Archive of Our Own

If Eddie is honest with himself, having sex with Steve Harrington on the regular is right up there in his list of unbelievable shit that’s happened to him since that Spring Break from hell. Some days, it might even take the number one spot.

It is still pretty weird to be a creature of the night, but at least that’s something he’d been vaguely primed for. Years of DnD, a frankly disturbing number of dog-eared paperbacks, and countless movie nights devoted to whatever low-budget horror their local Family Video could cough up had all conspired to make vampirism feel… conceivable. Not likely, maybe, but imaginable in the abstract. Fangs, hunger, the dark — those were familiar tropes, well-worn grooves in his brain. Steve Harrington, however, had not been included in the teenage-angst pack of his high school years. None of it, in fact, had prepared Eddie to deal with a former jock, high school prom king golden boy monster slayer who apparently wanted in his pants.

And now that Vecna is gone and Eddie’s mind is fully, one hundred percent his and his alone, he gets to indulge in the finer things of toeing the line of the supernatural. Freedom tastes sharp in his tongue, and it’s still surreal that Steve’s ass is one of the finest things he’s allowed to enjoy, now. Steve’s ass and Steve’s mouth and Steve’s blood, all of it tangled together with the thrill of choice, of desire that belongs to Eddie and no one else.

Gods. Steve’s blood. 

He always tastes so sweet. Smells so goddamn incredible, too, all heat and spicy desire as he wriggles in Eddie’s lap, strong thighs spread deliciously wide and head cocked to the side, baring the delicious line of his neck as he’s taken to doing. Hunger is a hollow ache inside Eddie’s bones, but the taste of Steve’s blood blooms on his tongue, promising an orchard where everything had only tasted like ash before.

The first time he feeds from him, it’s almost entirely platonic. It’s Eddie’s lips to Steve’s wrist, it’s sharp hunger and heavy confusion, everything such a jumbled mess inside Eddie that he barely registers the way Steve’s fingers tighten in his shoulders for a brief moment, like he’s bracing for something more than a needle-prick of pain. Eddie’s too busy cataloguing guilt to really notice it, though. He keeps telling himself this is fine, this is safe, this is survival — and Steve had offered, so things will be okay. They have to be. 

It’s hard to keep the beast inside his chest at bay. The slimy grip the hivemind has on him pulses like a second heartbeat, and Eddie pulls away with a queasy stomach, licking at the wound as an apology. His body thrums with new life, and the echo of Vecna’s call is silenced under the dull roar of blood rushing through his veins.

The second time, Eddie notices the hitch in Steve’s breathing before he even breaks skin. The way he goes pliant, shoulders loosening. His free hand doesn’t push Eddie away but instead settles, curling into his shirt like he needs the anchor. Needs to be held in place.

It takes Eddie another three times with Steve’s wrist held between his teeth before it clicks. 

Steve likes being the answer.

Not in the usual way where he throws himself into the fire, studded nail bat first — he’s done plenty of that, more than what Eddie’s dead heart is comfortable watching. This is different. Intimate. Eddie’s hunger hums low and dangerous under his skin, and Steve meets it without flinching, offering himself like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he needs Eddie’s teeth on his neck to quell something inside him, too.

Once the Upside Down is sealed, Eddie’s hunger is entirely his own, sharp edges smoothing into something heavier, entirely human in its greed. Heat pools in his icy veins, and he starts to test it, just a little, never one to leave interesting things alone. There’s an undeniable undercurrent of lust to the whole thing, especially when he lets his grip linger, draws the moment out, murmurs Steve’s name and bites his bicep instead, starts feeding from his neck and never goes back, dreams about sinking his fangs into the meat of Steve’s thighs, of being completely surrounded by his warmth. 

He learns to drink more slowly, to savor the way Steve clings to him, and is surprised when Steve crawls into Eddie’s lap one night and doesn’t ever offer his wrist again. Eddie delights in how he softens the more he takes, the more Steve offers, like being needed is a balm instead of a burden. 

It’s intoxicating in a way blood alone never could be. 

It’s how Steve acts in the aftermath, though — how he lingers, how dazed his eyes are, the softening of his shoulders — that keeps Eddie coming back for more.

“You know,” Eddie mumbles from his spot against Steve’s throat. He finds the place under two familiar little moles, the X that marks the spot, and lets his fangs caress the skin. The blood underneath sings to him, but Eddie has always been someone who takes pleasure in dramatics, and the predator under his skin wants to play with his food a bit. 

It’s been weeks without Vecna’s disgusting shadow in his mind, and Eddie can’t be blamed for how he relishes the control he has, relishes in Steve’s willingness to be prey. 

When Eddie runs his tongue over the pulse thundering under Steve’s jaw, Steve shivers, legs twitching around his waist like he has been shocked. He’s still in his work vest, smelling of sweat and heat with a hint of Fabergé organics that make Eddie smile and lean even further into his neck, savoring the shiver that runs down Steve’s whole body. 

He will stop pushing Steve’s buttons when Steve stops giving him the best reactions, he vows to himself, hiding his grin against the warm skin under his lips. For now, though, he knows what Steve is after, body attuned to Eddie’s need as if it were his own. Steve, who hadn’t wasted a second between unlocking the door and beelining towards Eddie, dropped into his lap with the grace better fit to a dancer than a jock like him with no more than a quiet hello. Steve, who blinks down at Eddie, already half-hard and eyes all hooded, needy, but keeping his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, not asking for anything. Eddie knows Steve likes to pretend he is doing this for the greater good, and that might have been true at the start, but even under Vecna’s control, Eddie had never needed more than animal blood to survive. 

Eddie can appreciate a good game, though. The dungeon master in him perks up at Steve’s attitude, at the challenge shining behind the hazel of Steve’s eyes every time they find themselves in this same exact predicament, dice already in motion — and Eddie has never been one to pull his punches when a player insists on testing the encounter. 

“I could live off those blood bags that our great hero Chief Jim Hopper oh so kindly provided,” Eddie says, whispering low. He nips at Steve’s earlobe, hands dancing down the knobs of his spine, rolling the dice in his head. “Isn’t that right, Stevie?”

Steve scoffs, his warm breath hitting Eddie’s forehead, but he’s unlucky. Deception check: critical failure. Eddie can hear Steve’s heart rate pick up. “As if.”

“Oh, Steeeeve Harrington,” Eddie singsongs, dragging his name out until it’s borderline criminal. He grabs him by the back of his neck, thumb caressing those two moles, keeping Steve’s gaze on him. “Aren’t you always telling the children they shouldn’t waste a perfectly good meal? Nothin’ wrong with the blood sitting idly in your fridge.”

Steve’s jaw tightens. He rolls his eyes, but there’s color creeping up his neck now, flushing warm and bright. Pomegranate-pink, ripe for the taking. “You’re so full of it, Eddie.”

“Au contraire, my dear!” Eddie presses a hand dramatically to his chest, rings brushing against Steve’s pecs almost by accident, and he pitches his voice into full theatrical suffering just to rile Steve up a bit more. “I am actually empty. Famished. A tragic creature of the night wasting away before your very pretty eyes.”

“You’re such a dork, man.”

“And yet,” Eddie murmurs, softer now, the teasing edged with something intentional. He flashes his fangs at Steve, looking at him from under his lashes, and hears the telltale skip in his heartbeat. “Yet here you are, aren’t you, sweetheart? Offering yourself up so nicely to me.”

Steve opens his mouth, shuts it again. His gaze flicks down, then back up, pupils noticeably bigger. “If you’re so hungry, why don’t you stop talking about the damn bags in the fridge,” he snaps, but Eddie can hear the whine underneath it. “Don’t you want my —” He cuts himself off, grimacing. “Isn’t fresh blood better?”

Eddie knows his smile turns sly, giving up the game, but there’s nothing he can do about it; he still tries anyway: he hums like he’s considering a fine wine instead of Steve’s pulse, picking up his wrist with all the care in the world. “It is, it is,” he concedes, nodding. He brushes his lips against the skin, the thump-thump-thump of Steve’s blood audibly picking up. “Top-shelf stuff. But I wouldn’t wanna dry up our paladin, would I?” He leans back just enough to look magnanimous. “I should just go outside —”

“And what?” Steve cuts in, breath coming a little uneven now, thighs snug around Eddie’s hips. “Kill a… deer? A rabbit?”

He shifts as he speaks, not enough to be obvious, but enough that Eddie can feel the heat of him, the weight, the way Steve’s pulse jumps when Eddie runs his tongue over his pointy teeth. The offense in Steve’s voice wavers, fraying at the edges, and Eddie’s fingers itch to pull on the thread that’ll unspool him.

He lets out a soft, wounded gasp, anchoring his hands on Steve’s hips. “I’m sorry,” he says, mock-prim and entirely insincere, “are deer not good enough for me?” His fingers flex, pulling Steve an inch forward, just so he can feel how hard Eddie already is under him. “I’m afraid I can’t be picky, sweetheart. Survival and all that.”

Steve exhales, something like a scoff, but too breathless to really commit to it. His forehead dips toward Eddie’s, noses nearly brushing. “I’m right here, Eddie,” he says, quieter now, threaded with heat and irritation. Like Eddie’s missing the point on purpose — and he is, they both know that. But that doesn’t mean Eddie doesn’t relish the back-and-forth, chipping away at chinks in Steve’s armor until he’s allowed to see the soft, mushy underbelly beneath.

Eddie stills beneath Steve, grin slow and dangerous as it spreads. He tilts his head, listening to that frantic heartbeat pressed close to his chest, and swallows, letting the silence linger for a moment. His hands settle more firmly at Steve’s waist, thumbs pressing in like he’s anchoring himself there. Steve already looks so undone like this. Eddie’s stomach twists with a desire that aches the same as hunger.

“Aren’t you tired, though?” he asks instead of ripping every stitch of Steve’s clothing, voice lighter than the way his eyes have gone dark. “You had a long shift, didn’t you, baby?”

Steve shakes his head, hair brushing Eddie’s cheek, and Eddie can feel the warmth rolling off him in waves, especially when his hips rock forward, a slow back and forth against Eddie’s lap like he’s trying not to get caught. “No,” he says, breath already a little wrecked. “You said — you said my blood is —”

“Yeah?” Eddie prompts, teasing, but his focus has narrowed, pupils blown wide. He tilts his head, listening, listening, listening. “What did I say?”

“That it’s better,” Steve insists, offended all over again, like this matters more than it should. His hands fist in Eddie’s jacket, knuckles white, a reminder of the mouth-watering strength that hides underneath the surface. “That I’m — that my blood tastes better.”

“I’m pretty sure I said it’s a delicacy,” he murmurs, hunger bleeding through the humor. He would be self-conscious about it if it weren’t for the way Steve shudders in his lap, ass firmly planted over Eddie’s dick.“It'll be even sweeter today… could tell the second you walked in from work tonight.” His fingers slide under the hem of Steve’s shirt, skin hot and alive, and he wordlessly pulls both the vest and shirt off until he can watch the familiar flush of blood, unimpeded, spreading down from Steve’s cheeks to his throat and down his pecs.

“I can hear your heartbeat, Stevie,” he adds, softer like a confession. “I can practically taste you already.”

Steve sucks in a breath at that. “Eddie,” he warns, though he doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in, pulling Eddie closer by the hand fisted on his jacket. “Please.”

Eddie dips his head, mouth brushing Steve’s jaw first — not a bite, not yet anyways — just a promise, a little taste of what’s to come. His lips trail up, mapping heat and salt, and Steve makes a sound like he’s losing an argument. Eddie smiles against his skin, all restraint stretched thin as wire.

“Pants off,” Eddie mutters, fangs grazing his own lip as his hands work the buckle of Steve’s belt. He’s fully hard under his jeans, and he whines when Eddie presses against him. “C’mon, angel, let me see you.”

With shaky legs and a noise of complaint, Steve gets up, shimmying off his pants and underwear with just enough coyness to make Eddie’s canines ache from how utterly sweet he looks. They’ve done this at least a dozen times already, but Eddie’s mouth fills with saliva as Steve’s pants hit the ground, the air heavy with the scent of Steve’s arousal and a hint of vaseline Eddie can’t even process properly. Here they are, in the Harringtons’ pristine living room, fancy pillows strewn over the fancy Harrington couch as Steve stands in only his pristine white socks in front of Eddie’s eyes, more beautiful than anything else in this entire mausoleum of a house. 

There’s something devastatingly hot about having Steve naked like this while Eddie still is mostly clothed, something hot about doing it in the middle of Steve’s living room. On the couch where everyone sits during movie nights. He hopes this will haunt Steve’s days. Eddie’s own home is riddled with ghosts of Steve’s debauched face.

When they kiss, it’s hungry, but Eddie’s careful, too, trying to keep his mouth warm and gentle where his teeth aren’t. The thirst roars in Eddie’s ears, but he keeps it leashed, hands splayed over the back of Steve’s thighs as he gently guides him back to where he belongs. 

Steve isn’t so considerate. He throws himself into the kiss, elbows knocking as he fits back into Eddie’s lap, folds himself small like he only ever does in moments like this. Steve’s hunger is tinged pink, honeyed by the way he clings to Eddie’s neck and practically melts on top of him. His mouth is wet and pliant, but there’s still that fire that is pure Steve when he nips at Eddie’s bottom lip, his little human playing at being the predator between them.

All it does is make Eddie burn hotter. He groans and licks into Steve’s mouth, tongue running against the rows of his perfectly blunt, harmless teeth. Saliva makes their kiss sloppy, Eddie’s fangs make their kiss dangerous, and it’s such a heady feeling to have Steve like this that Eddie barely registers his hands moving until they find purchase against Steve’s ass. Gods above, Steve’s ass. There are sonnets Eddie could write about the delicious way it curves and the flesh spills between his fingers when he squeezes. 

“Oh,” he moans when his fingers find Steve’s skin already slick, the pucker of his entrance wet and slippery. Vaseline. He slips a finger inside, easy as breathing. “Fuck, when did you have time to do this?” 

The idea of Steve inside Family Video’s cramped little employee bathroom, pants down his legs and fingers buried deep in his ass almost makes Eddie growl. He’s too much, his Steve. Everything Eddie always dreamed of. 

“Always prepared, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he murmurs, catching on the soft skin under Steve’s jaw and drawing the first drop of blood that Eddie greedily laps up, the taste of it blooming over his tongue. “So helpful. So good for me.”

Steve makes a little noise Eddie wishes he could take a bite out of, all sweet and needy and embarrassed. His pretty face is flushed, and Eddie licks a fat stripe from the edge of his jaw to his temple, peppering kisses across his face to make up for it. 

“Always so damn eager to be useful.” His voice dips, deliberate. He slowly starts pumping his finger, in and out, marveling at how Steve clenches around him, how his body accepts two of Eddie’s fingers without pause. “Like a little lamb offering himself up to the big bad wolf.”

As expected, Steve practically melts at the words. He tips his head back, exposing more of that tantalizing line of his neck, breath going thin and eager in a way that has nothing to do with fear. There’s a trust there that feels almost holy, threaded through with want. Steve glows with it: to be chosen, to be essential, and Eddie wants to reward him for being such a willing little thing.

With two fingers buried deep inside Steve, Eddie kisses the spot right where his pulse jumps, and then he finally bites. 

Blood fills his mouth, sweet as anything. The taste of copper blurs with the salt of Steve’s sweat, and Steve bucks up in Eddie’s lap, his hard cock trapped between their stomachs. Warmth courses through Eddie’s veins, and for a moment, he gets lost in the feel of it — this is the closest to being alive he’s ever gonna be, undead heart picking up a sluggish rhythm that’s a pale imitation of Steve’s rabbiting thump-thump-thump. Steve’s blood doesn’t simply fill him; it wakes him, seeping into marrow and muscle, dragging sensation along in its wake. 

Eddie’s so fucking grateful for it. Later, there will be time to cover Steve’s body with undeniable proof of his devotion, but he knows his part to play right now. So he pulls away with a chuckle, licking the wound closed, and lifts Steve’s chin with his thumb. Steve blinks at him, eyes already glassy, and Eddie rubs meanly against his walls until he finds the spot that makes him gasp.

“Thing is,” Eddie taunts, nipping Steve’s nose because he can’t not do that. “Thing is — that’s not all, is it, baby? I don’t think so.”

Steve frowns, already a bit dizzy, but not butter-soft. Not yet. “What’re you talking about?”

“I can smell it on you.” Eddie leans in again, not biting this time, just close enough that his tongue over the sensitive skin of his neck makes Steve shiver. “How much you like this. How you relax when my teeth touch you.”

“That’s not —” Steve’s protest dissolves into a quiet sound when Eddie’s fingers flex, scissoring him open. “I just — I want to help.”

“Yeah?” Eddie tilts his head down, fangs grazing skin and leaving behind red lines that look beautiful over Steve’s tanned shoulders. “Because it looks an awful lot like you’re trying to earn something here, baby.”

Steve swallows hard. He shakes his head, rolls his hips back against Eddie’s hand in a lazy little circle that leaves them both panting. “You need me.”

“I need blood,” Eddie corrects. There’s a wet squelch when he pulls his fingers out of Steve, and fuck, he’s so slick. Eddie wonders if he used a whole tin of vaseline for this. “I don’t need you to go limp and pretty about it.”

“I’m jus’ helping.”

“Oh, of course you are,” Eddie agrees easily. He tips his head up and kisses Steve, tastes copper when his fags catch on his bottom lip. “Selfless, selfless Steve Harrington, saving the day with his neck again.” His thumb presses just under Steve’s jaw, right where the puncture wounds are nothing but healed up, pink little dots in his skin. “Nothin’ says you can’t enjoy it too, sweetheart.”

Eddie knows he’s playing dirty, but it’s not like either of them cares. In fact, he can feel how Steve perks up in his lap, that familiar glint brightening in his dazed eyes. 

So Eddie wraps his slick fingers around Steve’s cock and starts jacking him off, lips barely parting from Steve’s as he whispers the words right against his hot mouth, “You like this,” he taunts, “You like being wanted like this, like being told you’re good ‘cus you’re giving something up.”

Steve shakes his head and his hands curl tighter in Eddie’s clothes, tugging uselessly. “You need it,” he insists, a barely hidden smile in the stubborn curve of his lips. “If I can give you that, then — fuck, Eddie — I’ll do it.”

Eddie’s voice drops, dangerous. He can’t take his eyes off Steve’s face even as Steve starts pawing at his waistband, struggling to open his fly with his clumsy fingers. “And if I asked for more?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “I’d give it.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to shake his head, cock pulsing under the pressure of Steve’s palm when he finally manages to fish him out of his underwear. Steve’s scent makes him dazed, his words make him reckless, stupid with greed, and he can’t help but bite him again, this time on the meat of his pec, letting hot blood run down his ribs before he traces the path up with his tongue, flicking a nipple just to be mean.

“And if I kept pushing?” he asks, because he can’t stop himself from wanting more, always more. Anything that Steve will give him, even the things that Steve can’t name yet. Especially those. “If I wanted to keep you here, all pretty — all mine?”

“I’d stay, Eddie.” Steve’s voice is honeyed with desire, grip strong around Eddie’s drooling cock. They’re making a mess between their bodies, one Eddie knows will only get worse. “I’d stay, I’d be right here — c’mon, give it t’me, Ed, please —”

Eddie stares at him, something dark and ugly twisting in his chest. “Christ,” he mutters. “You’d let me hollow you out and thank me for it, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Fuck. Fuck.”

Steve’s answer is to pull Eddie into another deep kiss, body rocking in his lap until Eddie growls and spins him around, earning himself a high sound of surprise and a spike of arousal in Steve’s scent. Eddie’s cock is hard and drooling precum already, fit snugly in the cleft between Steve’s cheeks as he ruts back and forth, until the delicate skin behind Steve’s balls is wet with him. He’s marking Steve in all the ways he knows how, wants his boy to carry his scent for days to come, even if no one else will be able to pick up on it but him.

“Say it right,” Eddie whispers against Steve’s ear, hands gripping his waist hard to keep him exactly where he is. “C’mon, baby, say it, and I’ll give it to ya.”

“I don’t — I dunno what you’re talkin’ about —”

Eddie nips at his shoulder, hands gripping at Steve’s thighs and parting them obscenely wide, hooking each leg behind his knees. He drags his nails down the soft, blood-warm skin, leaving behind twin trails of red in his wake, yet another reminder of what Eddie’s done to him. What Steve lets him get away with. “Say you want this — that you want me for yourself, sweetheart, not just to be helpful.”

Steve audibly swallows. His hands grab at Eddie’s forearms, but he doesn’t pull him away, just… hold him. “I —” He falters, then tries again. “You don’t… have to stop. Keep goin’, please, Ed.”

Eddie tuts. He brushes his fangs against Steve’s neck again, relishing in the whine that earns him. “That’s not what I asked, baby.”

Silence stretches for a moment, but Eddie lets it build. He rolls his hips forward instead, helping Steve move with him so the head of his cock catches against Steve’s entrance every so often without quite slipping in. Steve’s breath stutters. He rolls his head back, resting against Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie can see the delicate flutter of his lashes, hear how he sighs, feel his grip go lax. 

This is it.

“…I want you to,” Steve finally whispers. “I want — this. For me.”

Eddie’s expression softens, just a fraction. His forehead rests against the back of Steve’s neck, the vulnerable line of his spine just under his lips.

“There it is,” he whispers, or maybe it’s more of a grunt. “I’ve got you.”

Eddie holds him tight around the waist, peering at Steve’s face as he helps Steve ease into it, holding him up, wanting to ease the strain on his thighs. He looks lost already, all red-faced and spit-soaked lips, hair flopping against his sweaty forehead, and thighs spread wide. His pretty cock kicks against his stomach, and Eddie’s mouth waters, wanting a taste.   

When Steve’s fully seated, they both gasp like they were holding their breaths, but Eddie doesn’t stop — can’t stop, not if he wanted to. He buries himself as deep as he can go and ruts against his boy, drinks in the heat of his skin and pulls him into a kiss that betrays all the soft parts hiding inside his hollow chest. Steve is so warm around him it’s almost dizzying, heat wrapping close and relentless, a tight, living press that steals the air from Eddie’s dead lungs every time he moves. Hunger gnaws at his stomach, but the need to care for Steve is just as strong, perhaps even more so.

Steve fits around him in a way that leaves no room for thought, only sensation. Something compels Eddie to wrap his arms around him fully, to touch his chest, grip his soft tummy, his other hand sliding up the sweaty column of Steve’s neck and holding him in place, face angled up towards Eddie, the touch possessive to a fault. 

“You don’t have to bargain with me,” he says softly now, meeting Steve’s dazed eyes. “You don’t have to bleed yourself dry to earn my hands on you, sweetheart.” He kisses the place he’d bitten before, gentle, reverent. “If you want me, you get me, simple as that.”

Steve whines. His hands scramble up, up, up, until he’s cupping Eddie’s face, a mirror of his own hold, palms so hot Eddie wonders if they’ll brand his skin with his warmth. He kinda hopes they do. He hates that Steve is the only one carrying marks of their encounters. 

“Bite me,” he asks under his breath, and doesn’t wait for Eddie to react before he slips a thumb inside his mouth. He presses the pad of his finger against Eddie’s canine, the metallic taste of blood immediately filling his mouth, even as Steve takes it away, letting blood drip down his own lips instead. 

Fuck. Jesus H. Christ, holy shit. 

Eddie’s growl is a primal thing, muffled against Steve’s neck when he gives Steve what he’s asked for.

It’s unlike anything else. All of Eddie’s senses sharpen, but he’s still overwhelmed by Steve from all sides. Blood fills his mouth, pulses to the beat of Steve’s heart, and Eddie’s mind goes hazy from the pleasure wracking through his body. He fucks into Steve’s hole with abandon, keeps his fangs buried in the tender flesh of his neck, taking, taking, taking, taking everything his sweet boy offers him.

Eddie loses track of where he ends and Steve begins, rhythm overtaking intention, hunger blurring into devotion. Steve is right here — alive and burning for him — the simple, overwhelming truth of his trust, of his want, giving an extra boost to Eddie’s thrusts, and he loses himself in it. He claims Steve’s body in all the ways he knows how.

Eventually, because he has to, because he always will, Eddie pulls away. Warm blood trickles down his chin and he finds Steve’s mouth again, pushes the taste of his own blood against his tongue until he arches in his lap, moving back and forth in tandem with Eddie’s thrusts, mindless in his naked desire. 

It’s a power trip. It’s humbling. It’s everything.

“See?” Eddie taunts, feeling wild, alive. His body thrums with energy and some primal desire to bury himself as deep as he can inside, to stay exactly where Steve is warmest and most open, to never have to let go of this feeling. “Just gotta ask, angel.”

Steve moans, and he pulls Eddie’s hand down to wrap around his neglected cock. Eddie giggles, sparks flying under his skin, and he gives Steve what he’s asking for. He holds Steve in his palm, jerks him off in tandem with his thrusts, noses along his neck to the other side, where the skin is unbroken, calling out for Eddie’s teeth.

“I love being inside you,” he says, and it feels almost corny, too revealing, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind.

“Me too,” he manages. “Having you… here.”

“Yeah?” Eddie kisses a little mole he finds, slowing his hips into a deep grind that makes Steve whine, clenching around him. “Feels good?”

“Full,” Steve sighs, and then, a moment later, he seizes up on a sob when Eddie brushes against that spot inside him. “You’re… ‘m so full, babe.”

Eddie tightens his grip, precome making the slide slick. “I know, honey. I know. It’s so much,” he murmurs, fangs catching on the skin of Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of you, okay? Will you let me?”

Steve nods furiously, eyelids falling shut, and Eddie grins before he sinks his fangs into him again. Steve shudders in his lap, voice hoarse as he stutters something Eddie can’t hear. His cock jerks in Eddie’s hand, where he’s working up to a fast, firm stroke, and he knows they’re both hurtling towards the edge. 

Eddie grinds into his prostate, brutal and tireless, and Steve flutters around him like he’s losing it. His breath comes out ragged, face so red Eddie can feel the heat coming off him, and Eddie knows without looking that he’s glowing with it, his Stevie. Eddie cradles his face with his hand when he lets go of his neck, burying a moan of his own against the curve of his shoulder. 

His control is slipping quickly, and he bounces Steve in his lap with his free hand, cock drooling inside Steve’s body. “There you go, honey.” Steve moans desperately around him, and Eddie tastes it in the air a second before Steve tenses around him, babbling a warning that he’s close. “There you go, come on, angel. You’ve been so good — fuck, taste so good, always so good to me — you can let go, c’mon —”

When Steve cums, he freezes. His head is thrown back against Eddie’s shoulder, mouth drooling spit that’s tinged pink with his own blood, and Eddie can’t bring himself to slow down. He fucks Steve deep through the seizing of his body; drills into his sweet spot, milking him. The friction is incredible. Steve’s eyes flutter, he keeps making these little noises until Eddie buries his fangs into him one last time, mouth all sloppy but still fucking hungry for it. Steve is perfect, and Eddie is so, so lucky.

It takes maybe three seconds, maybe an entire hour, but then Eddie slams into Steve one last time, falling gracelessly over the edge with a muffled shout. It’s so good that Eddie’s mind goes blank for a moment, fingers clutching at Steve’s waist like a lifeline, lips a tight seal as he drinks his fill.

Everything goes white. It’s all noise and heat and crashing euphoria, frying his nerves like a thunderstorm. 

Eddie comes back to his body in slow increments. He blinks the fog off his eyes, slackens his hold on Steve’s waist, sure there will be marks left there for days to come — he has caught Steve admiring them once in the mirror, and he can’t wait to catch glimpses of it whenever Steve deems to wear one of those cropped shirts that drive Eddie absolutely crazy. 

His teeth are the next thing to go. He drops a gentle kiss against the puncture wounds, smiling when Steve makes an unhappy noise. “Mhn, Stevie, I think that’s enough, right?” Eddie murmurs, even as his hands keep moving, slow and steady across Steve’s torso where he had scratched him earlier, unwilling to fully disengage. “Gotta clean my princess up.”

“Already?” Steve mumbles.

“Baby,” Eddie says fondly, brushing his thumb along Steve’s jaw, smearing drying blood at the corner of his mouth. “You’re almost asleep in my lap.”

Steve hums, cheek rubbing against Eddie’s jaw, eyes closed like he’s fighting gravity itself. “You don’t need t’ stop,” he says, words slurring just a touch. “I’m— I’m good. You can keep goin’. Feeding, what’ver you need.”

“Whatever I need,” Eddie repeats, quieter now. His fangs slide away from Steve’s skin, but his mouth stays close, breath warm and lingering at his throat. He can’t quite make himself retreat, can he? “You hear yourself when you say things like that?”

Steve shifts, a small, unconscious scoot closer, as if distance is the real danger here, and not the vampire whose lap he’s still sitting on. “Just helpin’.”

“Mhn, Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” Eddie tsks, fingers threading through his hair, slow and possessive, thumb massaging gently at his scalp. He presses a kiss against his forehead, then another at the tip of his nose. “Are we sure you’re not the freak in this relationship of ours?”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles, but there’s no heat in it. His hands pull Eddie’s arm around him, resting their tangled fingers over his sticky tummy, and he melts back against his chest like he's planning on taking a nap right there. “Just — stay.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll stay,” Eddie murmurs, kissing Steve’s temple again, heart cracked open and bleeding at all the things he’s keeping behind his teeth. “I’ll keep you warm on my cock, right? Play with your hair and tell you what a pretty little thing you are, being so good to me.”

Steve barely reacts to Eddie’s attempt at embarrassing him, only murmuring a soft Mhh-hmm that does absolutely nothing to help with the aggressive fondness bubbling up Eddie’s throat. Despite it all, Steve seems to have won the game tonight, smug even in his exhausted, drowsy state.  

They can’t stay like this forever — Steve needs to eat, drink some water, shower off the tackiness clinging to his golden skin, and be put into the softest clothing Eddie can find in this damn house and cuddled to hell and back — but Eddie lets him have this moment.

Steve looks warm, grounded, satisfied in that quiet, glowing way that makes Eddie’s chest ache. He listens to Steve breathe, feels the warmth of him soak in, feels the echo of a heartbeat that might as well be his own, the way it answers something deep and lonely inside him, and Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s hair one last time. Closes his eyes. Holds Steve through the syrupy aftermath, already knowing he’ll stay exactly like this for as long as Steve needs.