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Safe to say, Steve had made a whole bunch of stupid assumptions about Eddie Munson. Initially, of course, in high school, but one apocalypse, multiple near deaths, one big old sexuality crisis and an ear piercing later, he’s mostly got his shit together.
The dumbest one, in retrospect, had been after he’d found out about Eddie’s Situation. There Steve had been, thinking that yes, Eddie was a man, Eddie was the hottest man he’d ever seen, Steve spent half his shifts at Family Video day-dreaming about his hands but yes — perhaps, with Eddie’s Situation, Steve might have an upper hand with the amount of girls he’d carefully honed his skills on in high school.
It’s not like he’d known how this worked,that five years on the illicit hormones that Wayne Munson had driven 300 miles round trip to source for his miserable teenage nephew would be so transformative; that the cause of Eddie’s lean limbs and sweet, low voice would also make him as similar to the pretty girls Steve used to fuck as they did his own dick?
Anyway, Steve knows better now. And most nights, it’s a moot point, given how often he’s face down on the bed, begging for more of Eddie’s fat cock, the ends of his leather harness slapping against Steve’s ass.
It’s not that Eddie doesn’t ever like to bottom, but he’s too impatient for anal prep and “My cunt takes 3-5 business days to get the message, Stevie”, and when it turns out Steve does love to take it, they have a comfortable routine.
Most of the time. But Steve stole Robin’s emery board at the end of their shift yesterday, and now, he’s curled up in Eddie’s room, comfortably naked, three fingers snug inside Eddie’s cunt. His fingers are starting to prune from the amount of spit, lube and slick he’s been coaxing out at a glacial pace, but that’s just fine, Steve’s in no rush.
He licks at Eddie’s throat, up along the faint stubble at his jaw, and bites.
Eddie’s groan is deep and rough, and he shifts his hips, spreads his thighs wider, hitching his knee over Steve’s thigh. Eddie’s hand lets go of where he’s had a loose, possessive hold on Steve’s half hard dick and grabs at his hair instead.
“Shit, sweetheart,” Eddie drawls, dropping his forehead against Steve’s face.
Steve grins, tries to bite again but gets caught by Eddie’s tongue licking into his mouth instead. Fucking his mouth open, the silver bar clacking on the back of Steve’s teeth.
“You gonna be a good boy and give me more?”
Steve nods eagerly, feeds off Eddie’s rough, messy groan as he reaches knuckle deep. He curls his fingers, rubs firmly inside before pulling back far enough to slip his pinky inside.
Eddie hisses but doesn’t complain, just drops his head back and reaches out for the joint that’s smouldering away in an ashtray on the bedside table.
Steve feels, more than sees, Eddie’s deep inhale, busy with mouthing sloppily over his chest; the ragged scar tissue over his heart, and the neater deep pink line under his remaining nipple. Steve takes the nipple ring between his teeth and tugs, giggles as Eddie swats at him and calls him a little shit.
“You love me,” Steve says, then: “Gimme.”
Eddie holds the joint out for Steve so he can inhale from Eddie’s fingers, then kisses the smoke out of his mouth. Eddie kisses him slow and lazy and unhurried like Steve’s never had before, like they’ve got all the time in the world, like he could take a whole ‘nother hour just opening up Eddie’s hole.
Eddie’s mouth tastes like weed and tobacco, and Steve can feel the tight ring inside his cunt squeezing his fingers together. He’s never been inside someone like this, his knuckles shifting and compressing, thumb pushed back by Eddie’s pubic bone. He can feel muscles and tendons tight and tense behind Eddie’s slick insides, and spends time slowly rubbing at the knots — Eddie makes noises like he’s being gutted.
Slowly, slowly, Steve moves his hand like a glacier and licks up the sweat dripping down Eddie’s chest, around the fold of his armpit looking for salt and musk, three days of layered hickies over Eddie’s collarbones like new tattoos.
He doesn’t move until Eddie drags him up for a hard, toothy kiss. Steve’s hand squelches wet and filthy as his fingers slip out and grab at Eddie’s thigh. Eddie laughs against Steve’s mouth, high and a little hysterical, then presses their sweaty foreheads together.
“Okay, baby. You can, shit, go ahead. I’m ready,” Eddie rushes out, and that’s all the instruction Steve needs, nearly falling off the bed in his eagerness, trying to kiss Eddie and move between his legs at the same time.
Propped against the head of his bed, Eddie already looks wrecked, his long, wiry limbs splayed carelessly over the comforter, his hair frizzed out and sticking to every bit of skin it touches. His eyes are blown and hooded, bruised lips stretching out in a lazy grin aimed right at Steve as he scratches his nails down the hair on his belly, into his pubes, and slides the v of his middle fingers neatly over his pussy.
It’s hard to not get distracted, watching Eddie rub his fat, shiny cock, long fingers pulling at it, lifting up the thick, curved barbell glinting underneath. His cunt is deeply red and a little gaped from Steve’s fingers, dark curly hair slick and wet on either side.
Steve’s mouth waters.
Instead of trying to drown in Eddie’s cunt, he takes the lube up shakily and pours out another palmful, scooping it inside with four of his fingers.
Eddie shifts around, spread out before him like a centerfold. He watches Eddie chew on his lip, eyes flicking between Steve’s hand and his face. Eddie hooks his hand under one thigh, draws his knee up. “C’mon, big boy. Gimme what you’ve got.”
What Steve’s got is four thick fingers, painfully aware of the breadth of his own knuckles as he folds his thumb into his palm. More lube on his fingers, drizzled up over his wrist and the back of his hand, just like Eddie taught him, and then he’s starting the slow, endless push inside Eddie’s cunt.
It’s easy and open at first, but there’s resistance as soon as he gets to the first joint of his thumb. Steve glances up at Eddie, nervous to go any further, but Eddie’s eyes are closed, his eyebrows knit together, muttering faintly, “Don’t stop, baby, just go slow, don’t stop—”
Steve doesn’t stop. He hunches down, folded awkwardly over his own arm and fastens his mouth onto Eddie’s cock: slow, firm pulls of suction and preens when he hears Eddie’s open hand slam against the wall. He pulls back and licks, ignores the taste of lube, makes sure Eddie watches as Steve drools spit onto his thumb and pushes deeper, hard enough that he’s only held together by trusting Eddie to stop him if he needs it.
More, a little more, a shocking amount of strength from Steve’s forearm, the impossible feeling of Eddie opening up, Steve’s fist slick and sweating —
Eddie’s big brown eyes are wider than Steve has ever seen, for once silent as his knuckles finally, slowly slide deep through his lips and into his pussy. He’s shock-still, toes curled and rigid. It’s the barest effort of Steve’s arm til he’s slipping deep smooth as molasses, a gravity like inevitably of Eddie Munson’s hot pink cunt wrapped around Steve’s wrist.
“Jesusfuckingchrist.”
“Are you—” Steve begins before Eddie nods furiously, tapping at his cock in a way Steve recognises as Eddie trying to not immediately come.
“Shit. Jesus, don’t stop. Fucking christ. That’s—” Eddie drops his head back and groans like fabric ripping. “Jesus H. Christ, that's big.”
Steve’s whole hand is inside his boyfriend. Squished awkwardly by tense muscles, on the edge of painful, fingers overlapping. Eddie’s cunt burns hot inside. Steve’s fingers brush against something smooth and firm he realises, some part of his brain dredging up a biology class from the depths of his awe, is Eddie’s cervix.
Distantly, Steve notices that he’s not even fully hard. He can’t tear his eyes off the join of their bodies, blue green veins on his own tan wrist almost hyperreal. Eddie’s cunt is deep red, flushed lips spread taut around Steve’s whole fucking hand. Jesus.
He’s never seen Eddie harder, his short, thick cock jutting out proudly, glossy wet and twitching as Eddie’s fingers pull it back. Steve’s eyes track slowly up his softly-furred thighs and belly, over the pink flush flooding over Eddie’s pale, tattooed chest, to where Eddie’s massive doe eyes stare at him, looking as vulnerable as Steve has ever seen him, and still elated.
Steve barely, barely moves his fist.
Eddie trembles. “Not yet, baby.”
Steve never wants to do anything but follow Eddie’s wants for the rest of his life.
He holds as still as he possibly can, senses pulled all the way down to the feel of Eddie’s cunt flexing around his hand. The slight ache in his shoulder, the steady drip of precum against his thigh, breathing? They’re the furthest thing from his mind when his boyfriend’s babbling praise and cursing as he slowly circles the base of his cock, an inch away from where Steve is fisting him. He’s fisting Eddie.
It takes Eddie weakly kicking at him to make Steve realise he’s zoned out, because Eddie looks smug despite gnawing at his own knuckle. “You can move, Stevie”.
Steve gives an experimental little rock of his wrist and watches Eddie’s eyes cross.
“Does it hurt?” Steve asks, and Eddie huffs out a laugh.
“It’s good, Stevie”, which is a yes, he’s pretty sure, so he keeps the gentle movement up and puts his free hand to rubbing Eddie’s slick cock, getting a near painful squeeze inside as reward.
It hurts, it’s good.
Eddie starts to rock his own hips against Steve’s wrist, and Steve lets him, drinks up Eddie’s noises, feeling like a conduit for Eddie’s pleasure, like the only thing his hands were made for is giving his lover this, filling Eddie so full there’s no space at all between them. Eddie’s constant, ragged monologue: shit, shit, so good Steve, baby, fuck it’s so fucking big —
Eddie smacks Steve’s hand away from his cock and takes over, rubbing hard as his moans drop deep into his chest. Eddie can come five times over when he’s topping, but here’s the deep, bone shattering orgasm he’s chasing from penetration, Steve’s hand pressing against every sensitive bit of him at once.
“Fuck me with it, Stevie, fuck me with your fist, jesus—”
Steve pulls out as far as his knuckles, pushes back in, stares at Eddie’s cunt opening up.
Eddie wails.
Steve does it again. He has to pin Eddie’s hips as he writhes, fingers slipping on his own too-wet cock. Again: works up the nerve to pull his fist all the way out and plunge back inside.
Eddie seizes, hands drawing up and spasming, and Steve doesn’t have the thought to brace before Eddie is coming on his fist, cunt clamping down so tight and slick it shoves his fist out all at once, prompting a deep, broken moan from Eddie as he twitches, his eyes rolled back, and his full body shivering.
Eddie’s cunt looks wrecked, slick and gaping, leaking come. There’s the slightest wisp of blood on Steve’s fingers. He’s learned not to panic about that, but still. It’s a lot.
Eddie flaps a hand at him, beckoning, and Steve falls over Eddie’s body like he’s had his strings cut. Eddie wordlessly takes a hold of Steve’s messy, shiny hand by the wrist, staring at it in awe.
“Fuck off. There’s no way you fit that inside me.”
Steve nods dumbly, and they both break into giggles.
Eddie turns his hand this way and that, like it’s something precious, and then—of course—licks at that faint pink smear. Steve’s cock is very suddenly back in the game, fat and over-sensitive against the join of Eddie’s thigh. He’s too gone to know what kind of face he’s making but Eddie makes a pleased, dirty sound and bites Steve’s mouth.
He grabs Steve’s hair tight and croons filthily against his mouth. “You like that, sweetheart? Go on, you’ve been so good for me,” and Steve isn’t thinking, mindlessly chasing Eddie’s praise, starts sloppily fucking his wet hand, like a proxy for Eddie’s cunt, full body humping against his boyfriend’s belly until he’s spattering over both of them, off like a hair trigger.
Steve feels completely wrung out, considering he’s not the one who had a literal fist inside of him, Jesus, but Eddie has sprawled into a lazy puddle, completely relaxed,at one with the stained mattress underneath them. Steve doesn’t know what to do with his hand except leave it cradled between them. Fuck, he’s sore. The sheets are soaked through. There’s sweat pooling in the dip of Eddie’s collarbone an inch from his nose.
Eventually, Eddie shoves him off and winces as they move onto their sides and wriggles down so they’re nose to nose, and presses a firm, dry kiss to Steve’s mouth. Eddie doesn’t say anything, and Steve guesses he’s lost his words like he does sometimes. Nothing to worry about.
Steve’s rolled on top of Eddie’s discarded tee. He drags it out from under his body to wipe his hand off.
Eddie’s too fucked out to bitch about it. They’re quiet. Just the sound of breathing, the Zeppelin tape Eddie put on earlier long spun to the end.
They’ve got all the time in the world.