Chapter Text

Steve can't believe he's been stood up. He's getting off these dating apps, they're all frustrating trash. A constant loop of disappointment, where the problem is definitely them, not him. That much he's sure of. He's a fucking catch. He has good profile pictures that look just like him. He's not baiting and switching anybody. He's exactly what he says he is: single, down to fuck, but open to falling in love again if that's in the cards. He's a goddamn good time. He knows that. If he can't even find a reliable hookup using those apps, then he's done, because they're obviously worthless.

Maybe he'll go old school. Hit the bars. See who's out there, in person, face-to-face. 

Ugh. No. That sounds like torture. He doesn't do well with polite smiling and nodding anymore. He's been around Eddie for too long. His bluntness, his brand of constant unfiltered commentary falls out of Steve's mouth far too easily these days.

Maybe he'll just be celibate instead. One or the other. If nobody is willing to put in the bare minimum of effort to fuck him, maybe he won't get fucked. They don't deserve it, even if he does.

And now it's freezing rain. Winter is coming. In more than one way, he suspects. So, he pulls his coat tighter as he walks down the sidewalk towards home. He left his cozy, heated apartment for no goddamn reason. 

It's bullshit.

Steve throws his coat towards the coat rack, but misses. It clatters to the ground, zipper making a loud racket against the hardwood floor.

"And you were supposed to be an athlete?" Eddie says from the couch. He's elbow deep in the bag of chips that Steve just bought yesterday. Perfect.

Steve grumbles. He's had a bad day. A bad week, hell a bad few months. And tonight, being stood up, that was the final straw. Not to mention his wet feet. He toes off his shoes, and peels off his sopping socks. Leaving them lay by his shoes.

He's not dating for the rest of the year. How many weeks are even left in this godforsaken year? Five? Six? He looks at the calendar over the key rack. It's still turned to October with November over halfway gone, which really isn't surprising. Instead, he looks in the bottom corner at the smaller November calendar. Six. Six weeks of celibacy of his choosing might reset whatever bad juju is ruining his life.

It's getting cold, anyway.

He could stay home and hang with Eddie, all roasty toasty inside their apartment, and just forget all about girls and boys and sex until next year. New year, new him.

That's possible. Maybe. 

"Didn't go well?" Eddie probes.

"Didn't go at all," Steve answers, picking up his coat and hanging it up right this time, "He didn't show up."

"Ouch," Eddie says, holding out the bag of chips as Steve crashes onto the couch next to him, reaching in. Tucking his now cold feet under Eddie's warm thigh. It's payback. Usually Eddie's the one touching Steve with his clammy hands and feet, trying to steal his body heat.

Eddie says nothing, just wraps his hand around Steve's ankle and pats him. It's nice, being touched. 

"Did you put that picture of you and Robin back in your profile? I told you not to," Eddie asks, being judgmental. As always. Eddie loves to critique Steve's profile, because he has opinions. Eddie has opinions on everything, though.

Eddie loved examining Steve, 27 in great detail, giving his self-proclaimed expert opinion on each picture, on each line of his bio, when it popped up as a possible match for him as they sat feet away from each other. He cackled, and after he was done telling him to change basically everything but his name, Eddie swiped left.

Maybe Steve should have listened. Then maybe he'd be bent over some dude's ottoman somewhere, and not here, sulking. 

Steve lets his head fall back against the couch cushion. He can't go six weeks without fucking. Well, he could. But he likes being touched too much. Needs it. Craves it, and he's in a fucking desert right now. But he definitely needs no attachments, no distractions, no expectations, at least for a while. That last breakup was a doozy. It was so bad he was pretty sure Eddie was going to start writing break-up songs by osmosis just by having to be around him and his broken heart.

So, yeah. He can go six weeks without dating. Should, honestly. Reset his mojo, or whatever. That's a better plan. More doable. Sex, but no relationship stress. Anonymous sex, even. If he could figure out how to make that happen.

Are glory holes still a thing? He bets Eddie would know.

"And the one in the suit? It makes you look like a finance bro," Eddie adds, still trying to poke holes in his profile.

"I do work in finance," Steve says, eyes squeezed shut.

"And that's a tragedy," Eddie says, "you should come work for me instead."

Steve laughs. 

That'd go well. He hopes there's a big market for lopsided stick figure tattoos, because that's all the artistic ability he's got. 

Steve scrubs his hands over his face. He just wanted to get fucked tonight.

Because, honestly? Steve just wants to get his back blown out once in a while, is that really too much to ask?

"What are you thinking about? Your face is weird," Eddie asks, letting his ankle go, going back to stuffing another handful of chips in his mouth. Biting off more than he can chew, like always.

"Why I'm not getting my back blown out right now," Steve answers, matter of fact, "I'm a catch!"

Eddie inhales, and promptly chokes. 

He chokes so goddamn hard that Steve thinks he might have to intervene before Eddie gets it all coughed up onto the coffee table. Chip fragments and slobber spluttered everywhere. It's gross, but pretty on brand for Eddie. Steve's used to it by now. They've lived together too long, and Eddie will never learn what an appropriate sized bite is.

Choking is an everyday hazard. Steve even bought one of those suction thingies, just in case.

"Well, well…that's a thought," Eddie finally says, voice scratchy, eyes watering. Then squirms, "My back," Eddie complains, and Steve does feel sorry for him. That feeling of a Dorito scraping down your back the wrong way is the worst.

"You gonna live?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. Steve then looks back over at Eddie. "Could have fooled me. You look like you're the one that's been sucking cock real good, or just had your back blown out," Steve teases, taking the chip bag away from him, and eats a few that he doesn't choke on, thank you very much, because he's not a fool like Eddie. 

Eddie's face is flushed red, probably from the choking, but probably also from embarrassment. Eddie doesn't go around getting fucked. Steve knows that, too. Another hazard of too many years living together. He knows Eddie better than he knows himself, sometimes. And there's one thing he's sure about:

Eddie's an exclusive top. Fucker, not fuckee. 

"And that's what you were looking for tonight?" Eddie asks, wiping his cheese-covered hands on his jeans.

"Yeah?" Steve says, like he's an idiot, "What did you think I was after?"

"I don't know!" Eddie says, shrilly, "True love? You're the relationship guy!"

Steve scoffs, "I gave up on that after the last time. Getting fucked though? I didn't realize that was gonna be such an ordeal to line up."

Eddie's nodding along, and Steve doesn't know why he's being so weird. They both bring people home all the time. The walls aren't that thick. Neither one of them are sex shy.

"I'm just in a slump. That's all," Steve finally determines, tossing the bag towards Eddie, now that he thinks Eddie can probably be trusted again. "So, I'm gonna put dating on hold. For six weeks."

"That's actually not a bad idea," Eddie says, and Steve knows he's not exactly been having the best luck either. His drought has been going longer than Steve's. "But you're not gonna get laid for six weeks?" 

Steve scoffs.

"Not likely," he answers, honestly, "but maybe I could find a fuckbuddy for six weeks? No strings. No having to do the date thing. Just sex."

"And where are you gonna find such a person?" Eddie asks, eyebrows disappearing up under his bangs.

"I don't know, I haven't got that far. I just thought this plan up five minutes ago as you puked all over the house."

"I didn't puke! I choked!" Eddie shouts, indignant. 

"Same difference from here. Maybe I'll put an ad on Craigslist," Steve says, just spitballing. "Long-haired freaky people definitely need to apply."

Eddie squawks, "You can't do that! You'll get murdered, or we'll get robbed, or worse — you'll end up with weird perverts!"

Steve just raises an eyebrow, and tilts his head forward, nodding towards Eddie.

Eddie laughs, "But I'm a weird pervert you know! There's a big difference, Steve. You don't know what those other freaks are into. There's some… freaky shit going on out there. Trust me. You're gonna end up chained to some weirdo's radiator."

"Will they fuck me after? Because I'm not saying no yet," Steve teases.

"Steve," Eddie says, "be serious."

And Steve's not trying to get murdered. Of course he needs to find someone trustworthy, and…well, his wheels start turning. Eddie is a weird pervert he knows. He's down to fuck.

He'd blow Steve's back out for sure.

"I don't like that look," Eddie says, and Steve just grins wider. Yes, this is perfect. He should have thought of it sooner.

"You and me. Six weeks. No strings. Just fucking," Steve says, and it's not a question. He's already decided. Eddie just needs to get on board. This is happening.

"You've lost your goddamn mind," Eddie says, shaking his head as his voice gets too high, and just a little squeaky.

"C'mon. It makes sense. I want to get dicked down, and I think you're more than capable of it. I've heard your work through the walls. Your resume seems solid."

Eddie is laughing, but clearly not to yes yet. Steve can get him there. He can make a deal, that's what he's good at. Steve can convince him. Hell, he could make him think it was his idea if he tries hard enough. 

It's perfect. They're friends. Best friends. They both like to fuck, and why not fuck each other? It'd be perfect. Safe. Convenient, even. They live in the same apartment. 

"Just think about it," Steve says, and Eddie nods. "No pressure."