that probably sounds gravelly and sleep mussed on a Saturday morning. The kind you want to wake up to. The kind of voice that Eddie wants to wake up to.

And it's not just the voice and the looks. It's the competency, too. Earlier this morning, White Polo was helping the crew put some kind of wood frame up. He hammered something in, then twirled the hammer on his fingers and stuffed it in the tool belt, all without looking. That move was going directly to Eddie's spank bank. Do not pass GO, do not collect two hundred dollars. Maybe he should find other things for them to remodel so White Polo never has to leave.

"Mr. Munson?"

Eddie startles, almost dropping his Garfield coffee mug. There's a lot of noise in the house and he was sort of doing one of the things on his list. Writing a song in his head. It was definitely not about a man in a tool belt. Nor was it about anyone getting nailed. 

Jesus Christ.

Clearing his throat, Eddie turns to White Polo, "It's just Eddie."

"Well, Just Eddie, I'm Steve." His voice is soft, strong though, with that little bit of gravel. Almost like a purr. It's not Eddie's fault at all that he's imagining him whispering in Eddie's ear when they're both sleep warm and too comfortable to get out of bed. "Looks like we'll be done here in another two days."

"Oh," Eddie says dejectedly, not meaning to have such an honest reaction but he can't help himself. He's wasted three days just glancing at White Polo - Steve - from afar. Now Eddie's on a time limit. Two days isn't nearly enough time. Would it be inappropriate to invite him to dinner? Or to stay? Ask him for-"Coffee?"

Steve smiles and it's kind of small, like it's a secret smile, just for Eddie. Brushing his hair behind his ear on one side, Steve says, "I shouldn't but...your coffee smells kinda great so...sure."

Grinning like a lovesick idiot, Eddie tell him that he gets the beans from this little mom and pop shop that roasts their own beans. The band discovered them on tour years ago and he still gets his beans shipped from them every few months. He's babbling but he can't seem to stop himself, telling Steve about different roasts and his fancy machine that cost more than his first van back when he was sixteen and living in a trailer park. And about how sometimes he craves a really bad cup of coffee from the old Mr. Coffee pot that his uncle pot at a yard sale for two dollars in quarters.

Leaning against the counter, Steve listens patiently, watching Eddie with hazel eyes and that little smile. He's got these cute moles that Eddie wants to kiss. Broad shoulders he wants to feel pressed up against the backs of his knees. Big hands Eddie wants in his--

Shit. He almost spills the coffee when his face suddenly heats up at that.

"Everything okay?" There's concern in Steve's voice and he reaches out to steady Eddie's arm. His callused fingers brush Eddie's arm just over his bat tattoos and...

Oh.

It's like nothing he's ever imagined. So much more than all the stories. It's the biggest, brightest, most intense thing Eddie's ever felt. Just a brush of fingertips and his skin lights up with gold. Three prints across the bats' wings and a fourth smaller one from Steve's pinky off to the side. Eddie can feel the tingling on the inside of his forearm where Steve's thumb has left a golden print on the paler skin there.

Without forethought, Eddie surges forward, cupping Steve's cheek, leaving a bright gold palm print on his jaw, a thumb smear up by the cheek bone, bits of gold in the shapes of fingers curling along the side of his throat, and one little dab on the lobe of Steve's ear. Their lips are pressed together before Steve's fully reacted to the soul bond but that's okay - they don't have two days, they've got forever.

A few years later, when Corroded Coffin wins album of the year at the Grammys, Gareth takes the mic away from Eddie as he's doing all the polite thank yous to managers and agents etc - and he thanks Steve, telling the world, "If Steve had never been a hot guy in a tool belt, Eddie would never have written Golden Bats, Hammer of Love or, Eddie's favorite," Gareth grins, leans really close to the mic like it's a secret, 'cause it kind of is, "Ride the White Polo."

Notes:

If you don't get the reference Do not pass GO, do not collect two hundred dollars. your childhood was probably far less volatile than mine. Monopoly is not a children's game - it's way too violent.

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