Worldswcollide - Online Filing Cabinet

thinking about them

Commission.

Do Not Repost.

(Also open for better quality)

www.bisexuality.com/careers

The tales of Nick Nelson: A Love Sick Puppy

128 “you’re pretty.” - “you’re drunk.” and steddie for the prompt list-o-matic <33

the only kk ever! of course, dearest <3

"You're pretty."

The words slip past Eddie's mouth and land in the space between them on the couch before they start crawling up Steve's chest, wrapping themselves around his throat. Too simple. Too big. Too much like what Steve's been wanting to hear for months, what he's been imagining Eddie whispering in his ear when it's just the two of them in a room, like they are now.

Steve hasn't said anything in return, hasn't even moved. Just keeps looking ahead, almost hoping that if he stays still, if he keeps his eyes on the TV, Eddie will forget about it.

But Eddie's looking at Steve with his head lolled to the side, hair all mussed from lying on the couch for hours. His shirt's riding up his stomach, showing off a little sliver of cartoonish white boxers with little red hearts, and Steve loves him and his stupid boxers so much, he may just pass out.

"You're pretty," Eddie says again, a little louder. Probably thinking Steve hadn't heard him the first time.

Steve had.

"You're drunk," Steve tries, smiling dancing on his lips, hoping it lands softly, gently. Hoping none of the bitterness comes across, none of the need for Eddie to say those words again when they haven't spent the night sipping lukewarm beers on his couch.

He expects Eddie to laugh, maybe giggle drunkenly like he had earlier, all high-pitched and bashful and entirely too adorable. Or maybe Eddie will let it go, get distracted by the TV, forget the inexplicable point he's trying to make here. Because Eddie can't mean it. And even if he does mean it, it won't be anything more than that. It'll just be that he finds Steve pretty. Heartbreakingly nothing.

Eddie Munson is somebody who is unapologetically himself almost all the time. Loud and boisterous and quiet when he needs to be. Too wise in his deep brown eyes, in the way he carries his scared, twenty-one year-old body. He's somebody who admits when he's wrong, even if it takes him a minute. And he's so bright.

He's bright, and Steve couldn't keep up if he tried. Couldn't be interesting enough, wise enough, good enough. Steve's a part-time babysitter for a bunch of kids who don't really need him anymore, now that the world's not ending. He's the guy Eddie gets drunk with on his couch on Saturday nights when everybody else their age is cuddled up somewhere, or feeling loud music through their veins.

So he expects Eddie to laugh, but instead, Eddie sits up from where he was sinking into the couch, and leans into Steve's space. Steve's facing the TV, feet planted firmly on the ground, and Eddie's facing him, brown eyes burning Steve's cheek.

"Even if I was still a little drunk," Eddie starts, words coming out clearer than Steve had expected, "you'd still be pretty. Always pretty."

Steve feels himself flush. Leans back into the couch, lets his head fall against the wall. Brings his own beer to his lips and forgets he finished it some time ago; gets nothing but a single drop on his tongue to console him. And Eddie's eyes track him the entire time, from the way he swallows nothing, to the way he brings the empty bottle back in his lap, fingers nervously picking at the peeling label.

Eddie takes up the space Steve left. Leans in, puts a hand on either side of Steve, his wrists brushing against Steve's hips. He's so close, and Steve can't help but look, can't help but take in his freckles and his dimples and the everything he's come to fall in love with, from the tired bags under Eddie's eyes that never seem to go away, to the space on his cheek that his scar takes up.

"You're drunk," Steve says again, though he doesn't believe it much anymore. Because he's seen Eddie drunk; Eddie was drunk just a few hours ago. But he must have sobered up, must have drank less than Steve thought, because he's looking at Steve like he isn't drunk at all, anymore. Just warm and fuzzy and smiling lazily, his dark eyes blinking slow. And Eddie just licks his lips, shakes his head no.

"You're pretty," Eddie repeats, and brings a hand up to carefully move some hair out of Steve's eyes. "You're pretty, and you're smart, and you're—"

Steve's not breathing anymore, not as Eddie leans in closer, one of his legs coming to rest between Steve's own. He just stares and stares as Eddie takes over all of his senses, makes his throat close up, makes his hands ache.

"You're good," Eddie says, his breath a whisper against Steve's face.

Steve exhales all at once. Watches as Eddie wraps a hand around his own, making him toss the empty bottle to the forgotten side of the couch. And then he looks deep into Steve's eyes, and suddenly he's not moving at all, anymore. Not until Steve settles his shaking, empty hands on Eddie's waist. Only then does Eddie move again, settling fully into Steve's lap, brown eyes almost black.

Eddie leans in more, brushes his nose against Steve's cheek. "You're good," he whispers, too quiet. "You're so good."

It drags a whine out of Steve, makes him catch Eddie's lips in his, makes him moan as soon as Eddie hums appreciatively and deepens the kiss. Steve plants his feet some more, tries to keep his head from spinning, tries to keep himself anchored here, on the Munson's couch with Eddie in his lap, right where he's wanted him. Because Eddie's moving slowly against him, slowly grinding down, slowly pulling out more sounds out of Steve with his lips and his tongue and fuck.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," Steve mumbles against Eddie's lips, barely pulling away from the kiss. Feeling like he has to admit it, somehow, like it's unfair to Eddie if he doesn't know just how badly Steve has missed him, just how much he's wanted exactly this and everything that comes with it, all of it.

"Me too," Eddie says, kissing down Steve's jaw.

Steve pushes Eddie's shirt until his hands find Eddie's scars. Runs his fingers over them gently as he admits, "Didn't think I deserved it."

"I know," he hears Eddie saying in the crook of his own neck, the words echoing through his veins and pumping the blood through his heart and making him shiver all over, making him feel so seen.

Eddie knew. Eddie knows.

Steve thinks back on Eddie's words, him repeating you're good over and over, as though desperate for Steve to believe it. They sound different, now. You're good. You're good. Steve feels them, Eddie's words. Feels them in the back of his skull and in Eddie's slow drag of his lips across Steve's cheeks.

Eddie saw him, Eddie knew.

"I'm fucking crazy about you," Steve says, letting his heels off the ground as he sinks deeper into the couch, pulling Eddie against him, keeping him close. "Want you. Need you."

"Show me," Eddie says, looking a different kind of drunk now with his kiss-bruised lips and his happy eyes. "Need you to show me."

"I can show you," Steve prays against Eddie's temple, his lips brushing against the skin. Brings a hand up to Eddie's cheek to feel his smile, feels the corners of his own lips pulling up. "Let me show you."