Archive of Our Own ^beta

The bar has a stage, which is nice. Not every place Eddie gets booked these days actually has a platform for him to shine from — glitter from, perhaps; flicker, occasionally. He even has something of an opener, a young woman who seems to only be a few years out of high school, just barely old enough to purchase something from the bar besides cranberry juice. She is enough of a hardcore music devotee to recognize him — which he appreciates, he does, in a numb, faded sort of way and partly just because he’s tired of kids trying to break into the scene who can’t be bothered to learn John Prine from John Cale. Not that he’s comparing himself. One single making it to number 40 on the rock charts seven years ago doesn’t earn him the right to do that. The girl is also green enough that she acts like he has some sort of right to be listed amongst those men, so — that’s nice. Her ruddy red face as she shakes his hand and stuttered compliments for the solo album that hardly anyone bought are a bit of an ego boost, enough so that when he gets on stage to play his set, there’s an extra little spark of life to way the music comes out of his guitar.

It feels good. Nice. To play something that doesn’t sound like a fucking dirge for one goddamn night.

She — Robin, that was her name — also seems to be the only person in the bar who actually sits and listens to him play, instead of occasionally nodding along to the beat during a lull of their conversation or while they are waiting for their friend to finish their turn of the darts game. She sits at the bar with a beer in front of her, taking occasional sips while she stares at the stage, making him feel like he is playing a concert for one. That’s fine — it’s better than for no one. Next to her, a lithe body is obscured by shadows, chugging down two beers in the time that it takes Robin to slurp down half of her drink. He leans over every once in a while to whisper something in her ear, but she bats him off, shushes him, and points toward the stage. It’s almost like having a fan again.

Eddie’s set lasts forty-five minutes. That’s what he has been paid for and he’s not in the business of doing encores for free, not when nobody is asking. He does get a nice round of applause. Apparently, the background sound was pleasing enough to the clientele of the bar for them to offer up a few courtesy claps. He bows and thanks them and packs up his guitar. The pay for these kinds of shows is — of course — shit, but the bar usually gives him free drinks for the night and this one isn’t an exception. He is downing a shot of whiskey and washing it down with a pull of whatever the place has on tap when Robin comes up to him again and invites him to join her.

It’s not like Eddie has anything better to do.

“Do you want another drink?” She asks as she takes him to a table in the back she and her companion have moved to. “I’d love to buy you —”

“Don’t waste your money. I get them for free.”

“Shit, you do? Damn — should I? I’ve been paying for them.”

Eddie shrugs. He doesn’t know at what point a performer gets free drinks. Maybe that one single is still giving him little gifts. Free drinks is about all it would be doing for him at this point. Robin shrugs back, apparently not too concerned. They’ve arrived at her table and she is gesturing at the boy from the shadows, now lowly lit by an incandescent bulb shining through a stained glass fixture about their heads. It colors his skin a lonely blue shade, but there is nothing else lonely about this boy. No — his eyes are bright and friendly; his mouth is quick to turn into a charming grin; his clothes are expensive and stylish and the type that belongs to someone used to fitting in.

“This is Steve,” Robin says as the boy half-stands from the squeaky red leather booth and holds out a hand for Eddie to shake. He does, the rough calluses of his fingers rubbing against the smooth skin at the back of Steve’s hand. The boy seems to notice the lingering touch and his smile broadens, his eyes becoming slightly hooded. Eddie’s interest is piqued — why wouldn’t it be? Steve is nice to look at. There’s a summer breeze kind of youthful innocence to the easiness of his posture and the soft angles of his face, but he is old enough to have broad shoulders and confidence to the knowledge in his eyes.

Robin talks about music. She seems a little more comfortable now, perhaps from the booze or perhaps she has just realized that Eddie Munson isn’t really that scary — washed up and depressed and willing to sit down with some big-dreaming college girl. Eddie learns that when Robin is comfortable, she talks. A lot. She analyzes Eddie’s set for ten minutes like she thinks she is giving a filibuster and then dives into her own, asking for his opinion, his advice, sprinkling in questions about old songs of his he didn’t know people actually still remembered the titles for. It’s nice.

Steve’s nice. He doesn’t have much to add to the conversation, but he chimes in with kindness and humor when he can find an entrance point. Eddie gets the idea that Steve truly has no idea who he is, but Eddie’s long past being bothered by that on an individual level. Eddie doesn’t mind. He likes watching the boy as he smiles at Robin like she’s the best thing in his life and rubs her back when she gets too worked up and adds little details to her stories that actually make them make some sense to a complete stranger. It’s a little disappointing that pretty, sweet Steve is clearly so entwined with her, especially after all the eye contact he keeps laying on Eddie, but hey — they’re cute. Sure, it means that Eddie has invested the night in two people who aren’t going to come back to his motel room tonight, but it’s fine. They’re nice.

When Eddie gets back from picking up another round from the bar for all of them, he asks, “So how long have you two been together?”

Robin is halfway to bringing her beer up to her mouth when she pauses, her eyes going round like this question has surprised her — which surprises Eddie, of course, because it seems like a perfectly natural question — and then she lets out a great, barking laugh. Steve blushes a little, rolling his eyes at her out-sized reaction. “No, no,” Robin says, shaking her head. Her words have begun to slur a little at this point in the evening, seemingly not the most experienced drinker in the world. “No! We’re not — we’re gay.”

“Well — she’s gay,” Steve says, more in control of his diction. “I’m bisexual.”

Robin shakes her head, looking at Eddie conspiratorially. “Steve likes to pretend that one of these days he is going to go back to sleeping with women when we both know how big of a cockslu—”

“Okay!” Steve says, slapping a hand over her mouth, but not quickly enough. Eddie can put together the puzzle of the interrupted word. He can feel a pleased, sly little smile take over his mouth as he takes a new appreciative glance at Steve. So that earlier look hadn’t been nothing after all. “I think we might be done with drinking for tonight,” Steve says, lowering Robin’s beer before she can take another drink from it.

“No, no, come on, Stevie. It’s a special night!”

Steve closes his eyes in a way that reminds Eddie of a mother being nagged by her children for just one more hour of TV time. The prim, but indulgent sort of control that is in his eyes when he opens them is just as maternal. “Fine. Last beer.” Robin leans over and smacks a kiss on Steve’s cheek.

Fuck — this boy is sweet. Pretty and silly and sweet and Eddie is feeling loose from alcohol and from that little extra dose of attention that he has been starving for over the last six or so years of his life. When Steve looks over at him, there is an expression of happy exasperation and some kind of — connection, comradeship. It swoops down like nausea deep in Eddie’s stomach and he suddenly can feel the pulse of isolation that he has lived with for so long in an entirely new way. He doesn’t look away from Steve — he holds the boy’s gaze through the entire dance of emotions and Steve stares back.

An agreement forms. No words are needed.

They all finish their drinks and then take a cab, dropping off Robin at the local college campus where she is still living in the dorms during her senior year, making extra cash as an RA. Eddie waits in the idling cab as Steve gets her into her room without anyone realizing their floor monitor has been out drinking, then he slides back in and gives the driver an address that Eddie couldn’t recognize if he tried. They don’t touch during the short drive, don’t speak. They look at each other, all vivid expectance and flirtation. Eddie can feel the near future in his muscles — how he is going to move, how Steve is going to respond against him, how the night will build and build like a crescendo, coming to a clamor of cymbals that ends abruptly.

Steve’s apartment is much nicer than he expected — no water-stained studio like most young men just over drinking age can afford. Instead, Steve lets him into an airy living room with modern furniture, connected to a sleek kitchen that is all shining marble. The boy turns pink when Eddie comments on it, showing for the first time tonight a bit of shyness. It’s a lovely color, much more suited for his face than the blue of the bar. He’s a boy made for pink, for rosy, cheery shades of softness.

“My dad pays for all this stuff,” he says. “Not to sound like a sad little rich boy — like, nobody likes those, you know, but it’s kind of our deal. He pays for my apartment and all my shit and I leave him alone. He’s happy to shell out cash as long as I don’t ask for, like, time or attention or —” he shrugs instead of finishing his thought, tossing off the words like it’s no big deal, but Eddie can see it now — there really is some loneliness inside Steve. Perhaps it’s selfish of Eddie to be glad for it, to find this part of Steve that he can recognize inside himself, but it’s just nice to be with someone who can understand you, even in just some small way.

“My dad’s been in and out of prison my entire life. I think the last thing he bought me was a hot dog when I was about nine years old.”

“Oh — yeah, shit. Right. That’s why no one likes privileged rich boys going all boo-hoo. It’s just embarrassing. I’m sorry, dude.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Eddie says, blushing as he realizes what it sounded like — like he was trying to start a contest he knew he would when. He steps up to Steve, who is standing awkwardly in the big open space of his consolation prize apartment, and places a hand on the boy’s hip. He pulls a little, getting Steve to lean his body against Eddie’s, nearly moaning at the line of heat that is suddenly against him. “I meant — dads are shit. I get it. He sounds like an asshole. Sorry you have to —”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Steve says, trying to smile through the awkwardness of two strangers attempting to comfort each other. “Let’s just, you know, I want to —” and then Steve kisses him. He is perhaps an inch or two shorter than Eddie, just enough that he has to angle up his head slightly to capture Eddie’s lips and he does so with ease. Eddie’s hand comes up and cups around the curve of his extended neck, feeling the strong cords of muscles there as he sinks into the warmth of Steve’s mouth.

It’s perfect. Eddie can feel the pressure of Steve’s kiss down in his toes. The damp force of his exhale as he sighs with pleasure and then the supple yield of his lips as Eddie begs entrance with his tongue. Steve is liquid in his arms as Eddie explores his mouth, a weak-kneed princess being propped up by her strong knight after some daring battle for her safety — or whatever other silly narrative Eddie’s mind turns all sensations into.

The boy breaks the kiss, putting just enough space between them to lift his shift up and off his head, the fabric sticking against Eddie’s thumb until he loosens the grip he has on Steve’s hip just for the moment. Then takes hold once more, pressing harder, bringing his mouth to kiss down Steve’s neck, across his naked shoulder. There is something very pure about the flesh of Steve’s body — tan and smooth and unblemished by scars or tattoos. His chest is full of dark hair that thins out just a bit when it reaches his stomach. The musculature there is flat, but it dimples with the presence of defined abs when Steve flexes against the ticked of Eddie’s lips. Eddie can feel it happen, resting his other hand there.

“What do you like, baby?” Eddie asks, in between pressing hard against Steve’s lips one more, giving him no space to reply. Steve mumbles against Eddie’s mouth, laughing when he can’t get any words out. He manages to get space for himself by tugging at Eddie’s shirt, pulling it up until Eddie has no choice but to break away to allow it to be stripped from his torso.

Eddie is not as pure as Steve. Covered in tattoos over the expanse of his arms and chest — a jagged scar across his stomach from some asshole swinging a broken bottle at him during a bar fight when he was twenty. He has other nicks and marks — a patch of oddly textured skin on his shoulder from road rash he got during a motorcycle accident five years ago, a circular burn below his collar bone from a cigar that some crazy groupie pressed to his skin during a night he can hardly remember. Steve looks him over, pupils blowing wide like he very much likes what he sees. It’s not uncommon — most of the people who bring Eddie home are the kind that get turned on by the rough life of a once-kind-of rockstar.

“I like …” Steve starts, apparently distracted by taking in Eddie’s body. His eyes linger on the tattoos, the scars, the pink nipples that stand out against all the black ink. “Baby — um, I like you calling me baby,” he says weakly, smiling with a hint of embarrassment.

Eddie’s hand finds its way into Steve’s hair, thrilled at the thickness of it, how perfect it is for him to squeeze his fingers shut and grab hold of a big chunk all at once. God — he could lead this boy all around the apartment by his hair and he’d never lose a strand. “That’s not much for me to go on, sweet boy.” He uses his grip to bring Steve in for another kiss and it’s like he presses a button, for how gelatinous Steve goes at just the one press. He falls into Eddie’s chest for support. “Do you like to suck cock, Steve?” Eddie whispers, pleased when the words cause a shiver through his companion. “You were trying to hide it, but I heard Robin say you were a cockslut. Is that true, baby? You like a hard cock inside you? You like to get fucked?”

Steve groans, shaking, looking at him with round, stunned eyes like he can hardly comprehend these words being spoken to him. His face is pink — not just his cheeks, but the entire expanse of pretty skin. “I — um, yes, sir.”

“Sir?” Eddie asks, his eyebrows raising in curiosity. “I didn’t ask you to call me sir, darling.”

“I — shit, I didn’t —” the boy turns a shade darker, glowing red now with embarrassment. He might just melt out of Eddie’s arms and turn into a puddle on the floor.

“But I can be your sir for the night. Is that what you want? You want me to take over? You don’t have to make any decisions, just need to be a good boy and do what I tell you.”

“Yes,” Steve says, blowing out a breath of relief. “Yes, I want, yes — sir, please.”

Eddie lets the rough grip of Steve’s hair go, petting through his hair instead, soothing whatever harsh emotions have been rushing through the boy. Steve sighs once more, happy.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’m going to tell you what I want to do and you can say whether there is something you don’t like. I’m going to order you around and I might call you some names, make you feel embarrassed, all right? I might tie you up — just your hands — and be a little rough with you. I won’t hurt you, just some spanking, pushing you around a little, okay? I’m going to fuck you, hard. Is that all right, baby? Is there something you don’t want?”

Steve looks at him long and hard as he details his plans, thoughtful and considering. Eddie appreciates that. He finds himself appreciating Steve more than he could have anticipated.

“I want all of that, sir. Please.”

“Good boy. If you start to feel bad or you don’t like something or you just want to stop for whatever reason, you just say stop, okay? Stop. For any reason, all right?”

“Yes, sir. Promise.”

“Such a good boy, baby.” Eddie rewards him with a kiss.

It’s odd, how cleanly this entire situation has excised Eddie’s loneliness from his body. He is no stranger to hook-ups, takes them where he can find them, as often as possible, but often there is some aftertaste of despondency that stays in his mouth even through the most intimate of encounters. Is Steve so different than other young men that Eddie has fallen into bed with? Not particularly. Sweet, subby boys who want a Daddy or a sir or whatever, who crave some surrender and perhaps some violence — they are easy enough to find. A dime a dozen in certain corners of certain cities. Eddie wasn’t anticipating finding one tonight, but here he is. And there is something whole about him that he is holding out for Eddie to take.

There is also something careful to him — not nervous exactly, although there is perhaps that, too — but there is something careful about the way he looks at Eddie like Eddie might need to be taken care of in some other, delicate, unspoken way that he knows just how to handle.

There is a hole inside Eddie’s chest that feels over-full.

“Show me your bedroom, baby,” Eddie directs.

The room is, unsurprisingly, as tastefully expensive-looking as the rest of the apartment — with large canvases of abstract art done in bold colors and a continuation of the ashy wood floors that go throughout the rest of the place. It’s big enough to have a king-sized bed placed in the middle with a wood headboard that looks to have been made out of real oak by skilled hands, rather than particle board and a factory line. There is a navy duvet covering it neatly as if either Steve is the kind of boy who makes his bed in the morning, or he has a maid. He probably has a maid. How fucking rich is this boy’s father? Jesus.

Eddie had entered the room first, so he has to turn back to look at Steve standing in the doorway, watching Eddie’s face like he is waiting for a sign of approval. Eddie smiles at him — easier, now, to make the shape with his lips than it has been in a long time — and beacons him over for another kiss. Steve goes happily like it had been a pain to hold himself back — a magnet fighting its natural pull.

“Take off your clothes,” Eddie says when he breaks the kiss and Steve follows the order so beautifully. No thinking — just obedience. He has his jeans and boxers and socks tossed in a corner of the room not a minute later, standing before Eddie with perhaps some self-consciousness — judging by the pink on his cheeks — but there is some pleasure in that embarrassment. He squirms as Eddie looks him over, taking in his long legs and pretty hips bones, and erect cock, red from arousal. “Beautiful,” Eddie tells him.

“Thank you, um — sir.”

“You’re welcome, baby. It’s the truth, you know. Not just some flattery so you’ll be good. You’re already good, aren’t you? And you’re beautiful.”

Steve’s blush renews itself and he looks down at the ground to escape the weight of Eddie’s gaze. Eddie allows it. He likes a boy who is a little bashful, just as much as he likes one who is a little shameless. Steve might be both — some intoxicating mixture of the two. “Get on the bed,” Eddie tells him. “On your back.”

Eddie trails a hand up Steve’s leg as soon as he is in position, just the tips of his fingers brushing against the boy’s skin. He shivers once more, his cock twitches, but he stays still and lets Eddie touch him as he pleases. After a minute of gentleness, he uses his nail to scrap a pink line along Steve’s shin bone, getting a little hiss for his trouble. Eddie smiles. He watches Steve’s face — creased with need, choked back desire. He stares back at Eddie, begging with his eyes like he’s not sure he is allowed to do it with his voice.

If he wasn’t already full hard in his jeans, that would have done it. Fuck, this boy.

“Where is your lube, baby? Condoms? Do you have any toys?”

“Um — no toys, sir. But condoms and lube are in the top drawer of the side table.”

He nods, leaving his caressing to dig out the supplies. “That’s surprising,” he says as he places the condom on the table and opens the lube to squirt a bit on his finger.

“What’s surprising, sir?”

“That you don’t have any toys, obviously. You’re such a slutty boy, taking me home after knowing me for two hours, stripping yourself down for me, and letting me be in charge of you. I’m surprised you don’t have a whole arsenal to use on yourself when you get lonely. What, you just use your fingers?”

“I don’t — um, yes, sir, sometimes but — I’m too embarrassed to go to a store for that kind of thing, sir,” Steve admits, looking up at the ceiling as he says this. Isn’t that sweet? Eddie thinks, too shy to go into a sex shop, but here he is, not even trying to hide his body from Eddie, offering it up with the ease that attendants have as they give away gift bags at industry parties.

“Open your legs, sweetheart. Bend your knees and spread your legs apart — that’s good, good boy. You like this, don’t you? Baring yourself, making yourself all vulnerable for a strange man to play with.”

Steve gasps as Eddie brings his wet finger between his legs, bypassing his cock entirely, and begins to brush against his hole. His hands clench where they are resting near his hip, like he wants to move them but he doesn’t know where to, doesn’t know if he is allowed. Slowly, Eddie slides his finger inside, barely stopping himself from moaning and the hot squeeze around his finger. Fuck — so good, so perfect, it’ll be bliss around his cock. But he doesn’t want Steve to see him fall apart over a tight hole so quickly. Not when Steve wants Eddie to be in control.

“Yes, sir — yes, want it.”

Eddie fingers him slowly, sliding his finger in centimeter by centimeter until Steve’s hole feels looser around him, easily pulsing against the digit, squeezing around him like Steve is testing the size of the intrusion. He adds a second finger, the give of Steve’s hole not as easy this time, but he presses against the resistance until he is let in. He watches the boy as he goes, the speed of his breath picking up, hitching when Eddie brushes his prostate. He begins to fuck inside faster, mesmerized by the squelch of lube and the yield of Steve’s body.

“Sir,” Steve asks, his voice high, breaking as Eddie fucks inside. “Sir—want to see you, can I? Want to see your cock, please sir.”

Eddie smirks at the bit of desperation in Steve’s voice, laughing just a bit which makes Steve flush and look away like he’s been mocked. “It’s all right, baby. You can see it. You’re going to be taking it soon enough, anyway.” Steve turns back to him, eyes blown black as he watches Eddie stand up straight and unbuckle his belt, and slide down his pants and boxers. His cock has been hard for a half-hour at this point, and he sighs as springs forward, finally free from the tight confines of his pants. “You like it, baby?” Eddie asks. For all the imperfections of his body — he isn’t ashamed of it. He knows it looks good, despite the abuse he’s put it through and he has never once had any doubts about his cock.

“Fuck,” Steve says, “’s big, sir. Fuck.”

“That’s why I’ve gotten loosen you up. Said I wouldn’t hurt you, didn’t I?

Steve nods. He is still laid out perfectly flat on his back — hasn’t moved a muscle but to turn his neck since Eddie ordered him onto the bed. He just lays there, sprawled out for Eddie, and watches as this man he barely knows stands above him, cock hard and ready to drill him hard. “Please fuck me, sir,” Steve says, his voice a little frayed.

“I’m going to, baby. You’re going to feel me inside you for days after I’m done.”

Steve groans, closing his eyes like he needs to hide just that bit in order to get used to the idea.

“I want you to get on your knees, baby. Turn around, on your hands and knees.”

Steve obeys, moving slowly like he has forgotten what it is like to be in charge of moving his body even in such a short time. Once he is in position, Eddie grabs his hands and pulls them out in front of him, making Steve gasp, his chest falling to the bed without his arms to hold him up. Eddie pulls his arms straight, forcing his wrists against each other and holding them with one hand. He has his belt sitting on the bed ready for this, and he grabs it, tying it tight around Steve’s wrists and dropping them back to the pillow.

“Fuck, you look beautiful like this,” Eddie tells him, hissing in arousal at the sight of Steve’s long, tanned body propped up on knees that are spread apart to offer up his hole, his back long and arched as his face rests sideways on the mattress, his fingers loose and helpless above the thick leather of Eddie’s belt. “Fucking gorgeous, Jesus. How someone hasn’t snatched you up and locked you away is beyond me. Is that your choice, sweetheart? You want to be free to meet hook-ups like this? Or are you just waiting for someone to claim you?”

“I — um —”

“Shh, that’s all right. Don’t answer. This isn’t the time.”

Eddie climbs onto the bed behind Steve, the thrill that Steve can’t see him but Eddie has the boy’s entire body spread out before him like a buffet making him feel far drunker than those few drinks he had earlier could ever manage. Eddie has brought the lube and condom with him. He opens up the tube and squeezes out a dollop of cool gel straight onto Steve’s hole, making it contract at the sudden sensation. He doesn’t wait for the little pucker of muscles to settle again before he sticks three fingers inside in a sudden rush of fullness that draws out the most wonderful moan from Steve.

He fucks inside harshly, this time — no gentle drag waiting for Steve to adjust. He slams his fingers inside, the tight muscles having no option but to open for him. He does it again, and again and again, each time punching out a helpless little breath from the boy below him.

Finally, he pulls out. He can’t help it, those beautiful globes and that shiny, winking hole between them — Eddie brings his hand down on the right cheek and then the left, getting a few cries from Steve. He does it again and keeps going until the boy’s ass has become a pink just as stunning as the pink on his face throughout this evening.

The only warning that Steve gets that Eddie is ready to fuck him comes from the opening of the condom wrapper. Eddie is practiced enough at this part that it only takes a few seconds to slide the rubber down his cock and then he is lining up with Steve’s hole and plunging himself inside with no sense of forgiveness for Steve’s adjustment. The boy cries out, loud and unashamed. “Is that good, baby? You ever been this full?”

“Yes — no, I — sir, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me! Please, please, move, sir. Please, fuck me. I need it, I need it. Please, sir.”

“Shit, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect slut, baby. Beg so well.”

Eddie pounds into him, a surge of viciousness taking over his body. He gives Steve all he has and the boy takes it so well, moaning and twisting and begging for more. Eddie reaches down and takes hold of Steve’s hair, pulling him roughly up so that Steve’s chest is off of the bed, held there just by the strands of his hair as Eddie keeps pounding, keeps fucking, keeps spitting out more words. “Good slut. God, you want it so bad, don’t you? You need someone to fuck you just to keep you sane. Little fucking slut, shit. Fuck. Yes, good boy. Good boy. You like it?”

But Steve doesn’t have it in him to respond. He babbles incoherently, a slur of pleases and yeses and sirs, hardly taking in enough oxygen to keep the litany going.

Eddie is getting close to the end and though this is the first time he has been buried inside Steve’s body, fucking him to completion, he can tell that Steve is getting close, too. The way he squirms against Eddie’s cock, the way he moans — it is all building, almost breaking. Eddie doesn’t want that to happen, not when he can’t see Steve’s pretty face. He pulls out of the boy’s hole, getting a few words of protest, but before Steve can get too upset by the loss of cock, he is grabbing Steve’s shoulder and flipping him over harshly, slamming him onto his back, his tied hands landing above his head, elongating his torso. The boy blinks, staring up at the ceiling like he is confused as to how it got there. Then, he half-focuses — as much as he is able at the moment — on Eddie’s face, and the most beatific smile appears across his lips and Eddie very nearly falls in love with the stranger.

When he slides back inside, he finds he can’t look away from Steve’s eyes. This is — unusual. Normally, with the boys Eddie fucks, he is more concerned with their bodies, their cocks, their abs, their arms, the pretty lines of their necks — but now, Eddie is staring at the warm chocolate of sweet boy’s eyes and he is stuck there. Steve’s hole squeezes around his cock, milking him, but he isn’t pounding the same way anymore. It’s not hurried and violent and taking — taking — this time, it is giving and it is so goddamn much. He has never felt less alone. How is it possible to be so dearly, desperately a part of someone else?

Eddie wraps his hand around Steve’s cock, pulling him to the brink of orgasm and carrying him over. Steve’s eyes close as he comes, but the spell isn’t broken, because Eddie is still just obsessed with the crinkles of pleasure on his face, and the broken sobs of climax coming from his mouth. He clenches, impossibly tight, around Eddie’s cock as comes and Eddie fucks through that vice, spilling just a minute later, ringing himself out with Steve’s body.

He doesn’t pull out right away, even with the overstimulation turns to the edge of pain. It’s so warm inside this boy, so perfectly welcoming. He wants to live here, sleep here, build his home inside this boy. Fuck. What a sad old fool is he! Falling for the ass of some silly slut he met in a bar a few hours ago? But that’s his brain — his body doesn’t care how foolish it is. It’s perfect.

Finally, he slides out, getting a gasp from Steve as he does, and falls next to the boy. They catch their breath together, Eddie turns to his side so he can stare at Steve, can rest a hand on Steve’s quickly rising chest, and feel it slowly return to a normal rhythm. Steve’s hands are still tied, resting above his head. Eddie will undo the belt in a minute — he just wants another few moments to memorize the lines of Steve’s body, internalize this moment of consecutiveness, of wonderment.

There is a song in his head — somewhere deep where he can barely hear it, but it’s there. In the morning, when he has his guitar in his hand, this song will come out and it won’t stop until it is realized. Steve’s song. Fuck, he’ll write an album. He’ll make something new for the first time in three years since that fucking solo record no one gave a shit about. He won’t even care if no one gives a shit about this one, because it’ll be beautiful.

“Do you, um — want to stay the night, sir?” Steve asks, voice a bit shy, but too blissfully fucked out to be truly self-conscious.

“You don’t have to call me sir anymore, baby.”

Steve shrugs, his position a little awkward for the moment with his hands the way they are. “Want to,” is all he says in response.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, instead of just thinking it. This boy. “Yeah, okay. Yeah. I want to stay the night.”

Eddie unties Steve and cleans him up with a warm washcloth, wishing the lube smeared around his hole was mixed with Eddie’s cum. They get some leftovers out of Steve’s fridge and make each other laugh around bites of chow mein. They go to bed, neither of them bothering to get dressed, and fall asleep wrapped around each other. It’s been a long time since Eddie shared a bed for the sake of sleeping. He usually feels itchy and crowded when he tries, but he can’t seem to get himself to stop touching Steve tonight. He sleeps like the fucking dead.

In the morning, Steve offers him a piece of scratch paper with his number on it and mumbles something about maybe Eddie coming to town again. Eddie knows he will — he’ll make sure of it. He doesn’t give a shit whatever crap bar he needs to get his ass booked at to make that happen. He’ll do it. The swell of heartache inside his chest is not the same kind that he has become used to over the years — it’s a new kind of loneliness that is sharp and insistent because it knows where to find its remedy.