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Steve has always prided himself on being good in bed.
It's a skill, and it's a hell of a lot more useful than knowing shit about the periodic table or being able to write a decent essay. It's, like, a real-world skill, one that he's dedicated himself to perfecting for the last four years. He likes making someone feel good, likes making them feel wanted, likes feeling wanted himself, likes the loose-limbed relaxation that comes after. Sex is the main reason why he thinks most church stuff is bullshit, because there's just no way that God could be good and want people to hold off on having sex until they sign some piece of paper. It just doesn't make any sense. He's made way too many people way too happy with sex to think that doing whatever you’re into is in any way a bad thing.
So when Eddie blushes and looks down and stammers out something about a fantasy he's always wanted to try, Steve says yes. Why wouldn't he?
"It's, I mean, like, I obviously haven't, uh, actually tried it before," Eddie says, straddling Steve on the bed as he gently ties Steve's wrists together.
"Obviously," Steve says, trying to ignore how his heart has started to race.
Eddie flicks his nose. "Jerk."
Steve is not smug about being Eddie's first. It's not a big deal.
Eddie kisses the tip of his nose, then his lips, and okay, yeah, it's kind of a big deal, and it makes Steve feel extremely warm and gooey and possessive inside, but he tries to be cool about it because Eddie is embarrassed about never being with anybody else and Steve has been a bit of a slut whenever he's not in a long-term relationship and he figures it can probably be intimidating. Steve has never been with another guy before, so they're basically on a level playing field, except that Eddie's never had much practice in kissing or any in talking about sex. He's a quick learner, though Steve really wouldn't mind if he wasn't. He's cute when he's awkward.
As their kiss deepens, Steve goes to reach for Eddie's hair, and freezes as the black bandana around his wrists binds them together. Eddie smiles against his lips and leans back to whisper, "What'cha trying to do there, Stevie?"
Steve's heart stutters in his chest. He can feel goosebumps starting to form on his arms as Eddie pushes them above his head, wrists still bound, and presses himself back to Steve's chest and continues to kiss him. Steve tries to focus on Eddie's lips, on Eddie's hands cradling his face, even though he can feel the fabric binding his wrists together and the way they press against each other, his pulse seemingly magnified by the dual pounding of each artery, and it's fine, it's okay, he can focus on Eddie and the faint smell of laundry detergent and cigarettes, and Eddie's weight in his lap, and Steve is fine.
Then Eddie moves. He kisses Steve one more time before standing, and Steve should be enjoying the show, appreciating Eddie's smooth skin and dorky little cool guy tattoos as he flings off his shirt, but suddenly Eddie just seems so tall, and he looks so strong and dangerous, and Steve's wrists are bound together. He takes a deep breath. Eddie's head obscures the lamp on top of Steve's dresser, leaving a fuzzy halo around his curls, and then he ducks down to take off his pants and the spotlight is blinding Steve, cold steel at his back and blood dripping down his face, and his lungs ache and his stomach cramps and then Eddie is back, warm smile on his face, so Steve smiles too.
"God, you're pretty," Eddie breathes, straddling Steve again and leaning in for a kiss. Steve can do this. He can focus on kissing. He's good at kissing.
Eddie trails kisses down his neck, then nips lightly, and Steve can feel the needle piercing deep into his skin and muscle, but it's not real, and he's fine, so he sighs, tries to relax and enjoy it. That lamp on the dresser keeps taunting him, though, and he could swear his bedroom was covered in plaid wallpaper but now it's a blue-tinged steel box, and he can't move his hands, he can't move, and he just has to keep it together because who knows what they'll do to Robin, what they could be doing to her right now, and there are hands on his waist and his hips and his thighs and Steve squeezes his eyes shut and shudders.
"Steve?"
There's a pained, pathetic whine that Steve thinks might be coming from his own mouth, and Steve's chest is heaving, and there's blood dripping from his eyes, and he begs, "Please stop, please, I don't know, I'm not…" He cuts himself off with a painful gasp, unable to get any more words out as his chest seizes up.
“Steve? Shit, Steve, oh my God, I’m sorry…”
His heart pounds in his ears. The weight on his lap returns and hands grasp his wrists. Steve whimpers.
“Shh, it’s okay, I’m so sorry, you’re okay…”
Fingers fumble at the binds on his wrists. “Shit, fuck, what did I even…” He hears a sigh. “Shit, I’m so stupid, I’ll be right…”
The weight is gone, then, and Steve curls up as soon as it leaves, making himself as small a target as possible. He can hear movement. A man grumbling angrily. God, he hopes they aren’t doing this to Robin. Please, let Robin be okay.
“Aha! Here, here,” the man says, and then he’s grabbing at Steve’s hands and Steve flinches back. “Shh, okay, I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m just taking it off, Steve, okay? Will you look at me?”
Steve can’t move.
“Will you at least let me take it off?”
He nods. It’s probably a trick, it has to be, but he needs it off, he needs his hands free if he wants any chance of making it out of here. There’s an odd sound, like something flicking, and the man says, “I’ve gotta use my knife, okay? I wasn’t a boy scout like you, I just kinda winged it and now it’s, like, way too tight, so sit still.”
Steve waits for something to happen.
The man sighs. “Stevie, will you please look at me? I’m kind of freaking out right now.”
Fingers rub soothing circles onto his wrist. Steve breathes. Slowly, slowly, he raises his head.
Eddie’s eyes are wide and warm. Steve looks straight at them, and slowly the blue tinge to his walls fades away. It’s Eddie. It’s only Eddie, sitting on his bed in his underwear like they’ve done a dozen times before.
He looks like he’s been crying.
Steve sniffs. “Are you okay?”
Eddie looks back at him disbelievingly. “Jesus, Steve.” He shakes his head. “Just… let me cut this off, okay?”
“But you love it,” Steve says. His throat hurts when he talks.
Eddie rolls his eyes before slipping his knife between Steve’s wrist and the bandana. Quickly, before Steve can even blink, Eddie’s sliced through the fabric and his hands are free.
“I’ll get a new one,” he says, “Or maybe not. Fuck do I need it for, really?”
As Eddie closes his pocketknife, Steve sees that his hands are shaking.
“I’m sorry,” they both say. Eddie frowns.
“God, Steve, what the hell are you sorry for?”
“I thought…” Something catches, and Steve has to clear his throat before he can keep going. “I just didn’t think it would… I’m sorry.”
Eddie tosses the knife onto his jeans, which lay on the floor with one leg turned inside-out. He frowns at Steve for a few seconds, then: “Is it okay if I hug you?”
“Please,” Steve says, and then Eddie’s holding him, and God, Steve tries to hold it back, but he can’t help sobbing into Eddie’s shoulder like a baby.
Eddie’s told him before about how terrible he is at comforting people. I just don’t have practice, asshole, he’d said, Not all of us are social butterflies from birth .
Steve thinks he’s doing a decent job now. While he cries, Eddie rubs his back, rocks them side to side, hums something that sounds suspiciously like a slowed-down version of “Holy Diver,” and he’s warm, so warm, and Steve clings to that warmth like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. It kind of is.
“I…” Steve tries to speak, but Eddie shushes him.
He speaks softly. “Do you, like, actually want to talk about it right now, or do you just feel like you have to? Because I don’t want you to tell me about it right now if… if you’re not…”
Steve laughs. How’d he get so lucky? He presses a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder, then leans his forehead against it, breathing for a minute before he speaks again. “Okay. I… Can we lay down?”
Eddie arranges them so that Steve is laying on his chest, and Steve takes advantage of the position to wrap his arms around Eddie’s body and snuggle into him like he’s a big teddy bear. Eddie strokes his hair, and Steve closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted.
“You know,” Eddie whispers just before Steve falls asleep, “It wasn’t even as cool as I imagined. I like it better when you can touch me.”
Steve smiles. He nuzzles against Eddie, presses a kiss to the patch of skin directly in front of his face, and drifts.