Boltedfruit Archive

Eddie has a show.

Steve only knows because Eddie’s dressed in what Steve’s since learned are his best ripped jeans, and a black band tee artfully torn with spots of bare skin showing through underneath. His hair looks fluffed, almost. He’s wearing the eyeliner again.

His nails are black. Shiny and new.

Steve swallows, dry and dry and dry only where it doesn’t count. Not at all.

And he wonders if he’s being too obvious, sitting beside Eddie in class as usual, thighs pressed together to tamp down the sudden urge of want hitting him like a goddamn train off its tracks.

Eddie catches him looking a few times. Always gives him a smile back, but it’s not enough. Steve wants to ask how often he paints his nails. Wants to ask if the screaming face peaking through on his pec hurt when he got it tattooed. Wants to kiss—

He takes a deep breath, lets it out in a burst.

He needs some air. Flaps the collar of his shirt a few times to generate some faux breeze.

Then Eddie’s sniffing the air, and when Steve meets his eyes this time, Eddie’s cheeks are pink. His smile turns shy, hands fumbling his pencil.

They’ve got two days to go. Then Steve can go back on the blockers and get his ten bucks.

Eddie’s throat bobs as he swallows, tucking two fingers under his own collar to pull it up a little, hide his chin, his mouth.

The blush spreads even and sweet across his face, makes Steve wonder if it spreads any lower.

A pulse ricochets from his groin up, up. Makes him sweat.

Two days.

Cash well earned, if you ask him.

–

The venue isn’t exactly the best.

It’s not Steve’s typical scene. No. His preferred concerts tend to happen outside of bars, in actual stadiums. The few times he’s seen live music in anything smaller has happened entirely by accident when out with Robin.

But not this time. This time, he asked. He wanted to be here.

People are giving him weird looks. Weird, because he’s got Penelope in the crook of an arm, balanced on a hip as he walks deeper into the dark confines of the quickly filling bar. It’s about one suspicious stain away from being a dive, but beggars can’t be choosers, as Eddie would say.

It had been only marginally less awkward asking than it currently was showing up.

It happened as they were cleaning up to leave class. He’d just blurted the words out, face feeling on fire from how embarrassing the question was.

“So you have a show, right? Tonight?”

Eddie had looked startled until Steve pointed at his outfit, and then he’d laughed. Had lowered his shirt and everything, revealing a warm smile and dimpled cheeks.

“Sure do. If you ask real nice, I can probably get you a ticket.” And he’d waggled his eyebrows at Steve until he felt his stomach flip.

He’d been joking, apparently. When Steve asks the bartender about tickets, he just gets a funny look. Gets asked what he wants to drink. To his credit, the bartender doesn’t question the flour bag. Active 1: Steve declines and scurries away into a shadow where people won’t gawk at him.

Sure, he practically invited himself here by bringing it up with Eddie in the first place, but he’s not going to embarrass himself deliberately any more than he already has.

He just wants to see Eddie play. For research. Or something.

He can almost hear the ghost of Robin’s laughter at him.

Steve’s got a crush. He may as well just admit it to himself.

He’s pretty certain Robin knows, too. She always had a sixth sense when it came to reading people, and Steve’s never been any different. It doesn’t help that she knows him better than anyone on earth.

Which is why her raised eyebrows and impish, knowing smirk around the apartment has been driving him up the wall for the last few days. Since dinner.

When he’d freaked and gone all feral on Vickie for referring to Penelope as a flour bag. Which she–it—is. Didn’t help that Robin waved off his stilted apology, made it clear Vickie wasn’t offended, but that she’d also rip him a new one if he ever did it again.

“Besides,” Robin had added, “it’s kind of cute, seeing you take on the parent role.”

He sighs to himself in the dark, annoyed with how Eddie’s managed to rub off on him in so short a time.

If only Robin could see him now. Standing in a slowly amassing crowd of leather and denim-clad rockers. He likes rock. Likes a lot of music, but this isn’t exactly his scene.

He gets more than his fair share of strange looks too, lurking in the corner like he is, armed with baking goods.

He gets it. He really does.

But he doesn’t appreciate the snickers and sneers he gets. Awkward and curious staring he can handle. Judgment? Less so.

He shifts his weight, antsy and just shy of regretting coming here.

There are a couple of guys walking around the stage, messing with wires and setting things up for the show. There’s people who are clearly staff; all older and a little more weathered. Then there’s a couple of guys who are around Steve’s age, so he assumes they must be a part of Eddie’s band.

Heat prickles up his spine as he considers going over and introducing himself. But why would he? That’s weird, isn’t it? It’s not like he and Eddie are—

A familiar head of wild curls pops out from the left stage, calling something Steve misses entirely to the shortest band member. He wanders over after an eye roll and they discuss something before Eddie claps his friend’s shoulder and disappears again.

He wonders what that was about.

As the venue continues to fill with people, the space he’s been enjoying grows more narrow. Steve shifts Penelope to his other hip so he’ll hopefully get fewer looks. Before long, he’s packed in amongst a small sea of people who smell like a mix of cheap alcohol and sweat.

Not his scene, nope. Not one bit.

Then the lights dim before a bright set of lights shower the stage. Corroded Coffin appears, gaining a few claps and a decently impressive amount of cheering as Eddie saunters out first, guitar red and swinging from a hip as he throws up the devil horns, sticking his tongue out.

The singer takes the mic and greets the crowd, but Steve doesn’t even register what he’s said. He only has eyes for Eddie. Eddie, who’s dripping head to toe in delectable black, curls styled to full glossy volume and makeup artfully smudged.

Steve blinks, realizes he hasn’t in a while. His eyes are a little dry.

Eddie plays the guitar faultlessly, effortless in that Steve can tell he loves it, has practiced it until his fingers have likely bled. Because he’s good. And his friends are just as talented. It’s a little winding to watch, their bodies moving around one another, Eddie hiking a boot up on the drums as songs reach their natural crescendos. It’s deafening.

Steve finds himself pulled forward, drawn toward the mesmerizing picture Eddie paints as he moves like a panther on stage. Before he knows it, Steve’s near enough the front that it’s a bit of a shock when Eddie’s shadow smudged eyes scan the crowd and land easily on him. And the grin that splits his face when he sees Steve.

It’s beautiful.

Blinding.

He’s flushed. He knows he is, probably smells exactly how he feels too.

But he’s so happy, being looked at like Eddie is looking at him. Like Steve’s the only other one in the venue, like Eddie’s playing just for him. And as Eddie does a fancy spin, twirling his guitar around while still playing—maybe he is. Maybe he’s showing off, because the crowd responds in tune with Steve’s heart. Eddie’s tongue makes its second appearance, lids dropping low and oh. Oh.

Okay.

Steve’s got a crush. He does.

Full-fledged. Undeniable. Code Red. He can no longer deny he likes Eddie Munson. Well and truly has feelings. He can’t just blame it on stupid omega hormones anymore.

This is bad.

Trying to ignore the heat pooling in his belly, Steve surprises Eddie by singing along with the rest of the crowd on the next chorus. And Eddie just blooms, ecstatic, eyes bright even amongst the stage lighting.

–

When Corroded Coffin is finally leaving the stage, Steve decides to hang back. He hopes no one will mind if he just kind of lingers around the stage near the glowing exit sign. He knows Eddie and his friends will appear soon enough, so he just hangs out with Penelope tucked under an arm.

Will Eddie be as pleased as he was on stage when he sees Steve stayed behind for him? Just to see him? Will Eddie hug him? Will he want to bury his face in Steve’s neck and give him the gift of that deep rumble Steve had gotten a taste of at the restaurant?

He scratches at his neck, feeling heat crawl languid and prickling up his skin. Settles unpleasant across his face, even makes his ears burn. He’s stares at the floor, willing his stupid blushing to calm the hell down.

“Kind of a funny plus one you got there.”

Steve lifts his head, meeting the eyes of a guy who looks to be in his thirties. He’s Steve’s height, and his nose is red from alcohol. He smells like booze when he leans into Steve’s space, breathing harshly in a series of breathy giggles that betray how far gone he really is. He pats Steve’s elbow. Frowns when Steve pulls away.

“You need a ride home?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. No need to be a prude. I’m just trying to have a conversation with a pretty omega.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not in the mood, thanks. I’m waiting for someone.”

“I don’t see anybody.”

“Hence the word, waiting,” Steve reminds him.

The man laughs. “Got some spark. I like it. You’re too pretty to be out this late alone.”

Steve wants to tell the guy off, wants to stomp on his foot, maybe kick him in the nuts. But he doesn’t. He settles for biting his tongue near in half to keep the slew of insults he has at bay and simply turns away.

He’s waiting for Eddie. He’s not about to cause a scene after his band put on such a great show.

A large hand claps down on his shoulder, squeezing him hard before whirling him around. Penelope’s weight throws him a little off center and his grip slips. She goes falling to the tacky bar floor with a solid thud and poof of flour.

The drunk giggles, and Steve’s about had enough—

The hiss lodged in his throat rises to just behind his teeth when the door opens and out walks Eddie. Eddie, who takes in the scene before him with a patience Steve hasn’t ever seen him wear before.

Steve shrugs away from the man’s hold, bends and picks Penelope up and frowns as he looks at how lopsided she’s become.

“Oh,” the drunk says, like he’s realizing something. “So you’re kind of touched in the head, huh? That’s alright, I like mine pretty and dumb.”

Steve bristles all over again. But then a hand is snaking around his waist and pulling him close and it’s Eddie. It’s Eddie’s earthy, dark, dangerous scent, and it’s his strength holding Steve tight, and it’s his teeth only just bared as he regards the man.

It’s Eddie holding him like Steve belongs to him, and Steve salivates. Just a little.

“Back off.”

“No, don’t be like that, sweetheart—”

Eddie steps forward, growling lightly deep in his throat.

But the guy just won’t take the hint. He says, “I saw him first.”

And then, then Eddie laughs.

Short and simple.

And he turns back to Steve, just looking at him. Steve sees the hint of red around his irises, knows whatever he showed the man was the same he’d seen that day at the library.

Eddie tilts his head, smiles a little ruefully. A question, maybe.

Steve nods. Doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to.

Did he just agree to Eddie knocking this guy’s teeth out? Surely his friends would have something to say against that. They just played here, and Eddie was happy they got booked. He wouldn’t risk—

Eddie takes Steve’s face in both hands and kisses him.

It’s short and sweet. A chaste little thing that’s over before Steve’s even registered it’s happened at all. He finds himself leaning in when Eddie’s already pulled away.

He’s dizzy. Feels drunk.

But the drunk just laughs some more. “So he’s dumb, pretty, and a groupie whore to boot.”

And that’s when Eddie just snakes an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pressing in to kiss his cheek. He lingers there, his mouth hot and velvet soft.

Steve’s burning up.

“Kindly fuck off now, thanks. I’ll tell the bouncer not to let you attend another Corroded show.”

Eddie’s friends back him up, all offering similar statements of support.

The man laughs some more, before swaying off to go hug the bar counter.

“Shit, the guy’s smashed,” one of the friends say. The singer.

“Pretty sure all you had to do was huff and threaten to blow his house down and the guy woulda backed down. Damn, Eddie. You got it bad—”

Eddie turns and shoves him playfully. “Shut up, Gareth! Thank you!” Then, as easily as anything, he spins them both around and presents his friends to Steve. Or rather, Steve to his friends. “Steve, these here are my musical compatriots, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant. Say hello like your mothers taught you, boys.”

They all say hi with matching waves.

It’s all a blur. Steve vaguely registers talking with them for long minutes spent sweating and looking for the nearest exit. By the time he manages to excuse himself, he’s outside in the cool evening air and still sweat damp.

He even puts Penelope on the ground between his feet so he can fan himself by pulling at his shirt.

Eddie finds him eventually. Steve sees his friends head off toward their own cars, but Eddie stays behind. Pulls out a lighter and cigarette but stills when he realizes what state Steve is in.

“Whoa, what happened? You look sick.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, giving him a flat look. He fans himself harder. “I’m just—I’m literally soaked with sweat right now. I have no idea why. Maybe it was that asshole. Maybe he just, I don’t know. Stressed me out or something.”

“Steve.”

“And like, why does it always have to happen at the worst times too, huh? Can’t I just stand around somewhere without getting some knothead alpha in my business wanting in my pants? I mean, Jesus—”

“Uh, Steve?”

“That makes it twice now you’ve had to come to my rescue. How embarrassing! Don’t get me wrong, I do really appreciate it. But I mean, I can take care of myself, you know. I shouldn’t have to always rely on—”

Eddie takes him by his shoulders, but even the soft pressure of his fingers feel like needles in his skin. Steve gasps, startled by the sudden pain. Did one of Eddie’s rings poke him?

“W–what was that?”

“Stevie, baby,” Eddie says, dipping his head until Steve meets his eyes. And oh. He’s still got the barest hint of red there, deep and shining. And glancing lower…Steve sees a sharp tooth bite on his lower lip.

“Eddie? What’s happening?”

Eddie closes his eyes, blinks them open again not without strain. He tightens his hold imperceptibly, before dropping his hands altogether.

The lack of touch leaves Steve bereft. Immediately he steps back into Eddie’s space, nosing at his cheek. He realizes what he’s doing a second too late, steps back to apologize because what the fuck—

But Eddie turns into the touch, chases him back. Fingers find his and squeeze.

Eddie noses over his cheek, his jaw, tickling him with the light touch. But Steve wants more. Wants to be doused in the absolute greenhouse garden bounty of his scent. Wants to taste him, his sweat, wants to see how much he can smudge the rest of his makeup—

Another wave of heat sends him nearly toppling into Eddie’s arms.

And Steve suspects the answer before Eddie even opens his mouth.

“Stevie, honey…I think you’re in heat. For real this time.”