Emella
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Summary
Steve's first real college assignment is to take care of a flour bag baby. With his class partner Eddie Munson, who happens to be an alpha.
-Then Eddie snaps his jaw at the other alpha, the sound of teeth hitting teeth ringing between Steve’s ears. And from his vantage point, he swears he sees Eddie’s eyes flash red.
The other alpha's hands slowly unwind from Eddie’s vest. Eddie bears down until the other cowers. It's subtle. A tilt of his head in deference. Eddie’s won.
Steve’s mouth waters.
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"Christ, you're gonna give me a complex."
"What," Budweiser panted, "like you don't have one already?"
Eddie laughed. "Cute, but you're gonna pay for that. Good boys don't talk back. Turn around and spread your cheeks for me, brat."
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Steve and Eddie meet up regularly for anonymous sex, and Eddie gives Steve his first (official) experience as a sub. Steve fell first. Eddie falls harder.
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Steve wasn’t really all that surprised to find himself here.
He had never seen a gloryhole before. He’d chalked them up to a horny teenager’s pot at the end of the rainbow. Fantasy, and nothing else. A fat old man couldn’t squeeze down a chimney, and a guy couldn’t get his dick sucked in a public bathroom. But here it was, a small circular hole cut into the side of two adjacent stalls, as real and as terrifying as it could be.
What surprised Steve about tonight was that he wasn't sticking his dick through the hole. Instead, he found himself sitting on his heels in front of it, hands wringing anxiously in his lap as he licked his lips and waited for someone to shuffle into the other stall.
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Eddie squints into the bright sunlight flooding the kitchen. He’s eating a bowl of lucky charms that taste like chemicals and fake sugar and he’s not even sure he’s going to make it to the end of the first mouthful. The texture is grainy and artificially chewy and Eddie is sure he used to like these.
Steve, the guy in Eddie’s house, sits himself opposite with neat little piles of scrambled eggs and cut fruit on his plate. He looks at Eddie, gets up again, pulls the blind just far enough that Eddie’s eyes are shaded, and then comes back to his breakfast.
“Can I get you anything?”
“You can get the fuck out of my house,” Eddie replies. But there’s no bite. No meaning. No energy. No anything behind the words. He’s so fucking tired and so done with it all.
Steve carries on like Eddie hasn’t spoken, and eats his breakfast.
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Summary
A series of phone conversations between autumn 1985, and spring 1986.
Series
- Part 9 of a litany of secrets