For all the things those nimble hands could do, Eddie didn't know how to peel an orange without making a mess.
Steve always found it amusing how his husband could craft intricate pieces of artwork, but when it came to simple things, he suddenly became clumsy with flailing limbs and confused puppy eyes.
Despite his many attempts and determination, Eddie always failed in the end with ruined oranges clutched in his hands while juices spilling everywhere.
And Steve would eat them anyway. Because they didn't waste food, and because they loved each other at their best and their worst.
They were sitting on the couch with his feet in Eddie's lap as those deft hands rubbing and kneading the soreness away from his muscles.
"Wish I could learn how to do that," Eddie said while watching Steve peel the orange.
And you don't need to because I'm glad I can always do this for you, Steve wanted to say.
Instead, he tore the fruit in half and then shuffled into Eddie's lap.
As he fed his husband and himself section after section, he thought the aligned stars might as well have their names written on them.
Their fates were twining red strings, woven and knitted into a lovely knot.
"Teach me how to do it, sweetheart?" Eddie held him securely and pecked the corner of his lips.
"Peeling oranges?" Steve arched his eyebrow.
"Yeah, so I can pick out the white parts for you," Eddie gazed at him, warm like the Sunday morning when they slept in and cuddled while it was raining outside.
Steve met those chocolate eyes that filled his veins with honey and turned his inside into molasses.
Their love was a gentle thing, but no less powerful.
Just like an orange. It was built to share with many pulps and juicy flesh. And yet, its skin was unyielding, stubborn to a fault.
Even Steve had had to look up for a few tricks to take it apart.
And perhaps, that also applied to their love. To reach the rewarding part, one had to work for it.
Nothing had ever been easy for them.
But here, sitting in Eddie's lap and tasting the same orange with him, Steve felt like all those years, all their pains and losses had finally paid off.
"I can pick out the white parts myself," Steve pointed out gently.
"And what kind of husband am I to not help you with it?" Eddie countered with an easy smile. "We're one half of each other's, darlin'. I'm not gonna let you do anything alone."
"Even peeling oranges?" Steve leaned closer to whisper into those plump lips.
"Especially peeling oranges," Eddie gave him a citrus kiss, sour and sweet, fond and tender.
And Steve was putty in those loving hands.
Maybe, he thought dimly as Eddie took off his shirt, they could make marmalade together next time.
462 notes
Ā·
View notes
Eddie doesnāt like spending time away from Steve.Ā
Heās fine during the day. He can do his job and chat with his coworkers and do what he needs to do without thinking too much on it, but there is nothing in the world that he looks forward to more than being able to come home every evening to the love of his life. Nothing more gratifying than being the person that makes Steve smile when he walks through their front door. No better feeling than Steve welcoming him home.
So call it unhealthy, call him whipped or codependent or whatever else, but Eddie doesnāt like spending extended time away from his boyfriend. Maybe it was the more-than-one near death experience, the nights they spent in hospital waiting rooms, not allowed to be at each otherās bedside, but being away from Steve, especially at night, makes him anxious. Makes his heart rate pick up and his palms sweat, makes him ruminate on whether or not Steve is okay.
So Eddie hasnāt exactly been sleeping. Or eating all that well. Not for the past three days, at least. Because Steve is at a teacherās conference in Chicago for the week, only leaving under Eddieās profuse and continued promises that heād be fine. That Eddie can survive a week without him.Ā
Which he can. It just doesnāt mean itās exactly pleasant. Especially today. Because Eddie has the day off, and thereās not much to distract him from the gaping, Steve-sized hole in it.Ā
He starts by doing the laundry. Washes their sheets. Washes every throw blankets and every towel, moves onto the kitchen while the washer rumbles and does all the dishes. He goes on the truly spiritual experience of cleaning their dishwasher. Which, why must things that do the cleaning need to be cleaned? He scrubs the grime from the shower and wipes the spit from the sink, vacuums the rugs and wipes down the windows, organizes their pantry and cleans out the fridge.Ā
By the time heās done his fingers ache. His back smarts from where he spent too long hunched over their tub, and still he misses Steve.Ā
Who is coming back tomorrow. Late in the evening, sure, but realistically Eddie only needs to survive another 30 hours.Ā
Which is far too long.Ā
He considers baking something. Like those those blueberry muffins Steve likes so much, but Eddie just knows by the end heād have shitty muffins and a dirty kitchen.
So he tries to read. Tries to play guitar and write some songs, tries watching TV and listening to music, even tries going on a walk to pick up some dinner he knows he wonāt eat, finally taking Steveās advice on fresh air to heart. But as the clock ticks on, the itch under his skin only gets worse.
Not even their nightly phone call helps.Ā
He can tell Steve knows somethingās up, keeps reminding him heāll be back tomorrow, that itās just one more night, because despite Eddieās best attempt at deflection Steve knows him far too well.
āTomorrow.ā Steve reminds him, again, at the end of their call.
āTomorrow.ā Eddie repeats. āI love you, sweetheart.ā
āI love you too, baby.ā
Eddie misses his boyfriend.Ā
He tries to sleep. Canāt, of course. He tosses and turns in his bed and then tosses and turns on the couch with the TV humming staticky with whatever late-night garbage he has it on.Ā
And he justāhas to do something. Keep occupied until the sun comes up and he can go to work and lose himself in whatever car some idiot brought in because he didnāt change the oil. Keep his hands busy enough to keep his mind busy, too.
He sits bolt upright. Remembers, suddenly, the bleach and hair dye heās almost positive Robin left here.Ā
It doesnāt take him long to find. Heād organized them, without even realizing, nestled them between all of Steveās bottles and jars and potions.Ā
Never one for instructions, Eddie remembers Steve mixing the bleach with something else before he smeared it over Robinās hair.Ā
It was white. He remembers that much. Thick and gloopy. Likeā¦ conditioner?
He mixes the two together in an old Tupperware with a toothbrush, the smell sort of making his eyes water.Ā
He canāt see much of the back of his head, but heās just getting the ends, anyways.Ā
Eventually the toothbrush becomes cumbersome, and he massages the last of it in with his fingers.Ā
Heās pretty glad that part goes quick because after a minute he can feel his cuticles begin to burn.Ā
He remembers Steve wrapping Robinās hair in a plastic bag, and he finds one, eventually, has to fish out a crumpled receipt but sticks that over his head. And waits.
He forgot about the waiting part. That heād have to sit here while the bleach did its thing and then again when he puts on the red.Ā
He sits on the toilet with the lid down, picking at his firey cuticles. The clock in the hallway reads nearly 5 a.m., which means Eddie has at least four more hours to kill.Ā
He goes through their drawers again, wondering if Steve maybe has a different color hiding around. He thinks green would be cool. Maybe pink.
But Eddie doesnāt find another color. He finds, instead, his sewing kit. And he thinks of all the goofy tattoos his has. The goofy tattoos he gave himself. His dice. His Tree of Gondor. His triceratops. And, really, how itās a shame he hasnāt gotten one for Steve.Ā
He knows what heās doing and where before he even has all the supplies, snapping a ballpoint into a small dish and sterilizing the needle with his lighter. He shaves his inner thigh and washes out the bleach from his hair, which is a little underwhelming, honestly, having done little to lighten his dark locks.Ā
He puts the red in regardless, puts his plastic bag hat back on and gets to work on his thigh.Ā
And thatās how Jeff finds him. Appearing, in Eddieās bathroom doorway, two coffee cups in hand. He takes in the plastic bag, smeared with red, on his head, Eddieās bald and inky leg.
Eddie has no idea what time it is.
He looks down at himself. āI think Steve isā¦ 86% of my impulse control.āĀ
Jeff doesnāt say anything. Just rests the coffees on the sink and crouches to look at Eddieās fresh ink.Ā
āIs thatā¦ hairspray?ā
āThree puffs!ā Eddie answers, a little deliriously, and dips the needle back into the ink to start the third said puff. āHowād you get in here?ā He asks, not taking his eyes off the needle.Ā
āHow do you always forget you gave me a key?ā Jeff snorts, and then, a little softer, adds, āSteve asked me to swing by before your shift today, you know. Bring you some food.ā
Eddieās gaze flicks to the coffee as he dips his needle in again. āI only see caffeine, here, Williams.ā
Jeffās quiet for a moment before, āhow about you finish that up, wash that dye from your hair, and then Iāll give you the food?ā Jeffās voice is still all gentle and obnoxious, and Eddie resists the urge of poking him with the needle.
But Eddieās almost done with the last puff, anyways, andā¦ breakfast does sound nice.Ā
āāM almost done.ā He mumbles.Ā
Jeff sits on the bathroom floor, sipping his coffee and watching Eddie finishes. Then he helps him untangle the plastic bag from his hair. Then makes sure whatever soap they have is unscented, makes sure whatever Eddieās about to slather all over his thigh wonāt turn it septic.Ā
Damn paramedics.Ā
In the shower, though, Eddieās exhaustion starts to creep up on him. Four days with little sleep makes his eyelids droop in the warmth. Makes his shoulders sag as he washes the dye out of his hair. Makes his limbs heavy as he cleans his new tattoo, which, looks pretty damn good, if he does say so himself.
A can of hairspray. Three puffs.Ā
Eddie towels off, only a little disappointed that the dye didnāt do much. He can see it, a little, but only if the light hits it just right.
Jeffās waiting for him with a greasy breakfast sandwich and coffee, and Eddie bites into it before heās even seated, moaning at the taste.Ā
āJesus.ā Jeff mutters, āletās wait until Steve gets back for that, okay?ā
Eddie doesnāt have the energy to bite back, just takes another bite before he swallows the first. āFank āoo,ā Eddie grunts, word garbled around egg and sausage and cheese. He swallows. Looks down at his hands. āFor.ā The skin of his inner thigh is pink. āEverything.ā He takes another bite.Ā
Jeff smiles. āAnd miss whatever disaster just happened in your bathroom? Not a chance, Munson.ā He puts down his coffee cup. āI did call you in sick from work today, though. Just so you know.ā
Eddie drops his sandwich. āJeff!ā Egg flies across the table. āWhat the fuck!ā
Jeff raises his eyebrows and dusts Eddieās food from his shirt. āYou can barely keep your eyes open. Iām protecting you from dropping a car on yourself during a tire rotation.ā
Eddie swallows, hands already twitching, ādude. Iām gonna go insane here by myself.ā
Jeff raises his other eyebrow.
āMore insane.ā Eddie corrects. His leg starts to bounce.
āGood thing Iām gonna be keeping you company, then.ā Jeff leans back in his chair, picking up his coffee and tilting the styrofoam at Eddie. āMovie marathon?ā
Between he and Steve they only have about three decent movies, but Eddie finishes his sandwich on the couch as Jeff fiddles with the VCR.Ā
The movie begins, and that wave of exhaustion returns. Floods him. Itās hard to keep his eyes open. He leans into Jeffās side. Who isnāt Steve, but who smells nice. Like linen.
Jeff rests his cheek on Eddieās head. āSleep, man.ā He mumbles.
So Eddie does.
He doesnāt know how long he was asleep. But he wakes to a hand in his hair. To fingers massaging his scalp, and he knows before he even asks. āāTeve?ā
āHi, baby.ā Steve whispers, his hand stills, and he pulls Eddie closer.Ā
Steve feels so good. Warm and strong and here and here.Ā
Eddie opens his eyes only to bury himself in Steveās chest, his boyfriend falling back onto the couch to accommodate, his arms winding around Eddieās middle.Ā
āI missed you.ā Eddie murmurs, and breathes Steve in, presses his nose into his sweatshirt and curls closer, fists his hands into Steveās clothes and holds on tight.
āI missed you, too.ā Steve sighs. He sounds tired. āLetāsā¦ not do that again.ā
Eddie shakes his head. āNever again.ā He agrees.Ā
Steve shifts, opens his legs so Eddie falls between them. āI played hooky on the all-hands luncheon today.ā Steve admits, quiet. āDidnāt feel like sitting around with them all day when I could be here with you.ā Steveās hand returns to his hair, twirling the strands between his fingers. āDid youā¦ dye your hair?ā
āNā got a tattoo.ā Eddie hums.
Steve giggles, and kisses the top of Eddieās head. āI like it.ā Steveās fingers dance across his scalp, and Eddie never wants to go another night without this.Ā
āI like you.ā Eddie volleys back, and he feels Steve laugh, feels it rumble through his chest because Steve is here and heās laughing and then thereās another kiss placed on Eddieās head before Steve murmurs, āI like you too, baby.ā
My permanent tag list š: @hotluncheddie @hitlikehammers @hbyrde36 @littlewildflowerkitten @chaotic-waffle
@westifer-dead @perseus-notjackson @finntheehumaneater @theheadlessphilosopher @spectrum-spectre
@itsall-taken @marvel-ous-m @bookworm0690 @acasualcrossfade
(Sorry taglist that youāre getting tagged late Iām still getting used to tumblrs new STUPID TAGGING SYSTEM)
837 notes
Ā·
View notes