Work Text:
🌕
Eddie groaned.
“I’m sorry, baby. There’s just no way. I’ll be lucky if I’m home by midnight.” He shifted the phone against his ear and glanced over at the clock on the wall of the studio. It was 5: if he went home for dinner the traffic would be insane, and then he’d have to come right back because of the stupid fucking label wanting some proof that he was still working on the rest of the new album— and wanting it, like, yesterday. The Grammys were just over a week away, and his producer was supposed to come in tomorrow, and it all added up to one enormous fucking shitstorm. He’d sent his musicians home for the day already, but if he didn’t have something to show his producer, he was fucked.
Steve’s voice on the other end of the phone felt like a goddamn lifeline. Eddie pressed the phone into his ear, wondering how he could miss someone that he had kissed goodbye that morning so much. “You gotta work,” Steve said, and Eddie could hear him shrug, could picture the lift of his shoulders, already knowing him so well that he could sense everything— including the slight pause before he added, “We’ll do something later.”
Do something? Eddie frowned and shoved at the papers on the mixer in front of him, shuffling the lyrics and tabs and nearly upsetting his abandoned coffee, the only thing he had remembered to eat or drink all day. It wasn’t a Max night, he knew that much, and he could have sworn their anniversary was next week. He had made a visit to Robin’s shop in anticipation already, cracking filthy jokes out of determination to embarrass her before she could embarrass him. The studio calendar had his name blocked out on it, the last few days he’d spent unsatisfied before today, the 14th, the—
“Fuck.” Valentine’s Day. Why hadn’t anyone told him it was Valentine’s Day? Yeah, okay, so Gareth had let him drive himself, and Chrissy had told him to have a good night and not work too hard, and Max had made cupcakes with Steve the night before to bring to school, and fuck fuck fuck. He’d never done a fucking Valentine’s Day thing before. What did you do? He never thought he’d need to think about it, but now he had a Steve fucking Harrington, and of course the guy had assumed they’d have plans. The gorgeous all-American idiot had probably put an apron on and set the table and then Eddie was lost in a dream of Steve wearing red lingerie and realized he hadn’t said anything else. “I really am sorry, sweetheart,” he managed, forcing his way through the tangle of thoughts. “No bullshit. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
“It’s really fine.” He could hear Steve’s smile now, could imagine him leaning one hip up against the kitchen counter, phone cord around his finger. “It’s never been my favorite holiday. Just nice to have a valentine, you know?”
Eddie grinned. “Oh, do I know them?” He didn’t have time to stop everything and flirt with his boyfriend, but sue him. “Must be pretty hot, to be your valentine.”
“He’s okay,” Steve dismissed. Eddie heard the fridge open. “Bit of a little freak, to be honest. Also he forgot Valentine’s Day.”
“Never again,” Eddie promised. “Besides, all the chocolate will go on sale tomorrow. We can go nuts.”
“You’re a millionaire,” Steve reminded him, bored. “Now go make some music. The sooner you finish, the sooner I get you back.”
“Aw, you miss me,” Eddie teased, grinning. He picked up the coffee and grimaced at the cold cup, then took a sip anyway. “I’ll probably be late home, though. Don’t wait up.”
“Don’t forget to eat something,” Steve countered. “Coffee doesn’t count.”
Eddie huffed and put the coffee down, then picked it back up. What Steve didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. “So demanding. Love you.”
“Love you,” Steve echoed. “Put the coffee down.”
🌊
Steve adjusted the boxes in his grip and shoved the studio door open with his hip. If he knew Eddie— which he did, better than anyone— then Eddie would be going on his eighth hour at the studio without eating properly, about four hours beyond the point that turned him into an undersized monster. He had never seen anyone fall as deep into their creative flow as Eddie did, abandoning all else to seek after whatever unseen magic was going on within his mind. It was beautiful to witness, even if it turned him into an asshole and resulted in music that Steve still mostly didn’t like.
He could hear some of it now, strumming on a guitar with enough stutters and restarts that he could tell it wasn’t a recording. Alone in the studio, Eddie hadn’t turned any extra lights on after the sun went down, and he was sitting with his head bowed under the only light that was illuminated overhead. Enormous headphones covered his ears, and he didn’t turn around as Steve entered, only bending further over a handful of notes that he was clearly still puzzling through.
Steve set the boxes down and shrugged off his jacket to slip it over Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie startled and looked up, lifting his chin until his head was tipped backwards, hair spilling from where it was half-caught within the jacket’s collar. He smiled, and Steve bent to kiss him.
Eddie kissed him back for a long moment before he shifted the guitar on his leg and balanced it under his arm, pushing his own headphones off and around his neck. “So I said don’t wait up, and you heard come bring me a jacket?”
“I hear they help you write.” Steve kissed his forehead quickly and squeezed the back of Eddie’s neck before he tugged on one of his curls. “Wanted to make sure you ate dinner is all.”
“You got pizza?” Eddie turned quickly, almost dropping his guitar in his rush to set it down. “I love you so much. I know I said I love you all those other times, but this is the big one.”
“About time,” Steve teased. “Pizza stage, that’s when you know it’s serious.” Sure, they lived together and part-time-co-parented and there was currently a ring burning a hole in the bottom of his desk drawer, but Eddie didn't know about that last one. “And I didn’t get it, I just made it.”
Just was a bit of a an undersell, when he had picked up empty pizza boxes to deliver it in and made his own dough and sauce and even called the one spot in New York that Eddie still waxed poetic about to ask if they remembered what toppings Eddie Munson had ordered. They’d probably assumed he was some obsessed fan, but… looking at Eddie’s eyes light up as he opened the box, Steve decided maybe he kind of was.
They ate on the floor of the studio, a bottle of wine open between them that Steve took a few sips from before passing along to Eddie. He swigged it, leaving his mouth red, and Steve didn’t bother to try and drag his eyes away.
“I can't believe you wore a suit,” Eddie mumbled, around the last bite of his pizza. He ripped the crust away from his mouth and handed it over. “You have client meetings today?”
“It’s the weekend.” That wasn’t an answer, but Steve frowned at Eddie anyway. “You really had no idea what day it is, huh?”
Eddie had the decency to look a little embarrassed, at least. “I said I didn’t. I’ll buy you something so nice though. A new car.”
“Stop hating on my car.” Steve pointed at Eddie with the crust before he ate it. He’d spent so long eating whatever scraps Max left on her plate as a kid that Eddie’s picky eating only enabled his carbo-loading. “She’s been with me longer than you have.”
“Fine, drive your kid in an unsafe car,” Eddie countered, his face deceptively angelic. Steve narrowed his eyes. His car wasn’t that old yet. Unless there had been some recall he missed. Maybe he should take it in. Maybe he should do some research to see if there was a newer, safer car. Maybe he should stop letting Eddie rile him up so easily.
Steve rolled his eyes and leaned back on his arms. Eddie’s eyes skimmed over his chest, alighting with interest at the press of red fabric underneath his white shirt. Steve may or may not have done that on purpose: just because they hadn’t made Valentine’s Day plans didn’t mean that he hadn’t arranged for a fallback gift, just in case.
Eddie took the bait, sliding eagerly up into Steve’s lap so quickly that he almost upset the bottle. Steve reached out to steady it, then took a sip as he let Eddie slip ringed fingers through his buttons to undo his shirt.
Steve was well practiced at keeping his face taciturn, but he felt like his cheeks must have matched the red lace that hid underneath the suit. Eddie’s face was a picture of delight, a perfect depiction of evil intent. It still settled some deep down part of Steve to be looked at like that, and by this man, even though he was certain that his own eyes reflected back the same glint, a smug sense of challenge behind his eyes.
“Oh, baby,” Eddie hummed, shoving the shirt open. His fingers traced over Steve’s necklaces, Steve’s chest hair, the little set that he had slipped into back home, feeling foolish and irrepressibly aroused by. “You came by to distract me, is that it? You needed attention? Did I leave you all alone? That was so bad of me.”
“Awful,” Steve echoed, reaching up to grasp the sides of Eddie’s small face to kiss him. Eddie allowed it, but he made it mean and dirty, biting at Steve’s lower lip and grinding down in his lap. This close, he did look exhausted— bruises under his eyes and a messiness to his hair that was not his usual deliberate one. What Steve wanted most to do was bring Eddie home and make some soup and tuck him into bed, listening to some of his hideously loud music like a lullaby. What he wanted to do was pick Eddie up and carry him out of here, away from the stress of another album or the thought of another tour. What he wanted was to sit Eddie in his teeth and hold on forever, but he just kissed back, fingertips pressing into the pressure points behind Eddie’s ears.
“Aw, you need to fuck me so bad,” Eddie cooed, soft, and condescending. “You poor thing. You thought I would let you, didn’t you? If you came here all dolled up like a slut.”
“Kitten,” Steve warned, gripping Eddie harder now, fingers sliding into his hair to mess it up further. Eddie just grinned at him, and Steve delighted in seeing the lightness in his expression that had been missing in the stress of the week. He gave in easily as Eddie trailed hands over his stomach, and down to undo his trousers.
Eddie had to lift up half off his lap to take them down, but when he did, the breath that caught in his throat was a reward worth a lifetime of pizzas. “For me?” Eddie asked, pulling his delicate fingers over the straining lace, trailing lightly over the hard press of Steve underneath.
Steve looked down to see Eddie’s pale hand against the crimson, and realized he was bursting free of the panties, the fabric cutting in just under the head of his dick where it emerged to press into his stomach.
“Don’t worry,” Eddie assured him, eyes bright with false innocence. “You can fuck me, baby. Maybe you can fill me up with the inspiration I need, huh? Maybe if you do a really good job I’ll have you come in every time I cut an album, yeah? Do you think you’d be able to feel me singing?”
Steve made a noise that meant the last of his control was slipping away, and tugged Eddie’s jeans down over his slim hips. Eddie, in Steve’s suit jacket, made a fine contrast to Steve’s skin, all black and ivory pale against his olive skin and burnt red. “Hush,” Eddie chided, trailing his fingers over Steve’s lips as he resettled above his lap. “So impatient.”
🌕
Technically, Eddie wasn’t supposed to fuck anyone at the studio. Technically, he wasn’t even supposed to have the pizza out, the wine uncorked. Technically, he was supposed to have a completed song done in two weeks’ time and he still wasn’t sure how the pieces were going to pull together.
But what was the point of being Eddie fucking Munson if he didn’t get away with things sometimes? What was he supposed to do with one Steve Harrington other than devour? Just having Steve underneath him already felt like a gift he would never be able to repay, happiness flooding his throat beside the lust, until he was almost full entirely— but not quite full enough.
Underneath him, Steve’s eyes had gotten that wet, stupid look that he loved so much, his good boy so sweet for showing up here all wrapped up like a gift. Eddie believed that Steve loved him now, truly did, but he was still working on the part where he deserved any piece of it. It didn’t mean that he couldn’t take what he’d been given though— and he meant to take advantage of his gifts entirely.
Eddie slipped his hand into Steve’s suit jacket, pleased to find what he’d been looking for in the pocket. “You are so greedy,” he scolded, even as he pulled the lube out and arranged them to his liking. “You have no respect for my work, do you?” He made short work of himself, preferring a little pain to the delay of proper preparation, and raised his eyebrows at Steve. “Say you’re sorry.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “I can go if you want,” he threatened, and Eddie pinched his nipple in response. Okay, so Steve wasn’t entirely down yet. But he could fix that.
“But then how am I going to play with the toy you brought me?” Eddie countered. He wriggled down so that Steve’s dick was slipping up under his balls, shifting until he knew that Steve could feel how close he was to pressing against his entrance, until he knew exactly what he was missing, and what Eddie could still give him. “I thought you wanted me.” He lifted back up, kissing Steve’s forehead before smiling down at him, hands cupping Steve’s face as Steve tipped up to meet his eyes. Eddie scratched his nails through Steve’s beard, making sure that he had Steve’s full attention. Of course he did.
“Don’t you want me?” He repeated, an unnecessary question that was still so fun to ask. “Won’t I feel good? Isn’t that what you came here for, to feel me gripping you deep? To bury your dick in me so I can do whatever I want with it?” He lowered down again, Steve’s hands splayed over his back to help him, but he stopped just short of sinking onto Steve’s dick. “I thought that’s what you came here for, why you needed to distract me so badly, but it’s okay if that’s not true, baby. We can do this another time. Thank you for dinner though.”
Steve glared at him, but the rumble that left his throat was beginning to sound more like a whine. “Come on,” he commanded, tense, gripping at Eddie’s shoulders to try and pull him down. Eddie resisted, smirking.
“Come on, what? I don’t know what it is you want unless you tell me.”
Steve huffed out of breath and leaned back on his arms instead, giving up long enough for Eddie to rub against him again. Steve groaned this time, louder and less controlled.
“Tell me,” Eddie repeated, his voice so much sweeter than his relentless teasing. “Or better yet, beg.”
“Eddie,” Steve tried, but then Eddie brushed against him again, Steve’s dick catching against his ass again, still too tight for it to do more than slide past. He knew the head of Steve’s dick was sensitive, knew that he was driving Steve wild, and he also knew that they were equally stubborn. His only advantage was that Steve had come here for this, that Steve had dressed up for him and driven across town and probably been thinking about this every moment. He loved to make Steve crazy over the course of an evening, but Steve had done this to himself entirely, and now Eddie got to take advantage.
It didn't take long for him to beg.
“Fine,” Steve snapped. He jerked Eddie forward into a kiss that was hot and wet and messy, and trailed his words against Eddie‘s chin and throat as he nosed underneath, mouthing and marking. “Please. Please, you’re right. I need you, you’re gonna feel so fucking good. I wanna make you feel so fucking good. I want to feel you, love you, fuck you, baby, please.”
“Hold that thought,” Eddie managed, his voice rough. He pressed one finger to Steve’s lips and hopped up, ass bare under Steve’s oversize jacket. Steve made an impatient sound from the floor, already such a red mess, his hair mussed.
Eddie tried his best to be a good man, but he had never been a great man, and an evil glee flooded through him as he smacked the record button on the soundboard. If ever there was an inspiration to be found, a sound that motivated him above all others, then surely this was it. He yanked off the rest of his clothes, leaving his band tee in the same pile as his jeans and socks and boots, before he pulled Steve’s jacket back on, knowing as he did that Steve’s eyes would light upon it.
“Are you ready, baby?” he asked, sinking back down to his knees above Steve. His voice automatically took on the quality of his singing with the sight of that red light from across the room: a little more gravelly, a little more exaggerated.
Steve’s nostrils flared, and Eddie couldn’t help but kiss him, making a pleased noise as Steve’s broad arms wrapped around him.
“Are you recording?” Steve asked, his voice raw from need. “This is just for us, right?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” Eddie assured him, pressing promises into Steve’s lips. “Just so I can hear how good you are.” And if he caught anything worthwhile, he could negotiate with Steve later. There was no sense in talking to him now, not when all of his sense had left his body. Steve looked like every wet dream he had ever had, down on his knees and decorated as pretty as a picture, strength and straining elastic across his body.
“You are good, aren’t you?” he confirmed. Steve’s dick was still poking out of the panties, hair pressing through the delicate pattern, the lace rough against the underside of Eddie’s thighs where he kneeled over him. He reached down, ripped the panties open all the way, and nestled up to press his dick against Steve’s abs, where it rubbed against the hair on Steve’s lower stomach.
“I’m good,” Steve agreed quickly, as though Eddie would be taken away if he were anything other. “I’m good for you, I promise. Please, love, I have to fuck you.”
“I know you do.” Eddie kissed him quickly again. “I know just what you need. You’ve been so good to wait. So patient. You’ve earned whatever you want, big boy.
“Want you,” Steve answered immediately, the harsh longing and bitten-off words the final indicator that he was all the way down now, sufficiently melted under Eddie’s control. “Want to fuck you, want to feel you, please—”
“Take me, then,” Eddie granted.
Steve’s hands were on his hips in an instant, insistent and strong. He tugged so hard that Eddie almost fell forward, but as Eddie had learned since meeting Steve, there was no level of loss to his self-control that would ever make Steve hurt him. In their early days together, Eddie had almost wished for that pain back, not understanding how to be touched without it. But Steve’s hands were gentle in their firmness, tugging him almost all the way down before easing Eddie over his dick with a sweetness that was almost as hard to handle as pain. Eddie buried his face in Steve’s neck for a moment, letting Steve move slowly, the stuttering rut of his hips eager, but his grip on Eddie careful and sure.
They both made the same sound as Eddie bottomed out flush against Steve’s lap, a satisfied sigh that was not unlike the noise Eddie made when pulling into the driveway after a long flight home, or that Steve made waking up the morning after a migraine to find Eddie still in bed with him. There was a moment of silence, of non-motion, Eddie adjusting, and Steve simply floating as he breathed into Eddie’s hair.
“You take such good care of me,” Eddie told him, voice muffled. He drew back to look at Steve properly, and Steve fought to focus on him in return. “You’re the best, baby. I’m going to keep you forever.”
As always with Steve, whose wires were crossed in some inexplicable way, he went sweet and sappy at pure filth and utterly filthy for any taste of love. This was no different: Eddie’s soothing words made him grin with all of his teeth and grip Eddie’s thighs hard.
It was all Eddie could do to cling to his shoulders as Steve manipulated him, planting his legs to help as Steve shoved him up and down on his dick, over and over again hitting the same places until his teeth ached and his stomach burned and he forgot to keep talking.
🌊
Steve never thought he was a selfish lover before.
It’s not that he truly thought he was one now, not with how much he wanted to give Eddie everything he wanted and how good Eddie was at taking it. But there was a greed he could have now too, a greed for everything he could get and everything that he was given, over and over again, each and every time.
He knew Eddie liked to ride him like this, liked to set the pace and look down on him. He knew he liked to see Steve obedient underneath him, knew this because Eddie had showed him over and over again in a hundred different dirty ways.
But Steve was selfish enough to follow what he wanted now, as soon as the wishes sprung to his mind like porn dreamed up for him personally. His head was so full now of the images of Eddie, all the ways he had had him, all the ways he wanted to. Eddie was generous with him, indulgent, and as much as he took Steve under control, Steve knew he didn’t mind a little manhandling along the way. And right now Steve wanted to fuck him on the floor of his studio. So that was exactly what he did.
He flipped Eddie over, lowering him gently down before sinking back into that hot pressure of him, faster than before now that Eddie was open and eager underneath him.
“What—oh,” Eddie said, getting with the program fast. “Fuck yeah, give it to me.”
Something lurched in Steve’s stomach at the way Eddie had gone from smooth and controlled, from teasing so high above where Steve was drifting along in his body, to a brokenness that nearly matched the way that Steve was floating so far from thoughts. And all of this, Eddie’s undoing alongside his, was being recorded. Steve never would have thought he would have liked the idea, once. But once upon a time he hadn’t thought he would like Eddie, either. And falling in love with Eddie was the clearest sign Steve could think of that something was a little wild about him.
Steve was panting, breath caught in his throat, but he shoved Eddie’s knees up anyway, bullying over him in determined strokes. If Eddie wanted to record Steve, then Steve would make damn sure that Eddie’s voice was on there too, singing just the way Steve liked him best.
“Fuck,” Eddie ground out, as Steve surged over him. “Just like that, you fuck me so pretty.”
“Needed you too bad to wait,” Steve admitted. He looked between them where he was folding Eddie in half, looked at the press and the pull of their bodies, the beautiful little lines of Eddie underneath him. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, about coming in you.”
“I know,” Eddie soothed, somehow condescending even as Steve fucked him into the floor. “You’re a little stupid for me, sweetheart. You just wanna feel me, I know. It’s okay, you can have what you want. I’ll give you whatever you want, because you’re such a good boy.”
Steve nodded hard, feeling his balls twitch as he fought not to spill. He was imagining the recording, imagining having it to listen to, good boy good boy good boy on repeat for him in Eddie’s gorgeous goddamn voice.
“Don’t get shy on me.” Eddie blinked up at him, the eyes of a predator despite how fiercely Steve was having him. “Let me hear you, baby. Tell me what you want. You need to hump something so bad, don’t you? Need to chase me down so I can take your dick and do the thinking?"
“Fucking— Eddie,” Steve managed, digging his nails into Eddie’s legs. He didn’t know how Eddie could smirk up at him unaffected, lounging back on his elbows like he wasn’t taking all of Steve’s punishing weight, like he wasn’t ignoring his own dick to focus on teasing Steve instead. His face was flushed, his hair a mess, but Steve knew damn well that this undersized kitten of a man was entirely in charge.
“Eddie,” Eddie prompted, in the unbearably affected I’m a fucking rock star voice that Steve wanted to fuck out of his mouth, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what he had to do, and determined to do it so well that it would fucking work.
“Eddie, you asshole, I need to come, I need it so bad, can I? Can I fill you up, love? Valentine? You gonna let me?”
The smile that split Eddie’s face was too genuine to be hidden, too pleased to stay cruel. But that didn’t stop him from reaching down between them, kicking his legs free from Steve’s grip and reaching between their bodies to seize Steve’s dick with circled fingers, squeezing him to a stop.
“Not before me, baby.”
🌕
Eddie tossed the pizza boxes and picked up the bottle of wine. They’d only made it through half— and it made him smile, that they didn’t need the excuse of alcohol to be a little insane. He glanced over at Steve, asleep on the studio sofa in just his suit pants, a ripped piece of red lace on the floor beside him.
Poor Steve. He’d worn the big guy out.
Eddie took a sip of the wine and sat back down at the mixer, tugging his headphones back over his head to listen to what they’d captured. It was still going to be a long night, and he thought his big idea for the next song was still on its way. But when he dialed up the most recent recording and heard the fucking magical sounds of want you, want to fuck you, want to feel you, please—, he couldn’t help but feel optimistic.
It sounded like a hit to him.