Eardrumming
@steddiebingo
Written for the Steddiebingo Mini Event A Splash of Summer, prompt: lake
Part 3 of my series Melting In the Sun - All the Way Down Down Down
CW: mention of breathplay, technically
Read it on AO3
“I have a question,” Steve says tentatively into the phone. On the other end, Eddie sounds like he’s opening and closing a clicking door.
It’s just after three, so he must still be at work. They’re doing recordings for a small garage rock band and Eddie’s been complaining about the lead singer who keeps missing his notes and says it’s because his mic is too quiet even though it’s too goddamn loud already, ask us poor fucks in the control room.
“Hit me.”
Steve sighs, braces himself a little.
“Would it be totally awkward and horrible of me to suggest we go to Lake Michigan with my roommate this Saturday?” he asks, “I just— She finally dumped her piece of shit boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend now, but she’s still feeling kinda down, so I—”
“Wanna get her out of the house. Ditch the old hoodie and sad pants. Remind her she don’t need no men in her life.”
“Yeah.” Jason Carver is a dick, more douche than Steve was at his worst in high school and that’s seriously saying something, and Chrissy always knew it, but it still took her two years to work up the courage to walk away. It’s probably not even within his rights but Steve’s really fucking proud of her.
“By subjecting her to the presence of two of them.”
“You know what I mean—”
“Steve, I’m fuckin’ with you.” Eddie chuckles. There’s some thumping noise in the background too, made by a voice. Probably drummers speaking in their true language. “‘Course you can bring her. I’ll be honored to finally meet the famous Chrissy Cunningham,” he adds in a grand voice. And then, casually, “Also, I got pounded on a carpet she co-owns so I owe her anyway.”
“Eddie!” Christ.
“Good thing we put a towel over it,” Eddie says, completely unbothered.
Steve huffs. Yes, they did. Steve has needed to strip plenty of sheets post-fuck and send them straight to the washer, but he likes to think he’s not a complete asshole of a roommate who gets bodily fluids onto shared furniture. Y’know, aside from the hell of a nosebleed one time that he accidentally Jackson-Pollocked the bathroom vanity with.
“I will not fuck you on that rug again,” Steve says, leaving out the fact that it’s because Eddie got carpet (or well, towel) burn on his knees and back from it, his fucking flanks. They’re too flexible for these kinds of side effects.
Also, unlike Eddie probably, Steve’s got no one around the empty apartment who can hear him right now. Chrissy has got class and Steve doesn’t have swimming practice until seven, so he pretended to be a functioning adult who knows what he’s doing about everything in his life by vacuuming his bedroom and the communal parts of the place and hunting dust bunnies down with a Swiffer poodle thing. And then he called Eddie because they wanna enjoy the last bits of summer near a body of water together, so they’re going to plant themselves at the shore of Lake Michigan on Saturday, now with a bit of post-breakup cheering up duty as sprinkles.
“But I’ve been such a good boy,” Eddie fake-whines. It’s kind of a lie, outside of their sex life at least, sometimes within it, ‘cause Eddie’s been stealing Steve’s two favorite hoodies to wear them (like Steve didn’t sleep in one the other night even though it was way too warm because it smelled of Eddie, errrhm, moving on) and he keeps sneaking metal songs into the Spotify playlist he shared with his own phone when Steve’s was lying there all innocent and unlocked on the middle console of the Bimmer.
“Eddie, can you maintain a shred of consideration for your coworkers’ aural health and, y’know, both our dignity?” Steve asks sweetly, kind of serious, but also kind of not.
Eddie’s voice is just as sweet, “What, you don’t want them to know how you edge me until I can’t walk anymore?”
Steve groans and folds himself over the kitchen counter, throwing the dust poodle in the general direction of the basket next to the fridge where they keep all the cleaning products. So, maybe he is somewhat serious about this.
“I will have you know, all my colleagues are either out smoking, which I can no longer enjoy since I came out victorious over my nicotine cravings, or unable to hear me from behind soundproof glass while they fuck around in the studio. Can’t say the same thing about me, though, I’m getting all the horrible sound feedback.”
“Mm-hm,” Steve hums skeptically, propping himself up on his elbows on very fake marble. Eddie really likes his job and the other sound engineers at the place too. “Glad to know I can still show up at the Christmas party without having to introduce myself as your bro homie.”
It slips out before he realizes it. Shit. God, here he is just casually predicting that they’re still gonna be a thing at Christmas, let alone that Eddie’s gonna bring him along to his goddamn work events. Does the studio even do Christmas parties? Would Eddie go??? Maybe, if only to take over DJing and blast Slipknot for the festive vibes.
Except, well, they are dating, officially. Steve popped the questions of all questions last month.
Do you want to go steady? Not in these words of course. No, he actually managed to be even more awkward about it. Stumbling through his sentences and not finishing them before he eventually landed on asking for Eddie’s opinion on the sexiness of the whole monogamy thing.
Eddie snorted and then kept snickering, though he gently pulled Steve, squirming and anxious, in by his belt-loops and then whispered close to his ear, You make it extremely sexy. Sort of teasing still, but also utterly genuine. So, Steve has a boyfriend now. And an exclusive relationship. Things are pretty amazing.
And that’s the whole point, right? To not have an expiration date on things, at least not a pre-set one. This, Steve feeling iffy about making assumptions is just him getting in his own head again about being left behind. His, technically, unreasonable fear of Eddie getting tired of him. Probably has something to do with his parents barely being home all his childhood. That university shrink from the campus mental health services might be onto something here. He might go back. Eddie encouraged him to, same as Robin. And Eddie kinda gets the whole abandonment problem anyway. Certainly doesn’t hold it against him, ‘cause he’s been told that he’s ‘too much’ all his life. ADHD. He got diagnosed not long after he graduated, too fuckin’ late but whatever. Wayne said a lot of things make sense now, got medication and all.
Right now, Eddie’s got a big smile on his face. Steve can hear it.
“Oh, hi Patricia,” he chirps to an empty control room, and there’s definitely something unhinged coming, “yeah, I’ll take a gingerbread cookie, thank you. Anyway, this is my buddy Steve. No, not homie, actually. We get very homo with each other if ya know what I mean. Just say the word and you can watch some time.”
Mhm, Steve’s in love with an absolute menace.
“Edward Munson, you shut your filthy mouth right now,” he says resolutely, putting a little scandalized edge in there for the fun of it. Eddie hates his full name, just like Steve assumed. Very few people get to call him that.
“Make me,” Eddie says lowly, somewhat predictably, which doesn’t take anything away from the goosebumps forming at the back of Steve’s neck.
“Y’know,” he says, swallowing thickly (pulling his phone closer to his mouth so Eddie hears it), “as much as I’d love to verbally undo you right now, cigarettes don’t burn that long.” They’ve done phone sex, Steve reduced Eddie to gasps while he was driving home from his goddamn ophthalmologist appointment via bluetooth connection in the Bimmer. Full surround sound from the speakers, it was glorious, but as much as Eddie likes to scar ears with his wit, he’s not actually into exhibitionism (and neither is Steve). Also, he’d prefer not to be responsible for Eddie’s firing.
“You’re no fun,” Eddie complains mildly. There are more door sounds on his end and incomprehensible voices. Steve smiles. Time to shine.
“Oh, I’ll show you fun, Eddie,” he promises in a low voice. He’s gonna come down to the Southside tonight anyway after practice. Make love to Eddie with a hand over his throat, applying pressure that always lets him breathe.
It hitches, Eddie’s breath, crackly through the line.
“Oh, yeah? What have you planned?” he asks. Completely neutral, to outsiders who’re definitely crowding the control room now. But Steve knows better. “You’re a such planner, man.”
Jeeze, Eddie always calls him that. Is probably grinning too right this moment, the little shit.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Steve chides idly. He’s still leaning a bit over the counter, its edge firm against his lower front and it feels good. “Didn’t it pay off when I brought those ropes over?” Steve also brought the blanket Eddie likes to hog when he’s at Steve’s and sour gummy bears for after, though he never makes these things part of the tease. Eddie hasn’t said anything about that being a no-go for him but it’s definitely one for Steve.
“It did,” Eddie admits. God, he’s so easy. Then, curiously, Steve can picture it, head tilting and eyes peering, all deceptively sinless, “You still got them?” It’s nerve-zapping. Steve’s forehead meets the cool countertop.
“Of course,” he mumbles, just as Eddie turns his head away from the phone and smoothly lies to one of his colleagues who just asked him a question, “VHS tapes. He’s so old school with that shit.”
“So, you gonna whip ‘em out tonight?” Eddie asks into the phone again. It makes Steve laugh. And swell a bit inside his pants because he’s the one so fucking whipped.
“You’ll have to wait to find out,” he says as suavely as he can manage, which isn’t very suave right now but whatever.
And then he hangs up with an unwilling tap of his finger because Eddie’s got a job to keep and Steve’s gotta stay true to his morals regarding basic respect for shared furniture.
