Work Text:
“Fuck,” Eddie breathed, his voice low under the Christmas playlist that had unfortunately been on right around the time Steve had pressed back with a little too much intention when Eddie brushed by him in the kitchen. It made a strange contrast to the filthy way he was holding Steve down now on the counter, his hands spread out to grip Steve’s ass, tugging it apart to spit neatly into the place he held open, where Steve didn’t have to look to feel himself already loose and messy from Eddie’s neat tongue. Steve was trapped against the counter, face next to the tray of half-decorated Christmas cookies, laid out on his stomach for Eddie to play with, his dick pinned beneath him.
“Fuck,” Steve groaned in agreement, his face warm from more than the proximity to cooling gingerbread. The air was sweet, the background sound of a jazzy O Come Let Us Adore Him, the haze of white and red light from his tree behind every blink of his watering eyes, and the overall effect was strange and soft and beautiful, weirdly fitting with the way his brain went slow and stupid when Eddie had him like this, stupid and pleased and unable to do more than beg and squirm and sweat. “Too much, daddy.”
“Is it, though?” Eddie’s grin was obvious even when Steve couldn’t see it. “I can stop if you want me to.”
“Don’t stop,” Steve said quickly, embarrassingly quickly, if there was ever a world where he could be embarrassed in front of the person he trusted to take him apart like this.
“Good,” Eddie cooed, relaxing his grip with one hand so he could slap Steve’s hip before he dug his short nails into Steve’s ass again and pulled it back open, his glob of spit now dripping down to Steve’s balls. “I want to keep you loose like this all the time, always ready for me to stuff my dick into.” He loosened his grip again so he could work two fingers into Steve together, wiggling at the rim before Steve felt his body clamp down.
“Nnngh,” Steve managed, this time turning his face into a smudge of icing underneath. Eddie reached up with his other hand, swiping his thumb through it before tugging Steve’s face free with his thumb and knuckle underneath his chin. Steve turned his face for him, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open to pant. Eddie slid his thumb up to Steve’s mouth, running along his bottom lip. Steve tried to take it into his mouth, but Eddie just smeared it over his lips and slipped it down, over his chin and opening his hand to cover Steve’s throat.
“Good boy,” he told Steve, low and pleased, when Steve moaned around the taste of sugar. “Now fuck my fingers.”
Steve shuddered, and then he did, pushing back against Eddie’s fingers and then forward, into the palm at his neck and the cold counter underneath his dick. He licked his lips clean: he pushed against the tips of his toes where they barely touched the floor, calves straining where his red plaid Christmas pajama pants were tangled, trapping him from getting the proper balance. Eddie tutted at the awkward, desperate way that Steve moved and took pity on him, tightening his grip on Steve’s throat and using it to pull him backwards. Steve got his arms out from underneath his own weight and pushed back, his hips raising up until he was curved impossibly, making a slutty, ridiculous display of himself on the countertop in a position he would have been shocked to find himself a year earlier. But Eddie had changed things. Eddie had changed everything.
Eddie released his throat and pulled his fingers away, letting Steve chase them backwards as he slid down from the counter, falling back into Eddie’s chest until he was pinned between Eddie and the countertop, held in his arms to grind back against Eddie’s dick, which strained against his own black sweats.
“You look so good like this,” he murmured now, stroking up Steve’s spine. Steve was still so pink, his mouth still open, his tongue curling around sweetness and saliva.”So pretty.” Eddie pulled himself out of his underwear before Steve could argue, holding one hip in place as he aligned himself. “Now you can fuck my dick.”
Steve was past speaking. He got like this, mute with arousal and shock, unaccustomed to how different and filthy good sex could be, unable to articulate how much he liked it. But Eddie had never minded doing all the talking.
Steve had to lean forward again to rock backward at the right angle, twitching himself forward and then back again as he found the place where they caught and shifted his hips to keep Eddie and allow him in, forward and back and forward and back again until he built momentum and confidence both. Eddie held still and let him for a moment, and Steve wanted to be good for him, wanted to put on a show, but it was all he could do to shift up and down his dick, making little noises as his breaths puffed out of him. When Eddie reached down to touch Steve, he found him achingly hard, his head smudged with moisture, his balls already drawn up tight. “You’re doing so perfect,” Eddie told him, “You’re perfect,” and Steve collapsed at the praise the way Eddie had so obviously known he would.
After Steve came into Eddie’s fist, after Eddie followed and used his come-covered fingers to push his own spend back into Steve’s body, after they showered together and kissed against cool tiles and toweled themselves off and turned off the Bluetooth speaker and collapsed back into Steve’s ridiculous Christmas sheets that matched his pajamas, Steve finally found his voice again. Eddie was studying his fingers, kissing each one goodnight with the calm focus he always showered Steve in after they played.
Eddie finished saying goodnight to his last finger and Steve shifted, gave him his other hand. “What did you get me for Christmas?” he asked, yawning around the last word.
“Oh, were we doing gifts?” Eddie asked, sarcasm belied by the smile in his voice. “I thought maybe you didn’t celebrate Christmas.”
“I can see why you would think that,” Steve agreed solemnly, the violently colorful Christmas lights on his tree and mantle glowing through the open doorway to the living room. “But it’s also our anniversary, so.”
“So actually you should get two gifts,” Eddie declared. He nibbled at Steve’s fingers and then licked his palm, making Steve yank his hands out of reach with a shriek. Eddie wriggled back into the pillows and held his arm out, encouraging Steve to curl in close. Steve hesitated, feeling the exhaustion of the day and the orgasm wrung through him, and wanting something more.
“Can I?” He gestured, too shy to say it, and Eddie’s smile curled into softness.
“Yeah, baby. Come keep your daddy warm.”
Steve wriggled all the way down beneath the blanket that Eddie held open for him, resting his cheek on Eddie’s hip, watching and waiting as Eddie pulled his dick free of his sweats. He opened his mouth, allowing Eddie to feed it into his mouth, soft and heavy on his tongue, and shut his eyes to suckle gently.
Eddie carded his hands through Steve’s hair, soothing, and Steve slipped immediately into the haze that came before sleep, half-drifting in satisfaction. Sucking Eddie’s dick to fall asleep was one of the private things he had never imagined emerging between them, but was perfect in a way that he had no words to define. He was just cared for, coddled, with no need to be the responsible father and educator and adult that he was when he wasn’t like this, wasn’t under Eddie’s hypnotic safety, special and spoiled and so, so loved by his daddy.
He couldn’t have said when he fell asleep: there was only a moment where his mouth was full of silk and skin, and then there was a blink of full night, where he awoke already pulled back up into Eddie’s arms, and then he was falling asleep again, curled in close for safekeeping.
“He’ll like anything you get him,” Steve promised. Max hesitated, holding up two identical spiked belts. They looked a lot like all of the other belts that Eddie had already, but Steve wasn’t going to say that.
He also wasn’t going to say that most of Eddie’s belts wound up around his wrists. He picked up a snowglobe instead and shook it at her. “Here. Perfect.”
“It’s not.” Max gave him a severe look. “What did you get him, anyway?”
“I— nothing.” Something. Something too big. He’d been worried about it, actually: what did you get for the man who wanted nothing, but who made every day feel like a gift? What would he give Eddie, if he wimped out on the thing he most wanted to offer? “Should we get him two belts?”
Max snorted. “Okay, I think we’re in the wrong section of the mall.”
“Maybe.” Steve looked around, past the mall Santa and the golden lights, the bejewelled Christmas displays and the half-wilted hats on the department store workers. They wandered, aimless and a little helpless, until Max paused in the housewares section, hesitant in front of a display.
“What about this?” She picked up a door mat that was gaudy and bright, an enormous font that said WELCOME HOME. “As like, a symbol.”
“You’re ready for that?” He was touched at the idea: making a home together, one that Max wanted to live in. “It’s okay if you’re not.”
“Wayne said he’d build me a skate ramp if we ever move to the park,” she admitted, and Steve laughed.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that. I’ll talk to Wayne.”
“See that you do,” she said, haughty, and neither of them talked about the rest of it: the way they’d found the rest of their little family in the Munson men: the way Hawkins had finally started to feel like the life that they’d come here looking for.
He bought the door mat. And a belt, to be safe.
Steve woke up slow, his body waking before his brain. He blinked back to consciousness to find that he was hard, his blood aflame, stretched out on his stomach in bed with one knee pulled up and a weight over him that he knew, without turning around, was Eddie.
He knew immediately that he was getting the gift that he had begged for months for, here in the midnight hours between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. They had had a wholesome evening and then gone to bed, cozy and full of cookies and a scene like this the last thing on Steve’s mind. Now, though: now he could feel the buzz through him that Eddie always inspired in him, his body waking to wildfire.
On his stomach, he could feel the press of Eddie all over him, the way his pajama pants had been tugged down to where they stretched over his thighs, trapping him in place and surely ruining the elastic. His fantasy had been to wake up to Eddie fucking him, but here was Eddie’s compromise, a slicked-up ruin between his legs and Eddie rolling his hips to rut into the tight space where his ass was exposed, waiting for Steve to wake up and be ruined properly.
“There you are,” Eddie murmured in his ear. He slid a thumb over the seam of Steve’s ass to check how wet he was— which was too wet, embarrassingly so, the slick noise of the lube obscene in the dark. “Good. You’re going to do all the work, sweet boy.”
“How is that a present?” Steve grumbled, hearing the sleepy whine in his voice, rough and unselfconscious. He was made of need and the clinging remnants of dreams, and Eddie chucked to hear it, kissing Steve sweetly behind his ear and then on the nape of his neck. “It’s Christmas.”
“And you can have anything you want,” Eddie promised. “If you take it.”
Steve groaned and moved, hips twitching as Eddie pushed back in reward. In short order he was rutting back and forth like a dog, humping into his jumbled sheets to grind into any semblance of sensation. It would have burned, the friction, the pressure of his daddy draped over him, but he was weeping precome and smeared with lube, lube Eddie must have dripped over him in his sleep, and that thought was enough to make him groan louder, grind harder.
“See, that’s my boy.” Eddie shifted and then that was it, Steve’s control was gone, Eddie taking over with a push and a press and a sudden speed, bypassing the shock of insertion, of being forced past the slow stretch that Eddie normally moved him through so gently and sweetly. He was just forced open, forced awake, Eddie’s hand gripping the back of Steve’s neck where he had just kissed him. Steve made a noise, unbidden, and Eddie pushed his face into the pillows, muffling him and blocking his noise, his light, his very breath.
“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie hissed in his ear, his hips slowing so he was fucking Steve slow and deep now, making the sweet-painful overwhelm all the more obvious, easier and less easy to bear at once. “No crybaby bullshit. You want to wake the whole neighborhood? You wanna scare off Santa?”
He let Steve up to breathe, and Steve sucked in a breath, laughing helplessly as he panted and stretched his arms out under the pillows, gripping the edge of the mattress and holding on for dear life. Eddie had pushed his knee up and out to the side more to access Steve’s hold beyond the plushness of his ass, and Steve could feel the dig of Eddie’s hipbones as he pressed as far in as humanly possible in this position, and maybe he did want to die like this, give his breath and his body away until they were Eddie’s entirely.
“Santa?” he asked, voice low and unbelieving. “You are such a fucking dork, daddy, even like this, even—”
“Even like this?” Eddie pushed his head down again, Steve loved the way Eddie took control from him, woke him with sex, stole the breath from his lungs, decided when he slept and breathed and came— trustworthy with it all, the way he also fed him treats and brought him socks when he was cold and sent him to bed when he stayed up until his eyes blurred. Steve could take care of his kids, at home and at school, but he needed Eddie to take care of him in turn, and this was the way Eddie showed him the depth of that control, the care he took to wield it well.
Eddie let him up again, and the next breath Steve sucked in was sweet, given like a gift. He was lightheaded, aching, a ball of pleasure building like wildfire smoke within his stomach. “Are you done being a brat?” Eddie asked, the mildness of his voice making the deep slide of him feel all the more powerful in contrast. “I can’t make you feel good unless you shut up and let me. Or maybe you don’t want to come? It would be so easy to say you aren’t allowed, is that what you’re angling for, honey? You want to take my come and go to bed still hard but not allowed to touch? Dripping and sore and still aching?”
“No,” Steve gasped, desperate now. It felt like he had never woken up entirely, like he was still half-underwater, dreaming about being fucked so thoroughly that he could feel it to his teeth. The idea of not being able to come was anathema, was impossible, and he reached back to slap at Eddie’s thigh in entreaty. “Please. Daddy, please.”
“Shh, shh, I know.” Eddie pulled out, letting Steve flip over. Freed from the way he had been pressed into the bed, he became overly aware of his dick, the ache of it, the need weeping free. He pulled his knees back for Eddie to shift back into place, pressing in with less pain this time, with only the promise of soreness that was paid off immediately by the sweetness of feeling full once more. Eddie leaned in to kiss him, seizing Steve’s dick between them with a rough grip that made Steve whine, low and pathetic with the delicious hurt. “So sweet,” Eddie whispered, hurting him, healing him, fucking him in a new rhythm that meant short, shallow snaps of his hips. This new angle, the exposure of the way Steve held himself open, the overwhelming burnt-sugar invasion— all of it had him coming quickly, seizing up, opening up, stiffening and loosening and melting into a magical, unbelievable mess.
He hiccuped and let his legs fall, but it didn’t stop or even slow Eddie down. Eddie just smeared a hand through the mess on Steve’s stomach and brought his hand up to Steve’s lips, pressing the hot mess in his palm to Steve’s gasping mouth.
Steve sucked in a breath through his nose and curled his tongue into it, drinking himself, that warm taste of his own body familiar now. He was oversensitive, and Eddie knew it, smirking as he fucked into Steve as Steve melted, slowly, into the mattress.
“Not enough?” Eddie asked, despite every obvious sign that it was too much, that Steve was drifting low, slow, honeyed and exhausted. “Let me feed you more.”
He pulled out again: a temporary relief. Temporary, because then he was settling Steve back, ensuring that he was comfortable against the pillows, his neck supported and his body tucked in beneath the sheets once again. Steve shut his eyes and opened his mouth, feeling the shift of Eddie’s body over him, climbing up his body to pin his shoulders and slip his dick into Steve’s mouth, heavy over his tongue, filling him to his throat and staying, every breath through his nose shallower and shallower.
Eddie pinched his nose and stroked his throat, waiting for Steve to gag before letting go and giving him a breath again, over and over until Steve’s nose was running and he felt high, until he opened his eyes to see the look of complete focus on Eddie’s face, feeding him and choking him and controlling every bit of his body and its breath, his lover and his daddy and his god.
He drifted: he suffered: he floated in a perfection that made him feel ascendant beyond his body, and it could have been moments or hours later that Eddie ground forward and came. He was unaware of the taste when he swallowed, unaware of the tears on his face until Eddie wiped them away.
“You’re so pretty when you cry,” Eddie was telling him, his voice coming from far away, and that made Steve cry in earnest, his body wrung out with beauty and joy and pleasure, just enough pain to make him feel it all with a clarity that made satisfaction sing through him, the perfect gift he could ever be given the way Eddie held him now, pressing kisses to his head and promising to let him sleep in, promising to wake with Max and start breakfast, promising he’d be there when Steve woke, promising the perfect Christmas in a low, rough voice that Steve couldn’t help but believe.
Steve woke up to screaming.
He shot up immediately, only belatedly realizing that he had been tidied up and tucked back into his pajama pants when he glanced down before throwing the bedroom door open. His heart felt fit to beat out of his chest, a panic he hadn’t felt since Max was a baby and everything had felt terrifying, but when he opened his bedroom door he found… Christmas.
Sure, Max was screaming, but she was jumping up and down, too. Kickflip, from below the couch, glared at her, and Eddie was laughing from his place on the couch.
“You’re gonna wake up your old man, kid,” he was saying, and Steve huffed out a laugh and came out of the bedroom.
“Who are you calling old?”
“Dad! Look what Eddie got me!” Max turned to him, alight, the joy on her face so beautiful that Steve stopped in his tracks to smile back at her.
“What did he get you, sweetheart?”
She held up a Polaroid, and Steve stepped in to take it. “A pile of wood?”
“It’s for my ramp!” she shrieked, far too loudly. “At Wayne’s!”
“Well,” Eddie said, holding up the welcome mat that Max had bought him. “Maybe we wait and build it somewhere new.”
Steve kissed Max’s head and went to lean into Eddie. His eyes were suspiciously bright, even as Max took Steve’s presence as permission to start tearing into the other gifts she had gotten.
“You’re a softy,” he said, checking Eddie with his hip. “Building a ramp is going to be hell, and I am not helping.”
“That’s what you think.” Eddie pinched his hip. “I’ll put you to work. What kind of boyfriend doesn’t help build something for his own kid?”
“What kind of boyfriend signs me up for a project?” Steve countered. He was only teasing, but when he looked over at Eddie, Eddie’s expression had shifted into solemnity.
“Actually, I was thinking about that. Being boyfriends, I mean.”
“What about it?” Steve turned to face Eddie entirely, alarmed now at his shift in mood. Max, halfway into opening a video game, turned to watch them as well. “Eddie, you’re not about to—”
“I’m so bad at this,” Eddie said to himself, and then dropped to one knee. “I don’t think we should be boyfriends anymore.”
Max was screaming again. Steve laughed, and then cried, and then kneeled in front of Eddie on the floor.
“I’m supposed to kneel,” Eddie told him, but Steve snorted, wet, and reached between the couch cushions to pull out a ring box of his own. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Steve was sure they made quite the picture: kneeling in pajamas, Max on the floor beside them, surrounded by the detritus of Christmas: wrapping paper on the floor, a tree crowded with chintzy ornaments, a fat orange cat with a box stuck to his back.
“Is that a yes, then?” Eddie asked, warm and amused. He was practically glowing, his eyes as sweet and rich as the hot chocolate that Steve could smell coming from the kitchen. He leaned forward to kiss Eddie, smiling into his mouth when Max went from whooping to gagging.
“That’s a yes,” he confirmed. “If you’re a yes.”
“That’s a hell yes,” Eddie confirmed. “Now kiss me again.”
Eddie put an apron over his boxer shorts to make breakfast, because he was ridiculous. The new rings on their fingers made everything feel strange and slow, one moment drizzled as heavy and sweet as the syrup that Eddie was pouring onto their waffles now. Steve kept looking over at him and smiling, then looking down again at his hand. Life didn’t feel real: it didn’t feel possible. And yet here they were— reality cutting through the haze as he focused on Max and frowned.
“I said you can’t eat upside down, Maxine. You’ll drop food all over the floor.”
“I don’t think Kickflip would mind,” Max pointed out, upside-down beside him. She was flipping through the channels on the TV, squinting at the flipped imagery until she found a fuzzy old Christmas special. “He likes bacon.”
“Everyone likes bacon.” Eddie slid the piece he’d just finished off of the pan and onto a plate. “Maybe I’ll just feed this all to Kickflip, then.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Steve twisted to a sitting position, groaning. He was still pretending to be sore from hauling the tree home, mostly as a ploy to make Eddie baby him. Wayne had done most of the lifting, and both of them knew it. In reality, his soreness had a different origin, and they both knew that, too.
Eddie rolled his eyes as he came over. “You’re such a baby, baby.”
Max snickered, still upside-down. “Yeah, dad, you’re a baby.”
“My baby,” Eddie agreed, making her change her expression, grimacing as Eddie perched on the arm of the couch, balancing the place on his knee with one hand as he fed Steve a piece with the other.
“Gross,” she whined, and Eddie pointed his fork at her as Steve chewed.
“Sit up or Kickflip is about to get the best meal of his life,” he warned, and Kickflip, tucked into Max’s side, lifted his head hopefully at the smell. Steve chuckled as she shrieked and launched herself sideways, making Kickflip go running and sending one of her feet into Steve’s side.
“Ow,” he told her, or tried, through his laughter. He caught Eddie’s eye: warm, pleased, gleaming with a love that made the room feel brighter than the Christmas lights, a shine that matched the ring on his finger. Both their fingers. He opened his mouth for another piece, making Eddie shake his head, then spear it on his fork.
Steve loved the holidays.
He also loved his job, Hawkins, and most of all, Eddie Munson.