you'd thought him sweet, at first. that maybe he could use a friend.

that's the problem with throwing a starving dog a bone. he'll always come back hungrier. take and take and take until your cupboards are bare.

for every moment you spend in his company, there's something increasingly sinister in the way he looks at you. only in a certain light, but definitely there. something frenzied. obsessive. a sort of intensity he hasn't yet earned.

you don't ask how he knows things about you he shouldn't. the names of your neighbors and your parents. what you had for dinner last night and the colour of your sheets. it's sick, but there's something easy about it — to know he's already done the hard parts — memorizing the small talk and a lifetime full of anecdotes. like spotting an animal in the forest and knowing it's already been watching you for hours.

maybe you're put together wrong. wired to feel comfort where there should be revulsion. fascination where there should be fear.

his looks don't help. soft lashes, big hands. sharp angles and kind eyes the colour of sea glass.

in the front seat of his car, he kisses you like he might never get the chance to again. teeth knocking in enthusiasm, spit soaking your chin. he can't seem to decide what to do with his mouth or his hands, so he does it all. paws at your ass and nearly chews through your bottom lip. winds his hand around to cradle your jaw as he chokes you on his tongue. you can't think straight for days.

two nights later, you catch a whiff of his grocery store cologne on the breeze from your open window. just past midnight, freshly showered and on your way to bed. fear sinks a stone in your gut.

you call his name soft under your breath. disbelieving.

he steps out from the shadows in the corner of the room on your second try of his name, smiling dopily. he's only ever unsettling when you notice the madness in his eyes.

"you shouldn't leave your window open like that, y'know. something bad could happen."

you picture him scaling the side of the building to creep in and suddenly feel sick.

"like what? you're gonna chop me up into little pieces?" you aim for humour and land squarely on paranoia.

he frowns — tuts at you, disapproving. "i wouldn't've made any noise if i was gonna kill you, silly."

"besides," he shrugs. "i could'a done that an hour ago when you were in the shower."

"here — like this-"

you go lightheaded as he takes a step foward.

he sidles up behind you — brings his hand up slow and drags a thumb across your throat. a cartoon slicing noise accompanies the movement, and you're keenly aware that you can feel your heartbeat in your molars. he bumps his hips into your ass and you squeak, stomach swooping, warmth pooling in the cradle of your hips.

your head spins. the burning in your stomach starts up again. that sick, hot combination of revulsion and lust. the thought that perhaps you've bitten off more than you can chew all at once.

so you take it in small bites.

your bag doesn't even make it to the hook, nor your shoes to their rack. both lie abandoned in the hallway as you drag yourself inside - tainted by the remnants of a day from hell.

in the kitchen you find him, in his socks, shirt undone two buttons. looking two sizes too big in your kitchenette. everything seems to tilt towards him. you're no exception.

clark tuts softly as your head hits his chest. its pure animal instinct to bury your nose into the concentrated smell of him; peppercorn and pear beneath his starched shirt. you dissolve like sugar in water against the wall of his chest.

"sleepy girl." he rasps — lips pressed to the crown of your head, vibrating down your spine.

"i think i can hear my blood."

clark's soft laughter rumbles through you. he bends his knees, hooks his fingers at the back of your thighs and lifts you onto the counter.

deft fingers creep up the hem of your skirt, stilling against the waistband of your stockings.

"want these off?"

you smile - slow, cloying.

"depends. are you flirting with me?"

his dark hair shines like a river under the moon. dimples framing his matching smile. "do you want me to be?"

"yes, please."

he's so gentle with it you could cry. kinder and more patient than you ever care to be with yourself. tucking his big hands under your legs and peeling the nylon to your ankles until it forms a ball on the tile.

"thanks, handsome."

"how was your day?" you try.

"shh. later." he urges.

his thumbs press firm to the ball of your ankle. "shouldn't wear your shoes so tight."

you hadn't noticed the redness on your heels till now.

you shrug, wiggling your foot from his grasp. "'s just a blister."

"i know." clark frowns. "but it's on you."

he says things like that often, things you don't know what to do with, where to put. things that knock the wind out of you just a little. like a basketball to the chest.

"can i take care of you?”

can i, he asks.

"please,' you urge, "i'm begging you to lay one on me—"

you meet in the middle halfway through laughter, mouths pressed hot together. you sag against him immediately, and clark makes a deep rumbling sound that goes straight past your tonsils and explodes into butterflies in your gut.

your arms slink around the back of his neck, wrists crossed, and tug him closer still.

he smiles against your mouth and you can feel the stretch of it, slow, languorous.

heavy touches down your waist and hips, now. its gradual, easy, the building heat in your middle. like slipping into a bath. the fluttering in your gut morphs to a vacuum abyss when clark's knees hit the floor.

he singes spit-damp kisses on the insides your thighs, nudging closer and closer to the second heartbeat between them. he doesn't bother to remove your underwear. just pushes them to the side gently, slots his mouth over the centre of you and licks. your head hits the back of the cabinet hard.

having clark between your legs never gets any less devastating. you'd argue it's worse, now he knows how wound up he can get you. how quickly, how easily. still, there's no ego. nothing to prove but his own affection.

slow waves of pleasure melt all the way through you as his hot honey mouth laves over your seeping wetness, twitching in your stomach and toes.

your calves curve over his back — the smooth, corded muscle there, and grind helplessly against his chin. you're quickly unravelling under his stifling attention. sweat prickling, headache pounding behind your eyes.

clark senses your growing panic; pulls away for just a moment - turns his head into your thigh and presses his lips there. you can feel the curve of his smile against your skin.

"deep breath, honey. i gotch'a"

your voice comes out a simper, something shaped vaguely like his name. and then he's back, sucking gentle at your clit as your back arches hard, fingers turning to talons in his hair.

it's you who comes, clenching around the muscle of his gentle, seeking tongue — but it feels like his orgasm, really.

you're cotton wool now. soup in your centre, static between the ears, messy at the crux of your thighs.

you watch adoringly as clark picks himself up, tucks your discarded tights into his waistband.

"i'm gonna get you back so bad."

"yeah?" he goads. starry-eyed, front page smile.

“mm-hm. ‘show you in the morning." you insist. "gonna make you pancakes and get on top 'n everything.”

two wednesdays later, you push open steve's screen door and promptly shriek, freeze, and take the brunt of the door square in the face.

they're flush against the kitchen counter — eddie shirtless, the top button popped open on steve's jeans. tongues halfway down eachothers throat. you’re not sure which one of them you’d trade places with if you could.

steve's on you in a heartbeat.

"shit, shit- are you okay? — c'mere, let me look at your face."

you end up on the kitchen island, somehow, steve's gentle eyes tracking over your features while eddie dives elbow deep in the freezer.

the sting of your face is nothing compared to the fluttering in your stomach. still, you let eddie press a bag of garden peas between your eyes until the crease between steve's brow disappears.

"'m fine. 'm sorry — thank you." you manage, cotton wool in your throat. as your embarrasment fades, implication sits heavy in your gut. you hadn't caught them - not really. they'd known you'd been on your way over. even called when you were five minutes away.

steve rubs his hairline, face split somewhere halfway between frustration and guilt.

"didn't mean to interrupt." you try, barking out a flat laugh.

eddie grins. "no? that's a shame."

you can't get the image out of your brain. searing into your eyelids and setting your stomach alight with a wild burst of heat. desire so deep you're sure they can see it yawning through your chest.

"sorry if i killed the mood."

"killed the mood? are you kidding me?" steve flirts, tucking a hair gently behind your ear. stars in his eyes. eddie's fingers ghost over your kneecap.

"you are the mood."

"wanna watch, sweetheart? or y' want in too?"

you nod quick, warmth in your middle sinking as eddie's big ringed hand creeps higher. "in, in, please."

soft laughter, shuffling.

eddie leans in, captures your lips with his mouth and you know what steve meant by animal. not violent. just messy. all-encompasing. curls tickling your cheeks as he licks past your canines.

your legs part and he follows, pulling back to cup the gnawing heat at the apex of your thighs. your palm hits the counter hard, hips craning towards them.

"'s it, honey. we got you." steve murmurs soft. eyes back and forth between your face and eddie's fingers. you know how he feels.

"should'a see us the other day after you left. couldn't stop thinkin' bout you."

you let out a bubbly gasp as he tucks two fingers down the front of your underwear.

"want both of you– please?"

steve coos and leans in to pick up eddie's work. smushes a sweet, warm peck onto your lips. a deep rumbling moan purrs out of him when you lick into his mouth - nose squishing into your cheek.

you go limp against steve's mouth as eddie tucks two fingers inside of you - to the first knuckle, fat of his palm pressed flush to your clit.

if you didn't know what to do with your hands before, you'd no hope now. eddies hips. steve's tummy. spoiled for choice.

you scrabble at both of their shoulders as steves hand inches down to palm himself over denim.

"i want—oh, i want-"

"what, sweetheart? can have anything you want, you know that."

you're going to go half insane. they're both so pretty. smell so nice and hold you just right, melt your bones down to caramel.

your hands crowd forward, fumbling with steve's waistband. he blows air out hard through his nose while eddie grins.

you both deflate together when you get your hand on steve. he's silky hot, pulsing against you, hips canting up - hissing into your mouth as you buck against eddie's hand.

you're breathless. white hot, two-for-one churning pleasure. there's a vast ache in your middle growing by the second. winding tighter.

your hand stalls on steve in the distraction and eddie won't have it. his hand comes down over yours and squeezes. steve swears, bucking hard against the both of you. your head spins.

"this is, oh — so not normal."

you all laugh in tandem. eddie's snicker, steve's breathless huff. a soft, shared, magic thing.

you like hanging out with steve and eddie, really you do – but sometimes they go somewhere else, like all couples do; a loaded stare or a shared cigarette and suddenly you don't know where to look, what to do with your hands.

worse still, you can’t figure out for the life of you when you started picturing yourself in the middle.

it seems to hit you all at once, that bone deep ache mixed with the hot flush of shame when your eyes linger on their mouths for seconds after they part.

eddie’s nudging you with the edge of his sneaker from his spot above you on the couch.

"hey. where'd you go, space case?"

at his side, steve reaches for his pepsi and you wonder if eddie can taste it on his mouth.

“sorry.” you plaster on a smile, but you’re a million miles away. stomach flipping, trying desperately to remember what anybody had been talking about for the past five minutes. you come up blank.

eddie starts it. settles back against the cushions again, sliding his legs further apart and throwing one arm behind steve.

“feeling left out, is that it, huh?”

steve frowns. your heart burns in your mouth now, burning sick at the back of your molars. “eddie, leave her alone.”

you know he isn’t being cruel. know he’s only teasing, know he won’t expect you to react the way you do.

“fuck off.”

there’s no conviction in your words. you can’t even look either of them in the eye.

a beat passes in silence. from the corner of your eye, steve’s big hand in a warning squeeze at eddie’s thigh. “you want a kiss too, sweetheart?”

your hands fly to your temples in anguish. “what the fuck is happening right now?”

eddie cackles, not unkindly. lightly, suddenly, like it crept up on him.

steve kicks into gear beside him, tutting in disapproval. he’s so pretty, even when he’s frowning, though right now you can’t figure out what for.

“let me. you kiss like a fucking animal —you’ll scare her.”

eddie rolls his eyes despite the growing smile that splits his cheeks.

you feel more than a little sick all the sudden. dizzy and breathless like you've just come back from a run.

steve seems to watch all of this transpire on your face, and his voice is spun silk when he speaks again. “wanna come up here?”

“there’s no room.” you rasp. eyes glued to the spot where their thighs press together.

“sure there is, honey.”

they have to do a bit of shuffling, relocating two or three cushions to the floor — but sure enough, a gap emerges between them on the couch.

eddie turns sideways as you slot into the gap, legs crossing awkwardly to knock knees with your bare skin. steve’s hand is a weight on the small of your back.

“is this okay?”

okay. it's not in the first round of adjectives that come to mind, nor the second or even the third.

you nod in lieu of an answer, and steve mimics you with a soft smile. “do you think i could kiss you now?”

the reply gets caught in your throat, eyes flitting helplessly to eddie at your side.

"if you guys are fucking with me, i swear to god—"

“hey." eddie warns, suddenly stern. "does it look like we're fucking with you?"

if eddie kisses like an animal, steve kisses like a husband. like he loves you already. warm and soft and wanting. fingers urging your jaw wide as he licks into your mouth.

you’re so caught up you don’t even notice eddie wading in at your side until his lips brush against the pulse point at the line of your throat and you whimper into steve’s mouth.

“shit.” steve pulls away from your lips with a smack and meets eddie’s eye where he's tucked into the crook of your neck. fire churns under your skin — right hand tangled in the back of eddie's curls and the left flush to steve’s thigh.

steve fixes you with a look, heavy with a different sort of kindness now. eyes dark, lips tingling.

“anything else we can do for you, honey?”

your legs widen instinctively as his thumb smooths across your cheekbone.

“i’ll-,” you rasp. “i’ll keep a tab open.”

eddie's manspreading like nobody’s business, shoveling handfuls of popcorn into his mouth, flyaways from his frizzy ponytail a halo in the tv light. on screen, someone’s eyes roll back in their head as a priest brandishes a crucifix.

“‘looks like your face when you cum."

three pieces of popcorn go flying at eddie's head in quick succession. he ducks and misses every one.

“i’m gonna smack you into next tuesday. what about your face, huh? you're gonna catch a fly one day the way your mouth hangs open like that."

you love him. even when he says the kind of things that make your soda fly out of your nose. maybe even more for it. 

“yeah?” he challenges, beatific grin teasing the corners of his mouth. the kernels you'd thrown fly back in your direction — featherlight impacts on your chest and your forehead.

“uh huh.”

“come here.” eddie emphasizes, suddenly urgent in his desire to have you closer. he smothers his face in your neck, your chest, huffing hot air over your skin.  

“i fuckin' love you,” his voice rumbles under your skin and warms you from the inside out. it comes like breathing to return the sentiment.

"you got popcorn—" eddie starts, gesturing towards your cleavage with his chin. "right there— here, let me get it—"