Don't Cream Your Pants

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this is a sideblog and follow backs will come from @alwaysxinxtrouble

"You're not wrong. I'm also giving food and recreation. We have a pool and the man likes to play lifeguard when I'm swimming. He just sits there and watches me do my laps. Not weird or creepy at all."

"And what is the problem with that? The damsel need to be rescued from her tower and all I did was open the door for her. She was the one who stepped through it."

Steve’s breath stutters softly the second Eddie’s hand slips inside his jeans, the reaction immediate enough that there’s no hiding it. His eyes close briefly as his forehead drops against Eddie’s again, one hand tightening slightly where it rests against his side before he exhales through his nose, shaky around the edges.

“Jesus, Eds…” he murmurs, voice rougher now, the nickname slipping out automatically. There’s warmth in it though, no hesitation, no pulling away. If anything, Steve leans closer, chasing the feeling instead of retreating from it. His fingers curl more firmly into the fabric at Eddie’s back while the other hand slides up along his waist slowly, grounding himself in the closeness between them.

When Eddie looks up at him like that, nervous and hopeful all at once, something in Steve’s expression softens immediately. He lifts a hand to Eddie’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly against his cheek before he kisses him again—slow, reassuring, lingering just long enough to take some of the uncertainty out of the moment. “You don’t gotta look so scared,” Steve says quietly against his mouth, a faint smile tugging there despite the heat building between them. “I want you touching me.”

Steve hears the water shut off, and something in him tightens before he can stop it. The sudden quiet shifts the whole room, makes every sound sharper—the rustle of fabric, the dull clang of metal, the steady rhythm of his own breathing that’s just a little too uneven. He doesn’t look toward the showers right away. Instead, he buttons his jeans, drags a hand back through his damp hair like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he didn’t just stand there listening.

That’s what finally does it. Steve turns just as Billy comes through the doorway, towel slung low, like nothing that just happened meant anything. Like he didn’t say it. Like he didn’t look at him like that. Steve pushes off the locker without hesitation, stepping forward to cut him off clean, planting himself right in Billy’s path. Not aggressive—but deliberate. Close. Closer than they’ve been yet.

“Funny,” Steve says, voice lower now, quieter—but heavier for it. His gaze lifts, locks in, doesn’t waver. “You talk a big game in there.”

His hand comes up—not touching, not quite—but hovering close enough to the edge of Billy’s shoulder that it feels intentional. "I would have lasted longer."

Steve leans into it without thinking, Billy’s hand in his hair pulling something quiet out of him that he doesn’t try to joke away or fill with noise. His eyes slip shut for a second, just letting it happen, the warmth grounding in a way that feels almost new, and when he opens them again he stays close instead of pulling back. His hand shifts in the water, fingers brushing lightly against Billy’s arm before settling there, easy and unforced. “You’re getting good at that,” Steve murmurs, a faint, softer smile tugging at his mouth without any edge of teasing. He studies him for a second after that, really looking, like he’s noticing the effort, the choice behind it. “I like this version of you,” he adds quietly, not making it bigger than it is, just letting it sit between them.

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh at that, the sound softer than usual, like it doesn’t quite make it all the way out. “Yeah,” he murmurs, a little crooked smile pulling at his mouth again. “Pretty sure I’ve already got the reputation. Might as well lean into it, right?” His thumb keeps moving against her hand, slow and absent, like he’s grounding himself without thinking about it. But the joke doesn’t stick for long. His gaze drops to where her hand rests against his chest, like he can feel it more because she’s noticing it, the steady rhythm under her palm.

“Hey,” Eddie says, softer this time, not teasing anymore. His fingers tighten slightly around hers, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. “You don’t have to pretend it’s nothing, you know. People are gonna talk. They always do.” He pauses, searching her face like he’s trying to make sure she really means it, that she’s not just saying what he wants to hear. “But yeah,” he adds after a moment, voice low, steadier now, “we’ll know the truth.”

Steve goes rigid at that. Not at the anger—he expects that—but at the flatness that follows. The way Billy says it, like it’s already decided, like he’s already slipping somewhere Steve can’t follow. His grip tightens without thinking, hands anchoring hard at Billy’s arms like that alone might keep him here.

“Don’t—” Steve starts, pulling back just enough to see his face, eyes searching, almost frantic for a second before it settles into something sharper. “Don’t do that. Don’t check out on me like that.” His voice drops on the last part, less command, more plea.

The words about his body hit, but Steve shakes his head immediately, quick and stubborn. “I don’t care about that,” he says, voice rough but steadier now, something grounding under it. “We’ve dealt with worse than ‘impossible,’ alright? That’s kind of our thing.” His jaw tightens, gaze locked on Billy like if he looks away this might disappear.

His hands shift, one catching the front of Billy’s shirt, holding him there—not aggressive, just desperate enough to matter. “And you don’t get to decide it’s over,” Steve adds, quieter now but more intense for it. “Not before we even try. Not when I just—” He cuts himself off, breath catching, something slipping through before he can stop it.

Because this isn’t just relief. It’s him. Alive, talking, looking at him like this is real. Steve swallows hard, grip tightening again, like he’s steadying himself as much as Billy.

“I thought you were gone,” he says, softer now, the edge breaking just enough to let something real through. “I spent all this time trying to be okay with that. Trying to just… live with it.” His eyes flick over Billy’s face, like he’s memorizing it all over again.

“And now you’re standing here telling me it doesn’t matter?” Steve continues, quieter, more shaken now. “That you’re just… stuck here and that’s it?” He shakes his head slowly, disbelief and refusal tangled together.

“No,” Steve says, voice low but firm. “I’m not doing that. I’m not losing you twice.” His hand loosens just slightly in Billy’s shirt, not letting go—just enough to soften the hold, thumb brushing once like he didn’t mean to.

“You don’t get to write yourself off like that,” he adds, quieter now, something steadier underneath it all. “Not when I just got you back.”

Eddie catches that half-smile, and something in him softens—not because it’s convincing, but because she’s still trying. Still here. “Yeah,” he says quietly, glancing over at her before looking back at the road. “It is. But that doesn’t make it normal.” His fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel, not restless, just present. “Just means you got used to carrying it.” Another small glance her way, softer this time. “Doesn’t mean you’re supposed to keep doing it forever.”

When she says she doesn’t know how, Eddie nods like that makes perfect sense. No surprise. No pressure. “Most people don’t,” he admits, voice easy and steady. “Not at first.” A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “It’s not like there’s a switch you flip and suddenly you’re good at being honest about how you feel. It’s more like… you get a couple minutes where you don’t have to pretend. Then maybe next time it’s a little longer.” His eyes flick briefly to the way she’s curled in on herself, but he doesn’t call it out, doesn’t try to pull her out of it. Just lets her have it.

The tease earns a quiet huff of a laugh. “Wow,” Eddie mutters, shaking his head a little. “My scary van? That’s cold.” There’s no bite to it, just warmth, something lighter threading back in. “And here I thought I was building a solid reputation.”

The road opens up ahead, trees thinning until the horizon stretches wide. Eddie slows, guiding the van off onto a narrow path, tires crunching softly before he brings it to a stop. When the engine cuts, the quiet settles differently—no walls, no pressure, just open space. He leans back slightly, glancing over at her. “Figured if you’re gonna try not pretending,” he says gently, “might as well do it somewhere no one’s expecting anything from you. Here you can scream all you want. Get all of that bullshit you deal with out and breathe a little. I do it from time to time."