Warning: Steve makes some really bad decisions re: sex with Eddie, and he and Eddie have to deal with the fallout
Eddie had been more than patient with him in the three months since they started dating, but Steve knew it couldn't last. Knew Eddie would only wait around for him for so long.
They'd been kissing a lot, so it wasn't like he was leaving Eddie completely wanting, but maybe that was worse, because Eddie would get hard every time, and then they'd just…stop. Sometimes Eddie would have to go into the bathroom to take care of himself if he got too worked up. He said he didn't mind, but Steve was sure that was a lie. He hated sitting there, knowing Eddie was jerking off down the hall, needing something from Steve that Steve wasn't able to give him.
Steve would never have waited as long as Eddie was for a girl to put out. When Steve used to date, his main objective was always to get the girl into bed and on his dick as soon as possible. He wasn't completely heartless—he did always care for the girls he dated, on some level—but he also liked the challenge of convincing them to let him fuck them.
But then Steve's popularity at parties had gone through the roof and those kinds of girls had stopped wanting to go out with him, and Steve had gradually lost almost all interest in sex. Which was sort of his just desserts, if you thought about it.
And now here he was, with some kind of mental block preventing him from letting Eddie touch him. He didn't really understand it, because he did want to have sex with Eddie. It was just that any time they tried to go further than making out, Steve got this overwhelming sense of dread that threatened to suffocate him if they didn't stop. It was a sort of dull panic in his stomach that rose up into nausea in the back of his throat. Eddie always seemed to notice, even if Steve tried to push though, and that would be the end of that.
The point was, even if Eddie was all respectful and shit and wasn't going to pressure Steve into sex, he still was a guy, and there was just no way he was gonna hang around forever in a sexless relationship on the off chance that someday Steve got it together. Steve was frankly surprised he was still here.
He liked Eddie, more than he'd ever liked anyone else, and he didn't want to lose him. And he was sure that if he could get through the initial discomfort, he'd like sex with Eddie too.
So he'd come up with a plan. He didn't get sloppy drunk, because Eddie didn't seem like he'd be into that, but he drank enough to get a good buzz going on. Then he brushed his teeth and used mouthwash, so he wouldn't be gross to kiss. He'd timed it perfectly and was still feeling warm and relaxed when Eddie showed up at his door. Ostensibly he was there to watch a movie, but their movie nights always devolved into making out on the couch and missing half the plot.
Steve gave him some time to get settled in and then he made his move, putting an arm around the back of Eddie's shoulders and pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. Eddie immediately turned towards him and slid their mouths together. It would be easy to get lost in kissing and forget about the rest of the plan, but Steve couldn't let himself. He was going to do this, and then Eddie would see that Steve wasn't a hopeless case, that he was worth sticking around for, and then Steve could stop worrying so much.
Eddie balked when Steve tried to get in his lap. His hands came up to grab Steve's hips, holding him back so Steve was sort of hovering there. Of course Eddie would try to cockblock himself, that was par for the course.
“What are you doing?” Eddie said, frowning.
Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. “What does it look like I'm doing?”
“I know, but—you really want to?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, ignoring the slight uneasiness he could feel somewhere deep inside. He was still cradled in the fuzzy cloud of the drinks he'd had and that made it easy to shove the bad feelings away out of sight. He pushed at Eddie's hands. Eddie didn't let go, but he relaxed enough for Steve to sit down.
Eddie's dick was hard, which he had been expecting, but it was still unsettling to feel it pressed up against his ass. He did his best not to let it show—Eddie was watching his face carefully, looking for any signs of discomfort. He leaned into it instead, and rolled his hips down so his ass rubbed over Eddie's hard-on.
“Oh my god,” Eddie said faintly, and pushed up just when Steve ground down, the thick line of his dick slipping between the cheeks of Steve's ass, easy to feel through his thin sweats.
This was fine, Steve told himself. This was what he wanted. He was doing it for Eddie. Eddie obviously was into it and that was all that really mattered.
He put his mouth back on Eddie's and the kisses Eddie gave him soothed his nerves enough to keep up the motion of his hips, and kept him from panicking at the way Eddie's grip on him had tightened.
“Okay?” Eddie mumbled between kisses, and Steve nodded. “Fuck, you feel good.”
They kept kissing and grinding, and the next time Eddie pulled back he was panting, eyes wide, his hips jerking up like he couldn't help it.
“Steve,” he said. “Is this—I’m getting close, you gotta tell me if you want me to stop.”
“You should probably get your dick out,” Steve said, swallowing hard. He thought maybe the alcohol was wearing off. “If you don't wanna come in your pants.”
Eddie stared at him for a long moment and then went for the waistband of his sweats. A little rearranging, and Eddie's sweats and boxers were around his thighs and his bare dick was just right there, hard and wet at the tip. Steve liked how it looked—it was long and thick, flushed red, with Eddie’s balls nestled up under it—but it was difficult to appreciate it when Steve's stomach was tied up in knots.
Eddie was touching himself while Steve watched, long slow strokes from the base to the tip. That was wrong, that was—Steve was supposed to be doing that, Steve was supposed to make Eddie come. That was the whole point of this, to show Eddie that Steve was worth sticking around for.
He batted Eddie's hand aside and took over. At least like this he could pretend that he was just jerking himself off. Except for the part where Eddie's hands were hot on his thighs and Eddie was gasping and trembling under him.
“Steve, I'm gonna—” Eddie said, and his mouth fell open and he dropped his head back as his dick pulsed in Steve's hand and went off. Steve stroked him through it and wiped his hand off on his shirt when he was done. An exhausted sort of relief went through him because he'd done it, he'd gotten Eddie off, and next time it’d be easier, he was sure of it.
“That was so good,” Eddie said with a dopey smile. His hair was a frizzy halo around his head and his cheeks were flushed and he looked impossibly cute. “Can I…I wanna make you feel good too.”
It was stupid of him, but he hadn't been expecting Eddie to reciprocate.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. His heart started to pound when Eddie dipped a hand into his sweats and wrapped it around his dick. The actual physical sensation of Eddie touching him felt good, but the sick feeling inside him was growing. He'd been too nervous to eat much before Eddie came over and now his stomach was clenching down on nothing.
Everything abruptly got to be too much and Steve shoved Eddie’s hand away, clapped a hand over his mouth, and ran for the bathroom. He was puking as soon as his knees hit the floor, vomiting up mostly bile and liquid.
“Steve?” Eddie said from somewhere nearby, and then his hand settled lightly on Steve's back, between his shoulder blades. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve croaked. His throat hurt. His stomach spasmed again, and he gagged.
“I'm gonna get you some water. I'll be right back.”
Eddie was gone for a few minutes, long enough that Steve got tired of hunching over the toilet and slid down to the floor, resting his cheek against the cool tiles. Maybe he could still salvage this, explain it away as something he ate not sitting right.
He was trying to figure out what to say when Eddie came back and set something on the bathroom counter with a definitive clink. Steve looked up to see what it was and his stomach dropped all over again: it was the bottle of whiskey he'd left sitting on the kitchen counter, having forgotten to put it away.
“Were you drinking before I came over?”
“No!” Steve protested, and then when Eddie kept just looking at him, “Only a little.”
“Did you—please tell me this isn't what it looks like. That you didn't drug yourself in order to—to suffer through having sex with me.”
Steve couldn't tell him that, so he didn't say anything at all. Eddie sat down all at once on the edge of the bathtub, like his legs had been cut off from under him, put his head in his hands, and said faintly, “I feel like I fucking raped you.”
“No,” Steve said, horrified, pushing himself up off the floor. “No, Eddie, you didn't.”
“But you didn't want it,” Eddie said, very quietly. “You didn't want it, and I did it anyway. God, how could I not notice—”
“I didn't want you to notice,” Steve blurted out, because he couldn't handle the self-loathing and blame in Eddie's tone for another second. “It's not your fault!”
Eddie lifted his head up. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. “It feels like it is,” he said. “You…you were touching me and it felt so good and I just let you do it. I should’ve stopped you, I should've told you no, but I was too fucking selfish to realize what was happening.”
Eddie's hands were shaking as he wiped roughly at his eyes. Steve instinctively went to comfort him, but Eddie flinched away when Steve reached for him.
“Don't,” he said unsteadily. “Just tell me what I did to make you think you needed to do that.”
“Nothing,” Steve said. It was the truth. “You didn't do anything wrong.”
“Then why,” Eddie said, pleading. “Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you let me hurt you like that? Why—”
He broke off into a sob and Steve scrambled up to sit next to him on the edge of the tub and when Eddie didn't push him away, put his arms around him. Eddie sort of collapsed into him, his face hidden in Steve's neck, his own arms loosely clasped around Steve's waist.
“I'm sorry,” Steve said into his hair. “I fucked up. I'm sorry.”
Eddie didn't respond. Steve couldn't tell if he was actively crying or just close to it. Either way, he was trembling against Steve, his breath hot on Steve's skin, and looking as miserable as Steve had ever seen him.
“I don't know if we should do this anymore,” Eddie said at last in a small voice. He pulled back from Steve and wiped his hand under his nose. “I wanna be with you but not like this, not if you can't be honest with me about what you want.”
Steve's heart felt like it stopped.
“I don't want to break up,” he said, swallowing hard against the threat of tears. “I was an idiot and I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”
“How am I supposed to trust you?” Eddie's voice cracked and now he really was crying, tears running down his face and dripping off his chin. “You could lie to me and I wouldn't even know.”
“I won't, I swear. Eddie, please.”
Eddie searched his face. “I really like you, Steve,” he said. “But the way I feel right now…I just want to go home.”
“Wayne's off tonight, right?”
Eddie nodded. That was good. Eddie and Wayne were close—he'd be there for Eddie, if he needed him.
“Okay,” Steve said. “Can I call you tomorrow?”
Eddie nodded again, and then he got up and left without looking back. Steve could hear Eddie getting his stuff and putting his shoes on, the sound of the front door opening and closing. The noise Eddie's van made as he started it. Eddie drove off and the noise faded into the distance and then there was just Steve alone in the bathroom, the house empty and quiet.
The whiskey was still sitting on the counter. If there was ever a time to get drunk, this was it. He grabbed the bottle on his way out of the room.
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Warning: Steve makes some really bad decisions re: sex with Eddie, and he and Eddie have to deal with the fallout
Eddie had been more than patient with him in the three months since they started dating, but Steve knew it couldn't last. Knew Eddie would only wait around for him for so long.
They'd been kissing a lot, so it wasn't like he was leaving Eddie completely wanting, but maybe that was worse, because Eddie would get hard every time, and then they'd just…stop. Sometimes Eddie would have to go into the bathroom to take care of himself if he got too worked up. He said he didn't mind, but Steve was sure that was a lie. He hated sitting there, knowing Eddie was jerking off down the hall, needing something from Steve that Steve wasn't able to give him.
Steve would never have waited as long as Eddie was for a girl to put out. When Steve used to date, his main objective was always to get the girl into bed and on his dick as soon as possible. He wasn't completely heartless—he did always care for the girls he dated, on some level—but he also liked the challenge of convincing them to let him fuck them.
But then Steve's popularity at parties had gone through the roof and those kinds of girls had stopped wanting to go out with him, and Steve had gradually lost almost all interest in sex. Which was sort of his just desserts, if you thought about it.
And now here he was, with some kind of mental block preventing him from letting Eddie touch him. He didn't really understand it, because he did want to have sex with Eddie. It was just that any time they tried to go further than making out, Steve got this overwhelming sense of dread that threatened to suffocate him if they didn't stop. It was a sort of dull panic in his stomach that rose up into nausea in the back of his throat. Eddie always seemed to notice, even if Steve tried to push though, and that would be the end of that.
The point was, even if Eddie was all respectful and shit and wasn't going to pressure Steve into sex, he still was a guy, and there was just no way he was gonna hang around forever in a sexless relationship on the off chance that someday Steve got it together. Steve was frankly surprised he was still here.
He liked Eddie, more than he'd ever liked anyone else, and he didn't want to lose him. And he was sure that if he could get through the initial discomfort, he'd like sex with Eddie too.
So he'd come up with a plan. He didn't get sloppy drunk, because Eddie didn't seem like he'd be into that, but he drank enough to get a good buzz going on. Then he brushed his teeth and used mouthwash, so he wouldn't be gross to kiss. He'd timed it perfectly and was still feeling warm and relaxed when Eddie showed up at his door. Ostensibly he was there to watch a movie, but their movie nights always devolved into making out on the couch and missing half the plot.
Steve gave him some time to get settled in and then he made his move, putting an arm around the back of Eddie's shoulders and pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. Eddie immediately turned towards him and slid their mouths together. It would be easy to get lost in kissing and forget about the rest of the plan, but Steve couldn't let himself. He was going to do this, and then Eddie would see that Steve wasn't a hopeless case, that he was worth sticking around for, and then Steve could stop worrying so much.
Eddie balked when Steve tried to get in his lap. His hands came up to grab Steve's hips, holding him back so Steve was sort of hovering there. Of course Eddie would try to cockblock himself, that was par for the course.
“What are you doing?” Eddie said, frowning.
Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. “What does it look like I'm doing?”
“I know, but—you really want to?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, ignoring the slight uneasiness he could feel somewhere deep inside. He was still cradled in the fuzzy cloud of the drinks he'd had and that made it easy to shove the bad feelings away out of sight. He pushed at Eddie's hands. Eddie didn't let go, but he relaxed enough for Steve to sit down.
Eddie's dick was hard, which he had been expecting, but it was still unsettling to feel it pressed up against his ass. He did his best not to let it show—Eddie was watching his face carefully, looking for any signs of discomfort. He leaned into it instead, and rolled his hips down so his ass rubbed over Eddie's hard-on.
“Oh my god,” Eddie said faintly, and pushed up just when Steve ground down, the thick line of his dick slipping between the cheeks of Steve's ass, easy to feel through his thin sweats.
This was fine, Steve told himself. This was what he wanted. He was doing it for Eddie. Eddie obviously was into it and that was all that really mattered.
He put his mouth back on Eddie's and the kisses Eddie gave him soothed his nerves enough to keep up the motion of his hips, and kept him from panicking at the way Eddie's grip on him had tightened.
“Okay?” Eddie mumbled between kisses, and Steve nodded. “Fuck, you feel good.”
They kept kissing and grinding, and the next time Eddie pulled back he was panting, eyes wide, his hips jerking up like he couldn't help it.
“Steve,” he said. “Is this—I’m getting close, you gotta tell me if you want me to stop.”
“You should probably get your dick out,” Steve said, swallowing hard. He thought maybe the alcohol was wearing off. “If you don't wanna come in your pants.”
Eddie stared at him for a long moment and then went for the waistband of his sweats. A little rearranging, and Eddie's sweats and boxers were around his thighs and his bare dick was just right there, hard and wet at the tip. Steve liked how it looked—it was long and thick, flushed red, with Eddie’s balls nestled up under it—but it was difficult to appreciate it when Steve's stomach was tied up in knots.
Eddie was touching himself while Steve watched, long slow strokes from the base to the tip. That was wrong, that was—Steve was supposed to be doing that, Steve was supposed to make Eddie come. That was the whole point of this, to show Eddie that Steve was worth sticking around for.
He batted Eddie's hand aside and took over. At least like this he could pretend that he was just jerking himself off. Except for the part where Eddie's hands were hot on his thighs and Eddie was gasping and trembling under him.
“Steve, I'm gonna—” Eddie said, and his mouth fell open and he dropped his head back as his dick pulsed in Steve's hand and went off. Steve stroked him through it and wiped his hand off on his shirt when he was done. An exhausted sort of relief went through him because he'd done it, he'd gotten Eddie off, and next time it’d be easier, he was sure of it.
“That was so good,” Eddie said with a dopey smile. His hair was a frizzy halo around his head and his cheeks were flushed and he looked impossibly cute. “Can I…I wanna make you feel good too.”
It was stupid of him, but he hadn't been expecting Eddie to reciprocate.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. His heart started to pound when Eddie dipped a hand into his sweats and wrapped it around his dick. The actual physical sensation of Eddie touching him felt good, but the sick feeling inside him was growing. He'd been too nervous to eat much before Eddie came over and now his stomach was clenching down on nothing.
Everything abruptly got to be too much and Steve shoved Eddie’s hand away, clapped a hand over his mouth, and ran for the bathroom. He was puking as soon as his knees hit the floor, vomiting up mostly bile and liquid.
“Steve?” Eddie said from somewhere nearby, and then his hand settled lightly on Steve's back, between his shoulder blades. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve croaked. His throat hurt. His stomach spasmed again, and he gagged.
“I'm gonna get you some water. I'll be right back.”
Eddie was gone for a few minutes, long enough that Steve got tired of hunching over the toilet and slid down to the floor, resting his cheek against the cool tiles. Maybe he could still salvage this, explain it away as something he ate not sitting right.
He was trying to figure out what to say when Eddie came back and set something on the bathroom counter with a definitive clink. Steve looked up to see what it was and his stomach dropped all over again: it was the bottle of whiskey he'd left sitting on the kitchen counter, having forgotten to put it away.
“Were you drinking before I came over?”
“No!” Steve protested, and then when Eddie kept just looking at him, “Only a little.”
“Did you—please tell me this isn't what it looks like. That you didn't drug yourself in order to—to suffer through having sex with me.”
Steve couldn't tell him that, so he didn't say anything at all. Eddie sat down all at once on the edge of the bathtub, like his legs had been cut off from under him, put his head in his hands, and said faintly, “I feel like I fucking raped you.”
“No,” Steve said, horrified, pushing himself up off the floor. “No, Eddie, you didn't.”
“But you didn't want it,” Eddie said, very quietly. “You didn't want it, and I did it anyway. God, how could I not notice—”
“I didn't want you to notice,” Steve blurted out, because he couldn't handle the self-loathing and blame in Eddie's tone for another second. “It's not your fault!”
Eddie lifted his head up. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. “It feels like it is,” he said. “You…you were touching me and it felt so good and I just let you do it. I should’ve stopped you, I should've told you no, but I was too fucking selfish to realize what was happening.”
Eddie's hands were shaking as he wiped roughly at his eyes. Steve instinctively went to comfort him, but Eddie flinched away when Steve reached for him.
“Don't,” he said unsteadily. “Just tell me what I did to make you think you needed to do that.”
“Nothing,” Steve said. It was the truth. “You didn't do anything wrong.”
“Then why,” Eddie said, pleading. “Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you let me hurt you like that? Why—”
He broke off into a sob and Steve scrambled up to sit next to him on the edge of the tub and when Eddie didn't push him away, put his arms around him. Eddie sort of collapsed into him, his face hidden in Steve's neck, his own arms loosely clasped around Steve's waist.
“I'm sorry,” Steve said into his hair. “I fucked up. I'm sorry.”
Eddie didn't respond. Steve couldn't tell if he was actively crying or just close to it. Either way, he was trembling against Steve, his breath hot on Steve's skin, and looking as miserable as Steve had ever seen him.
“I don't know if we should do this anymore,” Eddie said at last in a small voice. He pulled back from Steve and wiped his hand under his nose. “I wanna be with you but not like this, not if you can't be honest with me about what you want.”
Steve's heart felt like it stopped.
“I don't want to break up,” he said, swallowing hard against the threat of tears. “I was an idiot and I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”
“How am I supposed to trust you?” Eddie's voice cracked and now he really was crying, tears running down his face and dripping off his chin. “You could lie to me and I wouldn't even know.”
“I won't, I swear. Eddie, please.”
Eddie searched his face. “I really like you, Steve,” he said. “But the way I feel right now…I just want to go home.”
“Wayne's off tonight, right?”
Eddie nodded. That was good. Eddie and Wayne were close—he'd be there for Eddie, if he needed him.
“Okay,” Steve said. “Can I call you tomorrow?”
Eddie nodded again, and then he got up and left without looking back. Steve could hear Eddie getting his stuff and putting his shoes on, the sound of the front door opening and closing. The noise Eddie's van made as he started it. Eddie drove off and the noise faded into the distance and then there was just Steve alone in the bathroom, the house empty and quiet.
The whiskey was still sitting on the counter. If there was ever a time to get drunk, this was it. He grabbed the bottle on his way out of the room.
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I didn't have a drum lesson last week because sadly there was a major sporting event going on pretty much directly across from the school and they decided to close, but! I had a lesson today and I played all of Dawn Patrol by Megadeth for the instructor along with the song!
Obviously there's a lot of room for improvement but I'm so happy that I'm developing some limb independence with the bass drum 16th notes. When I first started trying to play the song it was really freaking hard to get my right leg and right hand to play separately and I've already progressed so much in just a month :D
I'm reluctantly in charge of making the schedule for my shift at work and my coworker who previously did the schedule insists that you need to like, give it a background picture and make it look nice
Anyway I just finished the June schedule and made it super gay (rainbow themed), so at least I've got that going for me
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never be good at your job. it's a trap. they'll just give you more and harder stuff to do and it'll pull you away from your true passion of writing gay fanfiction for people on the internet
The same friends who consistently flake on us when we try to hang out with them asked my husband if he could come help them with pest control in their crawl space under their house :/
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