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When Steve’s whistle sounds, Eddie grins and nestles into the sheets, conjuring his best distressed elf impression, voice breathy and needy. “Is anyone there? Please, I-I need help!”
Steve swings into the bedroom doorway. “Fear not, handsome elf.” His cloak billows, trousers tight in all the right places, and a crown—
Eddie sits up. “Steve. You promised to take this seriously.”
“I’m always serious about handsome elves in distress.”
Eddie gives him a wry look. “Onion.”
At their safe word, Steve drops the cocky posture. “What’s wrong?”
Sliding off the bed, Eddie spreads his arms. “I took care of the wardrobe except the one thing I asked you to get, and this—” He plucks the crown from Steve’s head. The Burger King logo gleams on it like a smug smirk. “This isn’t what I meant, babe. You could’ve at least painted it. All I wanted was a plastic crown or—hell, you could’ve stolen one of Erica’s tiaras.”
Steve chuckles. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize it.”
“Recognize what?”
“Our first date?”
Frowning, Eddie recalls that winter night, years ago. Steve’s car dying on the way to the concert, them trudging through snow, Eddie spraining his ankle, Steve carrying him to the nearest public place: a Burger King. Where Eddie requested a crown to put on Steve’s head because “that was king behavior.”
Eddie’s thumb glides across the printed pattern, a smile tugging his lips. “You kept it?”
Arms circling Eddie’s waist, Steve purrs, “‘Course I did.”
Eddie leans into the touch as he situates the crown back in its rightful spot. “I never should’ve doubted you, good king.” Brushing stray hairs into place, he peers through heavy-lidded eyes. “How can I make it up to you?”
“Oh, I can think of a couple ways.”
Before Eddie knows what’s happening, he’s heaved over Steve’s shoulder, air squished out of him, then tossed on the bed, bouncing and breathless. Steve towers over him, untying the cloak. Adrenaline floods Eddie, trembling as he follows suit, stripping off his own carefully curated costume. He must not be fast enough because hands grapple his shirt and pants, lips replacing fabric, kissing and tasting every inch of him.
“Shit,” he sighs, head tilting back as Steve sows a trail of heat up, up, up to his mouth. There will never be enough of kissing Steve Harrington. Plush lips, nimble tongue, teasing teeth. Never too gentle or forceful. His mouth is addictive, and Eddie would happily overdose.
Sadly, his drug denies him, retreating and drawing a whine from him. Steve smirks. “So needy, huh? Don’t worry. I’ll give you everything you need.”
“What—” Eddie croaks, and fuck, his voice is already wrecked. “What do I need?”
Steve hums into his pulse, vibrations trickling under Eddie’s skin as those torturous lips retrace their path down. “Someone strong and kind. Like a king.” A kiss on one nipple. “To take care of you.” The other nipple. “To carry you.” The words rumble into Eddie’s core as Steve kisses his navel, tongue dipping out to meet the head of his cock, already leaking shamelessly as if begging for attention.
But Steve doesn’t give it.
He catches Eddie’s gaze, licks the pool of precum, then straightens with a cheeky smile on those perfect lips. Cupping Eddie’s balls, he strokes them and walks two fingers up his length, teasing, taunting, tempting. “Someone to take care of this poor thing. Looks painful.”
When Eddie finds his voice, it emerges even more cracked and ragged. “Not disagreeing, but I think what I need is gonna end up killing me.”
“Aw, little elf can’t keep up? I’ll be gentle.”
“Oh, God.”
As Steve fishes the lube from the sheets, Eddie tosses an arm over his eyes, but that’s almost worse, every sound magnified—the cap popping, the lube squelching.
When Steve touches him, it’s not where he wants. He’s already lubed and stretched, so Steve’s finger meets little resistance, and Eddie gasps. Practiced and precise, Steve strokes his insides better than Eddie strums a guitar, like it’s carved in his bones how to take Eddie apart. And take Eddie apart he does.
“Please,” Eddie breathes, writhing and panting.
“Don’t wanna overwhelm you, baby.”
Eddie groans, dick throbbing because oh. He’s playing that game.
Canting his hips invitingly, Eddie peeks out from under his arm, mewling, “Steve…”
Steve glances up and must see a mess because those dark eyes look hungry, and Eddie feels like a meal.
Then Steve is on him. Hips hitched up, leg slung over Steve’s shoulder, Eddie barely manages an inhale before that familiar heat, blunt and thick, bullies into him. His breath catches. Steve’s beautiful, pouty mouth curves. Rolling his hips, he teases, “Too much?”
“Fuck—come on,” Eddie whimpers, hand creeping down. “You know—ahn!—you know what I want.”
“Ah, ah.” Steve snags Eddie’s wrist. “Hands behind your head. Keep them there.”
There’s no stopping the grumble escaping Eddie’s throat, but it’s interrupted by another thrust. Obeying, Eddie peers mournfully at his neglected arousal—which isn’t the best idea because the view of their bodies linked together is enough to make his gut boil with the need for release.
Yet he can’t look away.
Even as Steve sinks deep, sets a rhythm, Eddie finds his gaze fixed on their bodies moving together, his cock leaking and twitching with every ram into his prostate. His fingers tangle in his curls to resist the urge to touch himself. He moans, long and pleading.
Maybe that convinces Steve, finally gripping Eddie, stroking confidently. Or maybe he just wants to torment Eddie because then he lets go.
Eddie shudders, stomach fluttering, orgasm receding no matter how he squirms to reclaim it. When it starts again, he nearly rips out his hair. Tension builds and builds, coiling in his belly, so much heat he can’t contain it then—it stops. He wails, leveraging to grind against something, but there’s nothing. Only Steve pounding into him with that infuriating glint in his eye. Flushed face. Sweat on his brow, his chest, sticking hair to his skin. He’s gorgeous and generous even when he’s withholding because it’s everything Eddie wants, needs.
Toying with Eddie’s cock, thumbing the slit, Steve pants, “One more. You got one more in you.”
Mouth agape, Eddie unleashes an animal sound, guttural and raw, before returning to himself when Steve loosens his hold. “Please,” Eddie wheezes, barely audible. Swallowing, he tries again, “Pleasepleaseplease, Steeeve! Lemme come. Want—want you to make me come. Make me come on your cock.”
“Give me one more.”
Eddie howls, dragging hair across his face, as Steve pumps him fast and hard because he knows, he knows it’ll be torn away at the last second, and he could stop it, he could, but he doesn’t want to. He won’t. It hurts, the last flick of Steve’s palm, the squeeze in Eddie’s core, teetering on the edge, almost, almost—
But no.
Eddie crashes back to the mattress. His throat burns. The leg on Steve’s shoulder quivers. Spots dapple Eddie’s vision before clearing to reveal Steve watching him, eyes hooded, bottom lip between his teeth. Like Eddie is the only thing worth looking at. The only thing he needs.
Then Steve rocks into him gently, the bed creaking. When Steve grasps him again, Eddie shakes his head, so close, so strung out he knows he won’t last another round, nearly coming just from the touch.
“‘S okay,” Steve murmurs, pressing forward. “Come for me.”
The bed creaks again, and Eddie can’t breathe, and—that’s not the bed. It’s him. Tiny, pitiful squeaks fucked out of him with every thrust. His head falls back, mouth dropping open, embracing it as Steve drives forward harder, faster, forces out those noises, jerking him until Eddie arches, voice choking off because it’s too much, too good, that flood of relief exploding through him. He spasms, uncontrolled, mindless. There’s only the release.
Gradually, he descends. Drool cools on his cheek and come on his torso. His limbs flop to the bed. Soft cloth drags across his belly, then he’s hugged against a warm body. Smiling, he nuzzles Steve’s fuzzy chest before blinking blearily at him.
“Where’s your crown?” Eddie asks, voice rough.
“You kicked it off.”
“Oh, shit. Guess I fucked the king out of you.”
Steve laughs and pinches the S.H. tattoo just under Eddie’s right ass cheek. Biting the matching E.M. on Steve’s chest, Eddie hums and closes his eyes, drifting on the post-orgasm haze, a smile curling his lips.