Boltedfruit Archive

Cage

31 Days of Steddie Halloween Horror: Part 6

Published: 2023-10-06

Category: M/M

Rating: E

Chapters: 31/31

Words: 3,081

Fandom: Stranger Things

Ship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson

Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Noncon, Dubcon, Kidnapping, Manipulaton, Dark Steve Harrington, Omorashi, Control Issues, Unrequited Hate

Summary:

Day 6 Prompt: Cage/Basement

 

He watches a spider crawl around its web before letting his eyes drift to the heavy bolted plate that bears the chain.

 

It’s new.

Author's Note

I hope you enjoy! And consider leaving a comment at the end of the fic to let me know what you thought.

The family must be visiting. Muffled voices float overhead along with the occasional thudding of heavy footsteps.

 

He never comes down when family visits. He’s mentioned his parents a few times, but never in any friendly kind of way. He hates them almost as much as he hates Eddie, probably.

 

Why else do this unless he hates him?

 

Family must be visiting, because Steve hasn’t come downstairs for days now. Two or three. Maybe four. Eddie can’t tell. He can never tell. He doesn’t have a clock or a calendar, not even a watch.

 

He’s hungry. Thirsty. Dirty with sweat and the grime of general unease. The basement smells rank; the buckets need emptying out.

 

He’s careful to reposition himself on his side as he lies down, trying to avoid the dip in the thin mattress. The chains connecting the cuffs on his hands and the collar around his neck to the ceiling aren’t exactly quiet, and the last time he made too much noise Steve didn’t feed him for a week.

 

Eddie turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The room is all cement aside from the ceiling’s wooden beams. It got so cold last winter he got sick with the flu, and Steve was the most hectic he’d ever seen him. Panicked pacing while he pulled at his hair, angry with Eddie for getting sick before getting angry towards himself. It was strange. A departure from their usual routine.

 

He watches a spider crawl around its web before letting his eyes drift to the heavy bolted plate that bears the chain. It’s new.

 

A month or so ago—he can’t really pinpoint when exactly—he’d waited until Steve was gone and threw himself to the floor repeatedly until the last bolt came unfixed and slammed out of the ceiling. The skin on his wrists tore with the cuffs, but thankfully he’d avoided hurting his neck.

 

The door to the rest of the house was locked, a set of heavy locks he’s only ever heard Steve work through every time he enters, when he leaves.

 

Eddie sobbed. Then he waited.

 

The covered windows had gone dark by the time the locks sounded. Eddie held his breath until Steve appeared at the bottom of the stairs, then jumped him. They flailed around together until they were both bloody, but it ended the same. By luck alone, Steve knocked him out.

 

Eddie woke in a steel cage. Watched in silence as Steve worked to fix the ceiling and replace the old with the new.

 

When he was done, he’d climbed down from his stepladder, rolling his shoulder and bending his neck to stretch. He just looked down on Eddie like he always does. And he’d said, “You hurt your wrists. Don’t do that again.”

 

Like he hadn’t just given Eddie a cracked septum and a black eye, a migraine that lasted days. Probably from a concussion.

 

But Steve looked no better, and Eddie privately prided himself on that.

 

He’s tried throwing his weight against the bolted plate since, but it hasn’t budged. It’s too strong.

 

After that, he expected it to finally end. For this hell to be over. The liminal space between that day he’d come over for pizza and a swim, hopeful the guy he liked would finally make a move—to now. Trapped in that guy’s basement.

 

But Steve hadn’t done anything. They fought, he chained Eddie back up after bandaging his wrists, and Steve kept feeding him.

 

He’s starved Eddie out for less.

 

Eddie’s still waiting for Steve to make a move. Only this time, it’s pins and needles waiting for whatever punishment he’s been cooking up.

 

And ever since, it’s been difficult pinning down when Steve goes to work and comes back. There’s always sounds above his head. He would swear Steve threw a party one night because he’d heard music, felt the bass.

 

So he hasn’t tried again. He’s nearly resolved to living out the rest of his life in Steve’s basement, because that’s how it’s been for so long. As far as he knows, no one’s even come looking for him.

 

Time passes. He dozes between staring at the bolt and thinking about the wreck of his life. Then he hears the turn of the locks.

 

Steve comes down the stairs, eyeing him briefly before wrinkling his nose. He goes right for the buckets and starts cleaning them out in the corner sink.

 

Something glints, casting a glare on the ceiling. Eddie turns his head to watch Steve work and sees a ring on his left hand. As he rinses the sink, his hand working over its curves, the light catches it. Makes it spotlight all over Eddie’s corner.

 

He bites his lip. Looks back up at the ceiling.

 

Steve finishes, setting the buckets down within Eddie’s limited range of walking distance.

 

“You could just install a toilet,” he comments.

 

They’ve had that conversation a number of times. It never goes anywhere.

 

Steve ignores him. He doesn’t have anything, no food, no clothes, nothing else. So why he’s hovering, Eddie doesn’t know. His stomach aches, a dull reminder of his hunger.

 

He doesn’t know if today is the day.

 

He sits up as Steve shrugs, arms hanging at his sides. He looks almost embarrassed.

 

“I got married.”

 

Eddie holds his tongue, his breath. His heart hammers.

 

He shrugs a second time, sliding a hand into a pocket. “Just wanted you to know, I guess.”

 

Eddie wants to ask who. Who did sweet, charming Steve Harrington convince to marry him. Who did he lie to.

 

Once upon a time, he thought Steve wanted to kiss him. Wanted to do more. But that was a long time ago.

 

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

 

Eddie has plenty he could say. He wants to say everything, but that would result in food being withheld, and he doesn’t like how skinny he already is. He needs more. He wants more. Steve won’t ever give him that.

 

“Want to know how long you’ve been staying over?”

 

Steve does this too. Asks stupid questions that he’s sharpened well enough to pierce Eddie where it hurts.

 

Staying over. Like he chose to be here.

 

He doesn’t ask anything. Because of course he wants to know, and of course Steve won’t tell him.

 

Steve crouches, rocking back on his heels. “She won’t come down here. Ever. I told her it was off limits.”

 

Her. A woman. Maybe someone Eddie used to know, too.

 

It won’t work. It’s only a matter of time before something will happen. Eddie will start making enough noise again, or whatever wife upstairs was foolish enough to marry into the Harrington family will get bored, get curious.

 

Then Eddie will pay the price one way or another, and it will finally be over.

 

He won’t have to be down here anymore.

 

 

Steve returns the next day with a large plastic jug of fresh water, a plate of halfway decent food he holds out of reach until Eddie’s downed half. He wipes his lips as soon as he’s finished and Steve smiles softly, handing the plate over.

 

It’s a burger and fries, a healthy amount of ketchup on the side.

 

Eddie wolfs it all down. He doesn’t count how long it takes with Steve observing him like he’s an animal in a zoo.

 

He remembers the cage. It hasn’t made an appearance since. Doesn’t know where it went after Steve broke it down and lugged it up the stairs once Eddie was chained back up.

 

“Don’t go so fast. You’re like a dog,” he laughs.

 

Eddie ignores him. The routine.

 

Soon Steve will disappear back up the stairs, back to his normal life. And Eddie will stay chained up, angry and alone and resigned.

 

There’s a charge in the air. Something strange and just off enough that Eddie can tell Steve has something planned. He hates these days.

 

He ditches the plate and grabs the water back, tilting it down his throat in case Steve decides to end this early.

 

But Steve just lets him drink his fill. He takes the plate and the container and goes to place them in the sink. He fills the jug back up and walks back over.

 

It’s rare. It’s rare enough that Eddie doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. He accepts it and starts drinking again until he’s so full he could burst.

 

He burps, covering his mouth and the automatic urge to excuse himself.

 

Another laugh as Steve shakes his head, then his mood falls as quickly as it had risen. Eddie presses his fingers to his lips, covering the quiver.

 

Steve leans forward until he’s kneeling.

 

This is it.

 

This is where he dies.

 

“Don’t you care?”

 

The words shake a knot loose in his chest.

 

“What?”

 

“About who it is. Who I married? What it means for you? For us?”

 

Of course he cares. He cares what it means for his survival. “Us.”

 

Steve nods, not looking at him. His hands flex—open, close, open, close—multiple times before he runs one through his hair.

 

He meets Eddie’s eyes. Looks heartbroken for all of a second, before his eyes sweep down Eddie’s face, stopping at his mouth.

 

He blinks and hangs his head.

 

The thing is, Steve’s never touched him like that. Has never shown any interest in it. Not that Eddie wants that anymore. Not after. After this.

 

But from the moment Steve had locked him down here the shiny veneer of friendship, and all that had accompanied it, vanished. The affectionate touches that made Eddie wonder if Steve returned his feelings being chief among them.

 

He’s toed a very careful and deliberate line ever since. He never touches Eddie without a purpose.

 

“What the fuck do you mean, us?” The anger that swells inside him then is all-encompassing. He raises his cuffed hands, the chain rattling. He shoves Steve back, making him fall on his ass, grabs the collar around his neck, and shakes it. “You put me in a fucking cage!”

 

“I—,” Steve tries, clicking his teeth shut. He moves back to his haunches, hands hovering as if he’s trying to reach out. But he stops himself short at the last moment when Eddie flinches back. “I just—”

 

“You just what?” Eddie snarls. “You just thought I was staying over? I don’t even know how many years it’s been, because you fucking kidnapped me!”

 

Steve still isn’t looking at him. It’s too late for shame.

 

Eddie shoves him again. Steve doesn’t fight him. He just scrambles back and stands fast. He pushes his hair away from his face and turns, composing himself.

 

Eddie wants to strangle him.

 

Steve eyes the far wall, still for long enough that when he jerks forward to snatch the buckets and water, it’s too quick for Eddie to stop him.

 

He can never stop him.

 

He removes them from Eddie’s reach, denying him access to the two of the most basic things. Water and a place to go to the bathroom.

 

The water he’s done before, but not the buckets.

 

He can’t be serious.

 

Then he leaves Eddie alone.

 

 

Eddie’s standing when Steve comes back. It’s not been long, but Eddie needs to piss. Badly.

 

When Steve is at the bottom of the stairs, Eddie glares. “I need to go.”

 

Steve walks to the sink, taking one bucket and flipping it over, setting it back down just out of reach in front of Eddie. He sits down on top, knees spread wide.

 

“Then go.”

 

Eddie scoffs. “Very funny. You want me to piss all over the floor, is that it?”

 

Steve shrugs. “Will you behave if I give these back? I don’t think you will.”

 

“I’m not gonna beg.”

 

“Then go,” he repeats.

 

The new wife must have gone to bed. It’s late enough, judging by the light from the windows. Might be the middle of the night.

 

Eddie’s bladder is screaming.

 

But he doesn’t get new clothes often, and he’s not about to piss himself.

 

“I could aim, piss on you.”

 

“You could try.”

 

“You say it like it’s not disgusting, man.”

 

Nothing.

 

Eddie sighs, sick and tired of this. Of everything. Of the fucking dynamic of it all.

 

“Just give me the goddamn bucket. I’ll behave.”

 

Steve sits there for a moment longer. He shakes his head, no.

 

And Eddie’s had it. He’s tired of the escalation. How far will Steve go before it’s over?

 

How long does he have to wait?

 

He’s so tired of waiting.

 

So he does the first thing that comes to mind.

 

He screams.

 

And Steve is up and on him, hand slapped over his mouth in a blink.

 

They stumble back against the wall and one of them trips over the mattress. Eddie lands hard on one knee and grunts in pain, not even meaning it when he bites Steve’s hand. Steve hisses as he follows right after him. He shoves Eddie down with the hand over his mouth and ends up straddling Eddie’s waist.

 

They’re both breathing hard, Eddie’s sounding like wheezes against the palm of Steve’s hand.

 

Steve gives him the look. The one that tells him he better not try anything again.

 

When he tentatively removes his hand, Eddie asks, “Just kill me and get it over with. I’m sick of this game.”

 

He’s still breathing hard when he sits up, ends up giving them both some space as he scoots back, weight sat on Eddie’s thighs. He shakes his head, gives Eddie a sorrowful look.

 

“I can’t. I won’t.”

 

Eddie thrashes, bucks his hips to try and get Steve off of him. If Steve won’t do it, he’ll force him to.

 

He opens his mouth to scream again, but it’s cut by the slap to his cheek.

 

Steve looks as stunned as he feels.

 

Then Steve’s hands move to Eddie’s pants, undoes his button and zip and gently hinges his fingertips in the waistband of his underwear.

 

“What are you—”

 

Steve shoves his everything down only enough to get his dick and balls out. Then he just stares.

 

His heavy panting is the only sound in the room. The only sound Eddie hears.

 

Then Steve is whipping his own belt free, is doing the same to his own clothes until his cock is out and in his hand. It’s long and thick and growing harder every second Eddie can’t tear his eyes away.

 

And to his utter shame, the sight sends a pulse thundering through his groin. Steve doesn’t miss the twitch as he starts getting hard. Steve fists himself, fingers going tight around the base as he groans small and low.

 

“Eddie,” he breathes, eyes on Eddie. On his skin.

 

“I-I’ll fucking scream,” Eddie whispers, voice shaking.

 

“Please don’t. Please.”

 

Then Steve very carefully runs his fingertips down the underside of his cock, and Eddie’s head falls back to the shitty mattress.

 

Steve flinches with the sudden movement.

 

“I hate you.”

 

Steve just looks sad, as if he has the right. “I know.”

 

He wraps his free hand around Eddie’s cock and strokes. Leans down a little and spits. It falls along his fingers, making everything go slippery the more he strokes. Eddie shivers, hating that this is how this is happening. That this is how anything went at all.

 

And he still has to fucking piss. The heaviness of his bladder is full and painful, makes his back ache.

 

Eddie keeps his chained wrists together on his chest, out of the way. But with Steve this close, maybe he can—

 

“God, look at you. You’re so wet.”

 

Eddie lifts his head. Precum is leaking from the head of his cock in rivulets, mixing with Steve’s spit and own precum. His cock is practically drooling over Eddie’s, painting them both a slick mess.

 

He wants to come, wants it to be done and over with, wants these last years to have never happened to him at all.

 

Wants to have never had Steve Harrington lay eyes on him at all.

 

For some reason, Steve focuses more on Eddie than himself. He strokes long and slow, working him at a pace that’s annoying. He jerks his hips up, makes his cock thrust fast and free through the slippery glide of Steve’s fingers and they both moan.

 

Eddie does it again and again, feels that peak approaching, wants the fall. Wants to jump.

 

Steve strokes him faster and faster, finally catching up. But the second Eddie keens, abs flexing and balls drawing up tight as the first waves roll through him, his other hand lands wet and messy and hard to press down on his stomach.

 

Eddie’s eyes snap to his, mouth parting on a dangerously loud moan as he falls apart. His come pulses out, streaking across Steve’s cock and shirt.

 

And Steve keeps pressing.

 

It hurts.

 

And then he’s—he’s fucking—

 

“Oh my god, oh my god—” Eddie’s head falls back with a thud, eyes still locked on Steve’s, who’s looking back with a hunger he’s never seen before.

 

From one moment to the next, his orgasm bleeds away into him pissing himself, but the waves roiling through his groin travel upwards into his lower abdomen. Make him feel weightless, as if he’s floating. Feels like he’s coming for minutes on end, and it just keeps going.

 

Eddie completely soaks himself, the mess not missing Steve. It wets his shirt through to cling to his stomach and the entirety of his still-hard cock gets completely covered.

 

Only then does Steve come, collapsing forward to grind his hips down against Eddie’s, his cock pressing hot and wet beside his own. His hair tickles Eddie’s cheek. They’ve never been so close before.

 

They only breathe after, just as heavy as before, if not heavier.

 

Eddie blinks.

 

They’ve never been so close before.

 

He’s never been able to get this close to Steve.

 

He blinks again. Steve lifts his head when he hears the metal clinking of the chain as Eddie lifts his arms, he drapes them over Steve’s shoulder, hesitant. As tentative as Steve when he’d first touched him.

 

Steve’s eyes flick between his.

 

“I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

 

He’s never said those words before.

 

And the crazy thing is, in that moment, Eddie actually believes him.

 

Instead of falling, he jumps.

 

He uses the chain between the cuffs to wrap tight around Steve’s throat.

 

He crosses his forearms and pulls as tight as he can.