Milk

“I’ve never-“ Steve sighed. “Never had sex with a guy, not all the way. So I guess I don’t actually know. But I just kinda feel like I’d enjoy being a bottom more.”

Eddie was ready to propose marriage, maybe offer to give him a home and as many babies as he wants. Maybe he could bribe scientists to figure out how they could biologically have their own kids together.

“What makes you feel that way?” Eddie managed to ask in a high-pitched voice.

Steve shrugged. “Just think I’d like being under someone, being held. I dunno. Sounds stupid out loud.”

“Like fuck it does.”

Steve’s head whipped around, eyes wide. “What?”

“It doesn’t sound stupid at all. It sounds like you want someone to take care of you and make you feel nice. You don’t have to be a bottom for that, though, if you end up not liking having something in your ass,” Eddie really needed to stop smoking with Steve.

“I do like things in my ass, though.”

Eddie has to stop smoking. Period.

“You said-“

“I said I’ve never had sex with a guy. I didn’t say I haven’t had stuff in my ass,” Steve smirked. “You think I went to Indy with Robin last month and didn’t stop at a sex shop?”

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I did think that.”

“Big mistake.”

“Clearly.”

They sat in a comfortable silence, looking up at the ceiling of Steve’s bedroom. Steve’s hand was still on his thigh, even though the angle probably wasn’t great with how they’d migrated more perpendicular than parallel.

“You should fuck me.”

Eddie sat up.

“I should what? I think I have something in my ears.”

Steve sat up, slower, turning so he was facing Eddie, hand still on his thigh.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“That’s not what you said the first time.”

“It’s what I meant.”

“Steve, I’m honored. But I think the weed is a bit strong for you tonight-“

“Eddie. Kiss me. Touch me. Fuck. Me.”

Eddie was not one for authority, but he was quite good at following directions when it involved getting his lips and hands on a pretty boy.

He kissed Steve. He touched Steve.

He opened Steve up slowly, even when Steve begged for more, faster, harder.

“Need you,” he whined.

God, he whined so pretty.

Eddie was tempted to open him up on a fourth finger, but decided his own cock couldn’t take another second without being inside him.

“Gonna fuck you, sweetheart,” Eddie gasped as he slid the only condom in Steve’s drawer down his length. “Gonna fuck you so good.” He covered himself in lube. “Give you what you need.”

When he bottomed out, Steve sighed.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Eddie kissed his forehead, silent question in his eyes.

"Hold still," Steve says, firm, without any room for interpretation, as he grinds down again. Working himself on Eddie's dick, riding him.

Eddie reaches for Steve's hips, and Steve swats his hands away. Eddie whines low in his throat, needy. Steve has been edging them both for what feels like hours. It's an amount of control Eddie didn't realize anyone could have over their own body, over their own orgasm. 

Steve will ride him, fucking himself on Eddie's cock until Eddie can tell he's teetering on the brink, grazing right up against the point of no return…

And then stop. 

Coming to a total standstill.

Fully seated. Just the tip. Halfway in between. All of the above. He just stops, right where he is, and waits. 

Letting the urge, the need, pass. 

And that's what Steve's doing again now. Sitting stock still, and Eddie's cock is throbbing, buried deep inside of Steve. Just waiting. Willing him to start moving again. He's sure Steve can feel every beat of his heart through his dick. He has to. It's rushing in Eddie's ears, the thump, thump, thump of it.

Drowning out everything else in his head, except Steve, Steve, Steve. 

Steve's squeezing the base of his own dick, staving off his orgasm, denying himself, fully in control, and Eddie can't do a damn thing but float under him, and watch. 

Feel. 

And then Steve's moving, but Eddie knows he'll stop short, again. And again, and again. There are miles to go before Steve decides he can come, and before he decides Eddie can, either.

But Eddie's orgasm sneaks up on him, and he tenses, "Shit, I'm gonna come."

"No, you're not," Steve says, stopping, mid grind. Hovering, halfway down Eddie's cock. 

Eddie breathes, until it passes.

"Okay," Eddie says when he's sure he's okay for Steve to continue, and Steve slides right back down, locking them flush together again.

Steve leans forward and brushes the damp hair off of Eddie's forehead, thumb brushing against skin, soft and kind. 

"You're being so good," Steve says. "Making us both feel so good. I never want it to end."

And it might not. Steve's in charge. This is on his timetable. But he's still Steve. Still thoughtful, still wants to be giving in bed. He wants to give Eddie this, give him everything, and Eddie knows that. Knows this is for him. Knows that this is Steve taking care of him. Knows that Steve would have been just as content to sprawl out on the bed, and let Eddie fuck him. 

But they're doing this instead. This dance that Eddie enjoys. Gets off on. 

Even if it feels like torture.

Especially because it feels like torture, maybe. 

And he's doing it well, Steve said so, and the praise thrums under his skin.

Steve starts moving again, sliding slowly upwards, and then back down again. It's more controlled now, slower, and Eddie longs to grab Steve's hips and shove upwards, burying himself to the hilt. Or, jackrabbit his way to an orgasm, quick, and fast, and dirty.

But he doesn't. He waits, because he's good. Steve's told him so. 

And he lets Steve guide them back to the edge, again and again.

Eddie will teeter with Steve on the precipice for an eternity, and love every goddamn minute of it.

Steve’s voice floats up to him, shaky and confused. Eddie frowns.

Then he remembers.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he squawks, clambering up on shaky limbs and propelling himself through the window. Because he left his sketchbook open on his bed and oh God, please, don’t let him have the sketchbook.

Steve has the sketchbook. He's staring at the open page with a blank expression, the page that Eddie filled last night in another weed-fuelled frenzy.

“Dude,” he mutters. “Are those pin-ups?”

For a moment, Eddie's tempted to claim that it isn't what it looks like, but seriously?

The pictures may be stylized and cartoonish, but there’s no denying who the guy in the revealing outfits and provocative poses is. The voluminous swoop of hair. The scars poking out from the low-riding gym shorts in one sketch. The sailor outfit and the ice cream scoop balanced loosely in one hand in another.

Steve glances up at him, hand hovering over the largest picture - the one of little pin-up Steve propped up on his nail bat, the skirt of his cheerleading uniform riding up his muscled thigh. Eddie’s soul departs his body.

“Listen, I'm sorry,” he says. Steve slaps the book shut and he flinches.

“Yeah, you damn well should be.” Eddie screws his lids shut, bracing himself for a punch- ... but the fingers that touch his jaw are featherlight. “You got the moles on my thigh all wrong.”

Eddie’s eyes fly open.

Steve winks at him. His smile is bright like the stars, his blush hot like the sun as he slowly leans in.

Steve is three fingers deep inside Eddie and he can feel his boyfriend trembling from being so close, lost in the pleasure Steve is giving him. But his body is still tense, like a coil ready to snap. Has been since he came home an hour ago, shoulders hunched up to his ears and hands clenched into fists. That's why Steve wants to take the edge off, because he can tell Eddie won't be able to relax otherwise.

His lips wrap around Eddie, his tongue flat against the length of him as he sinks down until he almost chokes on it. Holding Eddie there, as deep in his throat as he can take him, Steve swallows around him. Once, twice. The third time is indeed the charm as he feels the hot, hard flesh pulse against his tongue and he barely manages to pull back just enough so that the warm cum floods his mouth instead of his throat.

Steve drinks down every drop, sucking gently on the head until his boyfriend whimpers softly because it has become too much. Only then does Steve let Eddie slip out of his mouth, resting his chin on his hipbone to look up at him under his eyelashes.

"Good?" He asks, even though he knows. He could tell by the deep blush on Eddie's chest and throat and cheeks, the labored breathing, the glassy eyes. He's finally pliant under Steve's hands as they stroke up and down his thighs, the tension finally bleeding from his body and his mind blissfully empty.

"Mhhh." Eddie's affirmation sounds dreamy, like he's about to float away, if not for the hand that reaches for Steve's face, gently cupping his cheek, thumb stroking the cheekbone adoringly. "What about you?" He asks, a little slurred with his exhaustion, but still caring for him.

Steve knows it has been a long day for Eddie with the third double shift at the 24/7 auto shop this week because the other mechanic hurt his foot the other day. Eddie says it's a good thing he can pick up some extra shifts so they have more money to put away for bad times, just in case. Money is always tight with only one income and Steve's classes they have to pay for. They're always one flu away from a financial crisis.

It's stressful. It means they both have days when it's all too much and the other has to help them unwind.

Sliding up Eddie's body and pulling his boyfriend into his arms, Steve kisses his temple before promising him, "I'm good, babe. Get some sleep. I'm here."

Eddie does as he's told without protest, a true testament to his bone-deep exhaustion, just snuggling into Steve's side and pressing his mouth to Steve's collarbone.