Chapter Text
February 1994
The only person Eddie hates more than Ronald Reagan is Tipper Gore and her PMRC cronies.
He’s reminded of this fact every time he gets an album into his shop with the garish Parental Advisory: Rut Warning sticker plastered on the corner. He’s become almost blind to the generic black label that most explicit music carries, but the neon red Rut label always grates on him.
Eddie first remembers reading about the PMRC fuss as he loitered at the Starcourt Sam Goody, reading about the planned explicit stickers while stealing glances across the way at the less-than-modest uniforms at Scoops Ahoy.
After Starcourt burnt down he didn’t hear much of it until he was at Gareth’s house watching musicians testify before Congress. When the uptight Paula Hawkins began talking about W.A.S.P’s Animal (F**k Like a Beast), he just about lost it.
All in all, he thought the whole charade was pointless. Just because Gore’s teenager went into a rut because her mother bought her the Purple Rain album without knowing the first thing about Prince didn’t mean the rest of us had to suffer.
And now as a record store owner, he really finds the label to be more performative than useful. It’s why Eddie never stops teenagers from buying CDs and tapes with the usual parental advisory label because it is censorship to him. He couldn't imagine what his teen years would have been like if he hadn't listened to Metallica. But the rut warning label? Well, Chicago had a law about asking for ID and Eddie’s been told by Steve he will not chance that fine for his husband flouting the law. Steve has smoothed things over with many worked-up parents in the past, but he knew his mate drew the line at talking with the police if he didn’t have to.
Which is why he’s frowning at the neon red sticker glaring at him from atop the sampler pack of upcoming May releases. Unwilling to think and listen just yet, he grabs the next CD in question - Soundgarden’s Superunknown. He finds himself letting the album playthrough twice, enjoying Cornell’s vocals, before switching to the next album - Beck’s Mellow Gold.
This time he only gets two songs in before he decides he wants Mini Wheeler’s opinion on it. He’s trying to recognize that what’s not his taste might be someone else's, if not for introspection's sake, then to prevent Max from scolding him for shoving weirder alt-rock to the depths of the store where customers can’t find it.
It’s mid-afternoon when he finally grabs the red-stickered album and sees that it’s a single highlighting a few songs from the upcoming NIN album The Downward Spiral. Eddie liked their last album and the title of the first song - March of the Pigs - has him eager to press play. The guitar rips through his headphones and he’s only slightly disappointed when the song is less ACAB and more I hate everyone. But he can still get behind it.
He flips through the album release insert and is about to pencil in some notes when the music suddenly stops. For a moment Eddie thinks his headphones have died, but soon enough a synthetic beat begins to filter through, and Reznor’s voice comes out considerably slower than before.
You let me violate you. You let me desecrate you. You let me penetrate you. You let me complicate you.
To say Eddie wasn’t expecting the pivot in tone would be an understatement. The song before was loud, fast, and raw. This in comparison felt like swimming through molasses. And just when he didn’t think the words couldn’t get any thicker the chorus buries him.
I want to fuck you like an animal. I want to feel you from the inside.
Reznor sounds like an alpha in rut, hating himself for how badly he craves the subject, and Eddie knows that sensation all too well. He remembers how he’d fuck into his pocket omega, imagining Steve underneath him before they got together. The way he’d imagine claiming the gorgeous omega, knowing he’d have to bite his own hand if he ever got close enough to his scent gland.
Eddie gets lost in his memories as he listens to the song, pressing the repeat button on his CD player. Eddie feels old jealousy bubble up, remembering how he had to endure watching Steve go on date after date, knowing he might be a better lay for Steve but not a better match.
He hits the repeat button again and remembers the first time he knotted Steve, the way his omega insisted on riding him so they could both see it - Steve in the mirror and Eddie before his eyes. He can still remember the way Steve tasted after that first heat together and his mouth waters.
His mouth waters and it doesn’t stop.
He pulls down his headphones and lets his eyes skim the CD case in his hands once more.
Fuck Tipper Gore.