Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

When Robin said she booked him a super cute Airbnb Steve was expecting…well he’s not quite sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. Sitting in his BMW, he looks at the house in front of him and frowns. Can it even be called a house? It's a cabin. A fucking log cabin. He’s pretty sure he built something like this out of Lincoln Logs when he was six. At least this place looks sturdier.

He shuts off the engine and gets out of the car, his shoes crunching on the inch of snow that recently fell, and gets his luggage out of the trunk. The air is cold and crisp, and feels good in his lungs after breathing in the heat from his vents for the last three hours. Normally he’d prefer to fly if he has to travel, but this place is nowhere fucking near an airport. He guesses that’s kind of the point, though.

Escape from the city. Get away from the noise and stress and constant grind. He didn’t want to admit it, wouldn’t have if Robin didn’t pry it out of him, but life has been wearing him down lately. He barely goes out, barely even dates anymore. His Tinder and Grindr apps are collecting dust on his phone, and if he’s lucky, he’ll maybe get a quick bathroom hookup once every few months. All he does is work. Even when he’s not working, he’s still working. Fielding panicked phone calls and texts from his employees, constantly checking his emails, always looking for the next opportunity, the next acquisition, the next project. 

Acquisitions. Just a fancy term for buy up buildings on a block, level them, and put up another Mega Mart. Capitalism at its finest. 

Robin told him he needed to take a break before he worked himself into an early grave. He hasn’t taken as much as a sick day in three years, let alone a vacation. So this is going to be an adjustment. Instead of steel and concrete, he’s going to be surrounded by trees and snow and fresh air. Instead of his sleek condo, he’s going to be staying in this log fucking cabin in the middle of the woods. Goodbye Big City, hello Forest Hills. 

He never even heard of this town before. Has no idea how Robin even found it, let alone this shack he’ll be living in for the next month. 

Jesus, a month. He thought maybe a short weekend getaway would suffice. Leave after work on a Friday, be back on a Sunday with enough time to get his shit together for Monday morning. Robin would hear no such thing, telling him he would need a hell of a lot more time than that to get the stick unlodged from his ass and actually relax. She swiped his credit card from his wallet, and booked this place for the entire month of December. As soon as the confirmation came through, she tossed his card back at him with a Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.

She didn’t even show him the listing. Now he knows why. He never would have willingly agreed to this. Steve’s idea of relaxing, if he ever granted himself time to do so, would look a lot less rustic and hell of a lot more like a white sand beach with bottomless Mai Tai’s. 

He trudges up the steps with his luggage and enters the code Robin texted him into the lockbox. The inside is a bit more promising than the outside would suggest. It’s still wood everywhere - wood walls, wood floors, slanted wood ceiling, wood burning fireplace. But dare he say, it’s cute. Small, for sure, but cute. 

Setting his bags down, he kicks off his shoes and hangs up his wool pea coat, and takes in his surroundings. It’s mostly one large room. A living space to the right has tall built-in shelves, housing all kinds of books that he bets are just there for decoration. Among them are several knick knacks keeping the books company - a wood mallard with flaking paint, an antique brass clock, a deer antler that looks like it might actually be real and not from IKEA or something, a dish with a variety of shells, and some wrought iron candle holders that look like something Ebenezer Scrooge would carry around at night.

The fireplace is big, surrounded by stones, and the mantle houses a couple more iron candle holders for big pillar candles that seem to have been lit a few times before. Between them is a hand painted wood plaque stating When you’re here, you’re home. Steve sighs heavily at it, silently cursing his best friend for sending him someplace so fucking…quaint.

In front of the fireplace is a sheepskin rug, and he wonders like with the antler, if it’s actual sheep or fake. There’s a brown recliner in the corner by the front windows that looks like it’s seen better days, but the couch is nice. Cream colored, long. The cushions look fluffy and comfortable and he doesn’t mind the excessive amount of mismatched pillows arranged on either end, or the knit blanket draped over the back. He runs his fingers over the material, shades of blues and greens that are beautifully interwoven, and makes a mental note to scan it on his Amazon app later so he can order one for his condo.

On the other side of the space is the kitchen, and Steve eyes the range warily. It looks old, probably from the 50’s, and a far cry from his glass top stove at home. The rest of the kitchen seems a little more updated, the fridge is newer at any rate. There's more wood, of course. The cabinets, the counters, there’s wood everywhere. Poking around, he finds plates, bowls, coffee mugs, all the usual shit. He figures he should probably get the lay of the land here and see what’s already stocked so he can make a run to the grocery store later and get whatever else he might need. 

The fridge is mostly empty, but there are some basic condiments in the door. There’s a good amount of pots and pans, even some cast iron shit that he knows is supposed to be superior, but never actually used himself. Salt, pepper, oil, some basic seasonings. A coffee pot and filters, but no grinder. He considers ordering one so he doesn’t have to use the pre-ground shit that Robin insists is fine. He’s a little cunty with his coffee, so what. 

Once he’s taken stock of what’s available, he moves to the back of the cabin. Between the living room and kitchen, there’s an open entryway into a narrow hall. To one side is a large bathroom and he’s surprised to find it’s actually a lot more modern. White subway tile, a big walk-in shower, deep soaking tub, and potted plants hanging from the ceiling. They must love it when it gets steamy in here. 

The bathroom counter has a basket with washcloths and hand towels. Another basket has little bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion, and even little vials of what look like infused bath salts. Damn. He’s been to some hotel suites that don’t even offer some of this shit. He rifles through the items and opens a few of them to do a sniff test. They smell fucking amazing, some blend of herbs and florals that aren’t distinctly masculine or feminine. He looks at the label of the conditioner to see what brand it is, probably Aveda or something, and furrows his brow. 

Hillside Bath and Body

Never heard of it. He sets it back down in the basket and figures he’ll Google it later.

Leaving the bathroom and flicking off the light behind him, he checks out the bedroom and finds it’s some combination of the rustic front half of the house, and the modern bathroom. There’s still wood everywhere, but the king sized bed has crisp white sheets that stand out against the dark walls, and a fluffy deep red duvet that he knows will keep him toasty when he crashes later.

The nightstands on either side of the bed are painted white and artfully distressed. There’s a matching dresser, decorated with some more of those iron candleholders and a pot of succulents. There’s some art on the walls, a big metal ring with twisted metal flowers that’s actually a stunning contrast of natural and industrial, sconces with candlesticks on either side of the big picture window looking out over the pine trees behind the cabin, heavy drapes that match the duvet, and a landscape print of a meadow full of wildflowers. 

On closer inspection, Steve realizes it’s not a generic print, but an actual painting. Damn. Nice.

He exits the bedroom and goes back to the front door where he dropped his luggage and hauls it back to the bed. He’ll unpack later. Getting his phone out of his pocket, he pulls up his contacts, taps on Favorites, and calls the one number he has stored in there. As the line rings, he hits the speaker button and goes back into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

“Hey Dingus! Did you make it there in one piece?”

“Robin, what exactly about me says rustic cabin in the woods?”

“It looked cute! And you need some time away from city life, Steve. Some peace and quiet will be good for you.”

“I couldn’t get some peace and quiet at a beach resort?”

“Shut up. I did you a favor, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath.”

“So how is it really? The pictures made it look so fucking cozy.”

Steve looks around the cabin and sighs. He hates to admit she’s right. “It’s fine. Small. Not a dump, though. You know there’s an actual oil painting hanging up in the bedroom? Like, the decor here isn’t bougie or anything, far from it actually…but whoever put this all together knows what they were doing. It’s cute.”

“Cute is good. So what are you gonna do on your first night of freedom?”

“I don’t know. Head into town and get some food and stuff. Maybe watch a movie or something. Wait…” he looks at the living room and does a double take around the space. “Robin, there’s no fucking television here!”

“At all?”

“A month! I’m stuck here for a month and I can’t even space out in front of the tv and binge watch my shows?”

“Well,” Robin says in that try to look on the bright side tone. “I’m sure you can find other things to occupy yourself with! Did you unpack yet?”

“No, why? Is that supposed to be my entertainment for the night?”

“Just open your suitcase, Dingus. The bigger one. I might have slipped something in there for you.”

Steve grumbles to himself as he grabs the phone off the counter and goes back to the bedroom. Setting Robin down on the dresser. He opens the bigger suitcase and just sees the clothes he folded up in there.

“Under your sweaters. At the bottom.”

Steve pulls his stack of thick sweaters out and freezes. There’s a large sketchbook, charcoal, and the good kind of pencils he hasn’t even thought about in years.

“Robbie, what is this?”

“It’s been a long time since you did anything for you, Steve. You used to love drawing, and you haven’t given yourself time for it in ages. Well… now you have nothing but time. Pick up a pencil again, see what happens.”

God, he doesn’t even know if he remembers how to. The last time he drew something was long before he got hired on as the head of Acquisitions at Mega Mart. His life has been nothing but work since then. 

He used to draw all the time, it was the thing he was able to zone out on and not have to think too hard about. He took an art class on a whim his senior year of high school and it just…clicked. He never thought he was particularly good at it, but he enjoyed doing it. 

“Yeah…maybe. I’m fucking rusty, though.”

“Who cares? It’s not like they’ll be hung in a museum.”

“I guess…Thanks, Rob.”

“You’re welcome. Draw some boobies for me or something.”

Steve barks out a laugh and tells her he’ll call again tomorrow before hanging up and properly unpacking his shit. Clothes are all put in the dresser and hung in the small closet. He arranges his toiletries on the bathroom counter and in the shower. His laptop is set on the kitchen table and plugged in to charge. The bluetooth speaker he was smart enough to pack goes on the kitchen counter. Shoes and boots neatly lined up by the door. 

With his hands on his hips he surveys his surroundings. A place for everything and everything in its place. He checks the time on his phone and figures he might as well head into town now so he can stock up on the shit he’ll need for the next few days and get the lay of the land. He steps into his boots, throws on his peacoat, makes sure he has the key to the cabin, and heads out into the chilly air. 

As he backs out of the driveway onto the quiet road, he notices a flash of color in his rearview mirror. Once his tires are on solid pavement and the car is pointed towards town, he looks at the property across the street that he didn’t notice when he was pulling in earlier. There’s a cabin not too unlike his own, but off to the side is a barn. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, but the colors that caught Steve’s attention flap in the breeze. Above the closed barn doors hangs a rainbow flag. 

His eyebrow goes up at the recognition and there’s a flutter of pleasant surprise knowing that this small town has at least one person who’s queer-friendly. It’s not like he has a lot of experience with small towns, but he figures most of them have to be pretty conservative. Feeling a little bit more comfortable about being here, he shifts into drive and follows the road towards downtown Forest Hills.

It takes nearly ten minutes of driving through snowy back roads to reach the actual town. And when he does…

“You’ve got be fucking kidding me.”

It looks like a Hallmark movie. Small shops, old timey lamp posts, kids running through the streets dragging sleds behind them, pine trees in the distance just beyond the quaint downtown. 

It’s fucking…picturesque.

It’s only the first day of December, yet Christmas decorations are hung up everywhere. The lamp posts have garland twisting around them with wreaths strung up at the top. The shops are decorated with twinkling lights, red ribbons, actual fucking mistletoe. Further down the road is a town square, and at the center of it is a huge pine tree ready for decorations. Cute.

Steve realizes a little too late that he didn’t actually check to see where the grocery store is. Pulling into an empty parking space he grabs his phone and searches for one on Google Maps. It shouldn’t be a surprise that there’s only one place in town to buy food. He follows the short route around the town square and parks at Bradley’s. He’s in the business of grocery and big box stores and he’s never fucking heard of this place.

Stepping inside, he quickly figures out why. It’s small. Worryingly small. He grabs a cart and starts to peruse the aisles, grabbing things he figures he’ll need as staples for the next few days, and something he can make for dinner tonight. He gets a carton of eggs, butter, a loaf of bread, dried pasta, a few snacks, some produce that actually looks really good, and checks out the meat selection. He remembers seeing a video where someone made a steak in a cast iron pan and figures he might as well make an attempt. 

Unfortunately for him, there’s not a steak in sight. What kind of grocery store is this? They’ve got chicken, ground beef, bacon, and pork chops. That’s it. He settles for a pack of chicken thighs and doubles back to grab the bacon too. That’ll be excellent in the morning.

Circling the store again, his head is on a swivel as he looks for the liquor department. Not a drop of alcohol is in sight. He swears to god that if this is a dry town, he’s packing his shit and leaving tonight.

When he gets to the checkout, the cashier greets him warmly, a younger girl with a nametag reading Holly. Seems fitting for a town that looks like Christmas threw up on it. 

“Hi there! Did you find everything you needed?”

“Mostly,” Steve tells her. Looking around again to make sure he didn’t miss it, he asks, “Do you guys not sell alcohol? Beer? Wine?”

She smiles sweetly at him as she starts to ring up his purchases and says, “No, we don’t. But there’s a liquor store on Oak Street that has everything you might need.”Well that’s promising. He pays for his food as Holly bags it up, and makes his way back out into the cold. Depositing his bags into the footwell of the back seat, he rubs his hands together and thinks that a hot cup of coffee would be incredible right now.

Shit. Coffee.

If he wants to be a functioning human tomorrow, he’s going to need some caffeine. Glancing back at the meager grocery store, he figures he’ll have better luck finding decent fuel at a Starbucks. He gets back into his car, fires up the engine and warms his hands on the vents for a moment before opening up Google Maps again and searching for the nearest location.

There isn’t one.

The map suggests another place though, and he rolls his eyes at the name of the business. The Daily Grind. It’s corny as hell and he makes a mental note to take a picture of the building to send to Robin. She’d love the punny name.

He follows the directions, which aren’t far at all, and finds himself outside of a small cafe decorated just as Christmasy as the rest of the businesses here. He can smell the fresh ground beans as soon as he gets out of his car and floats like a cartoon character to a pie on a windowsill following the scent. It’s warm and small inside, just a scattering of a few small tables and chairs, but it’s cute. He goes to the counter and skims the menu even though he knows all he wants is a black coffee. They’ve got mochas, lattes, cold brew, tea…not far off from what he’s used to seeing in the city.

A woman around his age with short curly red hair and big glasses comes out from the back room and flashes him a friendly smile. “Welcome to The Daily Grind, what can I get you?”

“A large black coffee would be great, thanks. And uh…” he looks past her shoulder and sees bags of beans behind the counter. “Are those whole or ground?” He truly detests pre-ground beans. They’re just not as fresh, probably have been sitting on a shelf for months getting stale and shitty. He can put up with pre-ground for now, but he really should have a grinder delivered to the cabin as soon as fucking possible.

She glances back and says, “They’re all whole beans, but we can grind them for you if you need it.”

Well shit. Small mercies. “That would be great, actually. Can I get a bag of your darkest roast?”

“You got it!” she chirps, and sets about filling a to-go cup and grabbing a bag of beans off the shelf. Steve watches as she feeds them into a high quality grinder and collects the grounds into a fresh bag. Once they’re done, she slides him the cup and starts to ring him up.

Steve takes a cautious sip of the piping hot coffee and holy shit…this is fucking amazing. “Woah, you guys do not mess around.”

The woman laughs and nods in agreement. “We take our beans pretty seriously here. Roast them ourselves and everything.”

Whatever they’re doing, it’s fucking working. This shit is incredible. She introduces herself, clocking pretty quickly that he’s not from around here. Barb shakes his hand and gives him a punch card - buy nine cups of coffee, get the tenth one free - and sends him on his way. He’s not sure if he’ll be back here ten times, but then he remembers that he’s stuck in this town for a whole month, so maybe he’ll get a free coffee out of it.

The liquor store he was told about is only a block away, so he puts the bag of grounds in the backseat with his groceries and decides to just walk over. The bell rings above the door and he makes a beeline to the bourbon section, grabbing a basket from the stack at the entrance. He loads it with the nicest brand he can find, a bottle of vermouth, bitters, a jar of Luxardo cherries, and snags a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a nice Cab on his way to the register. 

Juggling the basket and cup of coffee, he manages to get everything unloaded without spilling anything and burning his hand. The clerk behind the counter gives him a friendly smile like they’ve known each other for years and asks, “Did you find everything you need?”

“I did, yeah. Nice bourbon selection.”

“Oh, thanks! You new in town? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“Yeah, I just got in this afternoon. I’m renting a cabin for the month.”

“Nice! You’re gonna love it here. Lots of friendly people, lot of great shops.”

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.” Steve is so used to city life where people don’t banter like this in stores. It’s always get in, get out, go on with your day. This is weird.

“You finding everything ok so far?”

“Everything but steaks,” he chuckles. “The grocery store is a little bare.” He realizes too late that he probably sounds like an asshole.

“Ah man, you gotta go to the butcher shop! They got everything you need. Steaks, tenderloins, whole chickens. And it’s all locally raised.”

Jesus Christ, are there separate stores for everything here? How can this possibly be convenient for everybody? 

“Thanks for the tip. Is it close by?”

The guy nods as he bags up Steve’s bottles and tells him, “Just on the other side of the town square. All the main roads branch out from there, that’s where you’re gonna find all the stuff you need. So we’re on Oak Street, which heads west. The butcher shop is on Maple, which goes east. Pine takes you north and Cedar takes you south.”

“Seems easy enough,” Steve says, swiping his card and punching in his pin. 

“If there’s anything you can’t find, just ask. Everyone around here is pretty helpful to visitors. And here,” he says, holding up a small bottle of Buffalo Trace Bourbon Cream before slipping it into the bag. “For your coffee.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that-“

“Nah it’s cool, man. I’m Jeff.”

He holds out his hand and Steve shakes it over the counter. “Steve.”

“Welcome to Forest Hills, Steve. Enjoy your stay.”

He exits the shop in a bit of a daze, coffee in one hand, brown paper bag tucked in his other arm. What the hell is this place? The sun is setting as he walks to his car, and after putting his things inside, he pauses to take a picture of the coffee shop sign and the hues of pink and orange over the pine trees on the horizon to send to Robin.

😜Dingus😜: I think you sent me to the Twilight Zone. Everyone here so far is alarmingly nice. Pod people maybe?

🐦Robbie🐦: omfg that sign is amazing! And wtf it looks like you’re in a Thomas Kinkade painting.

Steve has to Google what the hell that is and immediately gets it when he sees the picture perfect wintery scenes. Small, quaint towns covered in snow, warm lights coming from inside the old timey buildings. That’s exactly the vibe of this place.

😜Dingus😜: omw to the BUTCHER SHOP like it’s 1912, after leaving the liquor store, because the grocery store doesn’t have meat or booze. I gotta make like 20 stops to get the shit I need. 

🐦Robbie🐦: Torture 🙄

Steve huffs and grins at his phone, pocketing it and getting back on the road. It’s a short drive through the roundabout circling the center of the town, and within minutes he’s pulling up to a place called Bob the Butcher. He couldn’t make this up if he tried.

Stepping out of his car, he surveys the street and among the shops he sees a small movie theater called Reel Magic and snorts. Snaps another picture for Robin. A little further down is what looks like a bar, the windows tinted dark and surrounded in blinking colored Christmas lights. Maple Street Tavern. Not a bar. Not a cocktail lounge. A tavern. It’s so Small Town America, a far cry from the pretentious places he ends up at in the city where the drinks are $18 and served by guys who look like nutmeg wholesalers. 

The butcher shop is just how he pictured it would be given the look of the town. It’s an old building. Hardwood floors that are worn down with decades of use and creak a bit as he walks through the space. Glass cases display shaved deli meats, thick pork chops, ribeyes, t-bones, anything you could possibly want. There are cheeses, too. Some sides like potato salad, baked beans, cole slaw. Everything looks really fucking good. Thank. You. Jeff.

“Hi there! What can I getcha?”

The man behind the counter is shorter, a little stocky, and has one of the friendliest faces he’s ever seen. Steve can’t help but smile at him. Weird. 

“I was told this is the place in town to get steaks.”

“You were told right! Got your eye on anything?”

Steve looks over the case again and points. “The t-bones look good. One of those please?”

“Anything else?,” the guy asks, retrieving a thick steak from the case and wrapping it in brown paper. 

“That should be fine,” Steve shrugs. “Just need something for dinner tonight.”

“You here by yourself, or visiting family?”

Steve laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “Is it that obvious I’m not from around here?”

“Nah. It’s just a small town, and I think I know pretty much everyone in it. Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Gotcha. Yeah, my best friend sent me here to get a break from life for a while.”

“Sounds like a good friend,” the guy says with a smile as he bags the steak and rings the purchase up on the old register. “How long are you staying?”

“The whole month,” Steve tells him, swiping his card. This thing is getting a workout today.

“Now that’s what I call a vacation! I’m sure I’ll see you around pretty often, then.” He extends his hand and Steve shakes it, baffled once again by the friendliness of everyone here. “Bob. Good to meet you.”

“Steve. I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”

“Here,” Bob says, grabbing a pack of beef jerky and adding it to the bag. “Little something to tide you over until next time. We make it in-house.”

Jesus Christ, do these people not care about making sales? Steve thanks him and starts to make his way out of the shop, giving Bob a friendly wave.

“Welcome to Forest Hills!” he calls out, waving back with a beaming smile.

This place is gonna take some getting used to.

Making sure he’s got everything he needs and doesn’t have to make yet another stop at another store, Steve drives back to the cabin through the now dark winding road. The sun setting at like 4:30 is always jarring every winter, but is so much more noticeable out here with the lack of light pollution.

It takes two trips to get all his shit inside, and he gets to work right away finding a home for everything. He puts some music on to fight off the deafening silence, and Googles how to use a cast iron pan. Soon the sounds of sizzling meat join Fleetwood Mac, and the mouthwatering scent of searing beef fills the cabin. 

He’s got potatoes frying in another pan and a small salad ready for dressing. Thankfully the cabin was stocked well enough staples that he can make a simple vinaigrette. When everything is done, he plates it up and gives himself a pat on the back for not fucking up the steak. He pours himself a glass of Cabernet and takes it to the kitchen table with his dinner.

It’s fucking delicious. The steak melts like butter in his mouth, the potatoes are tender and crispy and just the right amount of salty, and the salad adds the perfect freshness to balance it all out. The wine is rich and fruity and is already warming his cheeks. Not too fucking shabby for his first meal in the Twilight Zone.

When he’s done and the kitchen is cleaned up, making sure he doesn’t commit the cardinal sin of washing the pan with soap and water, he changes out of his jeans and button up shirt, opting for comfort with plaid pajama pants and a white cotton tee. His fuzzy socks practically glide across the hardwood floor and he stops and kneels at the rug in front of the fireplace. It’s warm enough in here with the furnace running, but he can’t resist the pull to relax in front of a crackling fire.

It takes probably too many attempts to get the wood to catch, but once it does, the room is lit up with a warm glow. He stands and scans the bookshelves, finding that he doesn’t recognize many of the titles, but the ones he does are a mix of fantasy and horror. One particular spine catches his eye and he snatches it off the shelf.

The Princess Bride.

He hasn’t read this since he was in middle school. Refilling his wine glass and changing the music to an instrumental playlist, he settles onto the couch and sinks into the fluffy cushions. The knit blanket is draped over his lap and he spends the next couple hours sipping his Cab and immersing himself in the world of Butttercup and Westley. 

He was dreading the silence and lack of television when he first got here, but now…he’s the calmest he’s been in ages. Maybe Robin was onto something.

He takes breaks from his book periodically to refill his glass and add more wood to the fire. By the time his eyelids are drooping and the words are swimming on the page, his bottle is empty and the stack of wood is reduced to dying embers. Might as well call it a night.

He uses the punch card from The Daily Grind as a bookmark, shuts everything down, does his nightly routine of face washing, teeth brushing, and moisturizing, and climbs into bed feeling warm from the wine and fire and ready to sleep for as long as his body wants.

No alarms. No meetings. No conference calls or presentations. Just rest and relaxation. He thinks that maybe…he might just like it here.

Chapter Text

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Steve startles awake to the distant sound of what seems to be metal banging against metal. So much for peace and quiet. He groans and rolls over to check the time on his phone. It’s after eight, which is early for vacation time, but much later than he usually sleeps. 

He takes his time waking up, scrolling through his social media apps and enjoying the luxury of just laying in bed and doing nothing until his stomach growls. It’s going on nine when he finally drags himself out from under the covers and takes a leak, brushes his teeth, and heads into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He makes a breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast, pours that bourbon cream into his mug, and eats at the table while watching YouTube videos about cast iron pans.

After breakfast, he wanders around the cabin, taking in all the details and flipping through the books on the shelves. The clanging is still happening, albeit periodically and not constant enough to make his head hurt. It’s a little fuzzy after the bottle of wine he drank last night. He peeks out the front window and can just barely see the cabin across the road through all the fucking evergreens. It’s the only place around here, so that’s logically where the sound is coming from. At the edge of the road, just off of the driveway, is a stand with bundles of wood and a sign, Firewood $5. 

He glances at the fireplace, the empty space where the stack of wood was last night, and thinks it’s either very convenient that there’s wood for sale right across the road, or something very strategically planned to make money off of tourists who rent this place. Either way…it works in his favor.

While he slowly drains the coffee pot, he dives back into his book and realizes he hasn’t actually cracked the spine on anything in a disturbingly long amount of time. He’s never been a big reader, but going literal years without reading a book? What the fuck.

Around noon, he realizes he didn’t actually buy anything for lunch and regrets not getting some of the deli meat and freshly sliced cheese from the butcher shop yesterday. He cleans up his dishes from breakfast and starts the shower to get the water heating up. The basket of toiletries on the counter is calling his name, so he snags the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash before stripping down and stepping into the shower. The water pressure is great, might even be better than at his condo, and these little bottles are filling the shower with the most gorgeous scents. 

His hair feels soft and silky after he gets it blow dried and he kind of just wants to leave it as it is, but applies a little product anyway. You can take the boy out of the city, and all that. Steve throws on some jeans and a cream colored sweater, laces up his Thursday boots, buttons up his peacoat, and gets back on the road into town. Entering downtown Forest Hills, he parks on Cedar Street and gets out to meander around and take in the shops. There’s a place called Byers Brothers Gallery that seems to have a mix of paintings and photography from what he can see through the window. A bakery, a knitting store, and a diner that looks like a good place to stop for lunch.

The menu is what one would expect of a small town diner. Burgers, fries, onion rings, milkshakes. He gets the California Burger, which is basically a Big Mac, but with thicker patties and clearly better quality everything. Deciding it’s probably a good idea to walk off some of these calories since he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of a gym in this place, Steve wanders around the area and window shops a bit until he sees something familiar. It’s a small store, decorated beautifully for the holidays with lights, garland, wreaths, and poinsettias. 

Hillside Bath and Body. So this is where those amazing little bottles are from. A bell jingles above the door when he steps inside and a tiny woman behind the counter greets him with a blinding smile.

“Hi there! Let me know if you need help finding anything!”

“Actually,” Steve says, glancing around the shop, “I just used some little samples of your shampoo and conditioner and they were amazing. They smelled like…I don’t know, eucalyptus and lavender or something?”

Her face somehow brightens even more, she really is lovely, and she steps out from behind the counter and leads Steve to a shelf of full sized bottles. “That would be the relax blend, I’ve got a body wash and bar soap too in the same scent. But feel free to look around! Everything is hand made by yours truly,” she says, placing her manicured hand on her chest over her pink sweater, “and don’t be shy. Pop the caps and give ‘em all a sniff test if you want.”

“Thanks,” Steve chuckles, “I’ll do that.” 

“I’m Chrissy, by the way. Just holler if you need anything!” She practically skips her way back behind the counter, her strawberry blonde ponytail swishing with every step, and busies herself putting together gift baskets with sample sizes of her products.

Steve takes his time meandering through the store, sniffing the different shampoos and conditioners and grabbing a couple to purchase. The relax blend for himself, and the awake blend for Robin. It’s very bright and citrusy and he knows she’ll love it. She already planned on coming to visit for Christmas since they’ve never spent a holiday apart, so he’ll have something she can unwrap when she gets here. 

Maybe he’ll bring her back to this shop to check out the wares. This Chrissy girl is exactly her type. 

“Do you have a tub where you’re staying?”

The question startles him out of his thoughts and he spins on his heel to face her. “Yeah, I do actually.” After being clocked as a tourist multiple times yesterday, he’s not surprised at all that she figured it out too.

“Oh, you have to try some bath salts! I make them all with really good quality essential oils, dried rose petals, amber, all kinds of stuff.” She points to a table in the shop with bags of salts, and little bottles with corks in them. “You can smell all the different ones right there, see if there’s something you like!”

Steve goes to look them over and starts uncorking one bottle at a time, all of them labeled with different mythical names. Mermaid has a fragrance that reminds him of the ocean, a hint of seaweed, and something that makes him think of what caves must smell like. It’s not something he’d normally go for, but it’s nice. Not overly perfumey, and just really fresh and natural. And aptly named.

They all seem to be. 

Satyr smells like a forest, damp earth, and moss. Faerie is this light floral scent that's not overpowering at all, and has a pleasant sweetness about it. Dragon is warm like a roaring fire, bursting with amber and cinnamon. And Nymph is minty and soothing, like an herb garden or something. He grabs a bag of each, fuck it, and sets all his purchases down on the counter. 

Chrissy’s beaming smile is back again when she looks down and sees his haul. “So you found a couple things, huh?”

“Yeah, just a few,” he laughs. “I like the names you came up with for these, they’re fitting.”

“Oh, that was my best friend, actually! He’s into all kinds of fantasy stuff and helped me name them when he tested them out.”

“Well, he nailed it.”

Her nose crinkles a bit when she smiles back and starts ringing him up. The total is a bit eye-watering, but he figures these products are worth it, and it’s not like he’s hurting for money. Before he grabs the bag off the counter, she stops him and tosses in a lip balm from the little stand next to the register. 

When he opens his mouth to protest, she cuts in saying, “Nope! I insist! Don’t want you getting chapped lips out there. Welcome to Forest Hills!”

He should have seen that coming.

Steve thanks her and heads back out into the crisp air, doing a little window shopping until his ears start to burn from the cold. He’s killed a lot of time wandering around and figures he might as well head back to the cabin and start putting together something for dinner. 

The clanging has stopped when he gets out of the car and all is silent and peaceful again. He puts on some music and mindlessly sings along as he sets his new purchases up in the bathroom. The sun is starting to set and he thinks it’s probably better to go get more wood now instead of waiting and having to fumble around in the dark.

He throws his coat back on, applies some of the balm to his already drying lips and hums at the pleasant taste of vanilla. It’s a short walk down the driveway and across the road. The lights in the cabin are on and the barn door is open, but nobody seems to be around. His gaze stops at a hand painted sign on the other side of the driveway that simply says Hellfire. Whatever that means. Grabbing a bundle of wood, he looks around wondering how the hell he’s supposed to pay for this if nobody is out here.

“Just put some cash in the box!” a man shouts.

Steve looks up and his breath catches as he sees someone approaching. A man with long dark hair sticking out of a black beanie, eyes so big and dark they’re hypnotizing, beautiful full lips, broad shoulders covered in a red and black flannel shirt, black jeans, and big shit kicker boots. Steve wants to climb him like a tree.

A grin slowly takes over the man’s face as he comes closer, his eyes never leaving Steve’s, and dear god he has dimples.

“There’s a cashbox on the other side of the crib.” 

Steve must look confused, because a crib? What the fuck is he talking about? The man nods at the stand that the wood is in, and Steve realizes that’s what this thing must be called. And sure enough, on the opposite side is a little metal mailbox.

“Shit,” he says. “Um…do you take ApplePay or anything?”

The man chuckles lowly and leans against the crib crossing his arms. Fuck, he’s hot.

“Sorry, it’s cash only. Can’t exactly set up a card reader out here.” 

Steve looks down at the split logs in his arms and frowns. “Crap. I don’t have any cash on me.” Seriously, who carries cash? “I could probably head back into town and find an ATM-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. You’re staying across the street, right?”

“Yup,” he gulps, feeling small under this man’s unwavering gaze. “I could bring you some cash later.”

He grins and shakes his head. “Seriously, it’s fine. Just take it.”

“How the fuck do people around here make money if they’re just giving shit away all the time?” He didn’t mean to say that, can’t believe it even spilled out his stupid mouth, but the guy barks out a laugh. His eyes crinkle with it and Steve could stand here and just stare at him all day.

“It’s called being welcoming. And it’s just a little bit of wood, man. Not a big deal. Besides, I’m sure you’ll back soon enough, so just bring some cash with you next time.”

“Alright,” Steve sighs. “If you insist.”

“I do. I’m Eddie, by the way.”

He extends his hand, and dear lord he’s wearing rings. Something about that lights a fire low in his belly. Steve shuffles the bundle to his left arm so he can shake Eddie’s hand. It’s a little rough, but it’s warm and strong and he hates letting go of it.

“Steve. Nice to meet you.” 

Eddie grins at him and straightens up, starting to back away towards the barn. “Nice to meet you, too. Don’t be a stranger.”

Then he glances down at Steve’s lips and fucking winks before spinning on his heel and walking away. After standing there in stunned silence for a moment like a total idiot, Steve hustles across the road and back into the cabin, setting down the firewood and shedding his coat. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends a frantic text to Robin.

😜Dingus😜: SOS!!!

🐦Robbie🐦: What’s wrong???

😜Dingus😜: The guy who lives across the street is HOT 🔥🔥🔥

🐦Robbie🐦: Is he 🏳️‍🌈?

😜Dingus😜: Unfortunately yes 

🐦Robbie🐦: Get that dick!

😜Dingus😜: ROB! 😩 You’re not helping! 

🐦Robbie🐦: What’s the problem? You have a hot gay neighbor, take what the lord has given you

😜Dingus😜: He probably thinks I’m an idiot

🐦Robbie🐦: You are

😜Dingus😜: I went to buy his wood and kind of made an ass out of myself

😜Dingus😜: RUDE

🐦Robbie🐦: “buy his wood” lol Steven I don’t think you need to pay for that, he’d probably give it to you for free

😜Dingus😜: Actual wood, asshole! Firewood! 

😜Dingus😜: And he did give it to me for free…because apparently it’s cash only and who the fuck carries cash??

🐦Robbie🐦: no idea, so weird

😜Dingus😜: SO weird

🐦Robbie🐦: I still think you should go for it. Vacation sex is always the best.

😜Dingus😜: I hate you

Steve busies himself with making dinner, cooking up some chicken thighs, a simple pasta with garlic and olive oil, and another salad, and makes himself a Manhattan to sip slowly while he eats. It’s a welcome distraction from his embarrassing interaction with Eddie. Seriously, he must have looked so fucking stupid.

After he cleans everything up, he decides to forgo the fire for now and opts to fill the tub with steaming water instead. Sniffing through the bath salts again, he decides to use Satyr, it seems fitting with being tucked away in the woods. As the bath fills, he grabs his bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge, a wine glass, and his laptop. There’s a wicker hamper in the bathroom that serves as the perfect table, so he sets everything up on there, cues up Pan’s Labyrinth, dims the lights, and strips his clothes off. 

The water is hot, and he hisses as he slowly lowers himself into the steaming bathwater. The salts he chose are incredibly fragrant, the scents of moss and earth pairing well with the movie as he watches Ofelia interact with the faun. He’s gonna have to find a movie to watch with each scent, this is borderline magical.

By the time the movie is done, the water is getting cold and his bottle is half empty. He drains the tub, dries off, and gets his pajamas on, feeling warmed down to his bones and more relaxed than he’s been in years. Grabbing the beef jerky he got from Bob, he snuggles into the couch with his book and wine, and reads more of The Princess Bride until he’s ready for bed. As soon as he snuggles under the covers and finds just the right position, he’s out like a light.

The next couple days are more of the same, checking out the different main streets branching off from the town square. On Pine Street running north, he stocks up on some more groceries at Bradley’s and finds that all the municipal shit seems to be here. Police station, fire department, post office, a small hospital, library, and the schools. On Oak Street running west he gets his card punched again at The Daily Grind and tries their seasonal peppermint mocha, a total winner. He grabs a few more bottles of wine at the liquor store, because vacation, and passes a record store, salon, pharmacy, and some other kitschy shops. His mornings are lazy, his afternoons are busy, and his evenings are quiet, cooking himself nice little meals for one and burning the bundle of wood he got from Eddie.

When Friday rolls around he figures it’s not a bad idea to get out of the cabin for a night on the town. Back home that would mean dinner with Robin at five star restaurants, hitting a couple cocktail lounges, and ending up at one of the gay clubs where he’d maybe get pulled into a bathroom stall for some quick and dirty sex. Not that it happens often. His life is mostly work and he’s lucky if he gives himself the leeway to take a break once a month.

Forest Hills doesn’t seem like a place where he can dress like he’s going out to get dicked down, and he didn’t bring any of his slutty clothes anyway, so he pulls on some tight jeans, an olive cable knit sweater, and laces up his nice boots. He heads east on Maple Street this time and takes himself out for a movie. Reel Magic is playing Christmas classics, and he arrives just in time for the showing of Scrooged. The theater is tiny compared to the Marcus and AMC theaters he’s used to, but what it lacks in size, it more than makes up for in charm. It looks like something you’d see back in the golden age of Hollywood. Red carpets, carved pillars, potted plants, vintage signage, and all the teenagers working there are dressed in black slacks, white button up shirts, and black waistcoats. It feels fancy.

Armed with popcorn, a Sprite, and Twizzlers, he plants himself in the plush velvet seats and gets comfy for the show. As the lights dim, he practically gasps when above him, the black ceiling comes alive with the twinkling of LED lights. Sitting below the artificial starry sky, Steve thinks this is the best choice he’s made all week. 

When Billy Murray is done being an asshole and changes his selfish ways, Steve leaves the theater and walks down the block to Maple Street Tavern. All the shops he’s been to this week have been pretty quiet, which kind of makes sense considering he’s been going to them on weekday afternoons, but he can already tell before he walks in the door that this place is packed. 

Inside the air is a bit humid, which is a welcome change from the cold that’s seeping in through his coat. The space is bigger than he expected, full of crowded tables and booths. He feels a little awkward coming in here by himself seeing so many groups of families and friends gathered together.

Glancing at the full tables, and then to the bar, he sees a hand sticking up over the sea of heads and waving. A hand with rings. The crowd parts for a moment, and there’s Eddie, looking right at him with that dimpled smile. He tips his head to the side in a come over here gesture and Steve doesn’t even hesitate to weave his way through the warm bodies.

Eddie’s perched on a barstool, wearing worn Chucks, dark jeans, and a black hoodie with the sleeves rolled up. His arms are covered in ink, bats and snakes and script that Steve can’t make out. He’s so fucking hot it’s almost cruel.

“Steve! Hey! Glad to see you out!”

“Yeah, it’s good to see you,” he says, taking off his coat and draping it over the back of the empty barstool next to the most gorgeous man he’s seen since he arrived. He takes a seat and leans against the bar, not missing how Eddie’s eyes do a once-over.

“So what brings you out tonight?”

“Thought I’d get out of the cabin,” Steve shrugs. “Just saw a movie and wanted to grab a drink after.”

“Nice,” Eddie smiles. “What movie did you see?”

“Scrooged.”

“Ooh,” Eddie says, slapping his hand on the bar. “Excellent choice! How’d you like the theater?”

“Loved it,” Steve tells him. “Charming as fuck. And after annihilating a bucket of popcorn I could really use a beer.”

Eddie laughs and waves down the bartender, a young woman with fiery red hair and piercing eyes. “Red! I’ve got a thirsty man over here!”

God damn right you do, Steve thinks, drinking in Eddie’s profile. 

The bartender rolls her eyes and comes over asking Steve, “What can I get you?”

“Heineken?”

She lifts an eyebrow at him and just stares for a moment, making him feel more judged than he’s ever been in his life. “We’ve only got domestic. Very domestic.”

Before he can ask what that means, Eddie cuts in explaining, “She means local. Max, can you get him a Beholder?”

“A what?” Steve asks.

“You’ll like it. My friend Gareth has a small brewery, Homebrew. He makes good shit.”

A bottle is set in front of him and the bartender, Max apparently, tells him, “On the house. Welcome to town.”

She walks away before he can even say anything and Eddie chuckles at whatever Steve’s face is doing. He holds out his own beer and Steve picks up the bottle, clinking it with Eddie’s before taking a drink. And Eddie was right. It’s fucking good.

Almost as good as the bob of Eddie’s throat when he swallows a mouthful of beer.

“So?” Eddie asks, eyes sparkling in the strings of lights hanging above the bar.

“It’s good,” Steve nods. “I’m starting to think everything here is.” His eyes dart up and down Eddie’s form and recognition sparks on the other man’s face.

“Oh, he’s a flirt!” Eddie’s grin and accompanying dimples are making Steve’s blood run hot.

“Are you two gonna try getting into each other’s pants all night, or are you ordering some food first?”

Steve’s eyes dart back to Max, who’s standing on the other side of the bar with her arms crossed and an amused expression on her face. Whoops.

“Uh…sorry. Yeah, do you have a menu?” Steve asks, not at all completely mortified.

She slides a laminated quarter sheet of paper towards him, and the menu only has like six things on it. Fried chicken, pulled pork sandwich, grilled cheese-

“You’re gonna want to get the fish fry,” Eddie tells him. “Best in the county.”

“Ok then. Fish fry it is.”

Eddie orders the same and as soon as Max walks away, he turns to fully face Steve on his barstool. “So what brings you to our fine little town, Steve?”

“I’m taking a mandatory break from life.” At Eddie’s puzzled look, he explains, “I’ve been working nonstop for like three years. Hadn’t taken a single day off in all that time, and usually bring my work home with me. I guess I was getting kind of burnt out and didn’t even realize it. So my best friend stepped in, stole my credit card, and booked the cabin for the month. Told me I had to get the fuck out of the city for a while for some R and R.”

“And lucky for me, you ended up here,” Eddie says with a softer smile. “So what is this work that’s draining the life from you?”

“I run the Acquisitions team for Mega Mart.”

Eddie makes a pained face at that. “Oof…sounds very Corporate America.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve chuckles. “What about you?”

“I’m a blacksmith.”

Steve just stares at him for a moment. “Like…you make horseshoes or something?”

Eddie barks out a laugh and covers his face. “Oh my god, Steve…you’re really something.” Swiping his hands down his pink cheeks and taking another sip of beer, Eddie explains, “No, no horseshoes. I’m an artist. I just hate saying that outright, it sounds pretentious as fuck.”

The pieces click together in Steve’s mind and he snaps and fingers, pointing at Eddie. “That’s the clanging sound I keep hearing! For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what it was.”

“Shit, I haven’t been bothering you too much have I? I don’t usually fire up the forge until around noon, but with Christmas coming I’ve had to start earlier to get all my orders done in time.”

“No, it’s fine. I was confused more than bothered, but now it makes sense. So what kind of stuff do you make?”

“All kinds of shit. Practical stuff like coat hooks and candleholders. Fireplace pokers. But I also do sculptures and shit. Wall decorations. I’m starting to dabble in some jewelry, too.”

He holds out his hand and without even thinking, Steve takes it in his own and pulls it closer, examining the rings on his fingers. There’s a skull, a snakehead with its mouth open, and a menacing looking octopus.

“These are amazing, Eddie. I really like the octopus.”

Eddie practically giggles and says, “It’s a kraken, actually. Like a big sea monster.”

When Steve looks back at him, Eddie’s smiling fondly and they just kind of…stare at each other, Steve still holding his hand and absently twisting the ring back and forth on his finger. The moment breaks when Max comes back and sets two plates down in front of them.

“Proposing already? This one moves fast.”

“Shut it, Red.”

“Make me, Munson.”

They stick their tongues out at each other like children and Steve reluctantly lets go of Eddie’s hand. Turning to face the bar, he stops when his eyes land on his late dinner. Oh, a plate of brown. Fried fish, fried potato wedges, rye bread, and the only actual vegetable is a dish of coleslaw.

“Get that look off your face, city boy.” Eddie raises an eyebrow when Steve looks over at him, and it makes him feel like a total dick.

“Sorry.”

“It’s bar food, Steve. You’re not gonna find caviar and scallops here, or whatever the fuck they feed you back home.”

The amused glint in Eddie’s eyes is enough to settle his nerves, afraid that he came off as some stick-up-his-ass douchebag. Steve shakes his head and calls him an asshole and Eddie laughs brightly, picking up a piece of fish and dunking it in tartar sauce before taking a big bite.

Steve follows suit, skipping the sauce, and the crispy batter gives way to the most tender and flaky fish underneath. For something that’s so obviously deep fried, it’s surprisingly light and incredibly flavorful.

“Holy shit.”

“Right?” Eddie grins. 

They eat in comfortable silence, or as silent as it can be for a crowded bar, and Steve gets lost in the perfectly seasoned potato wedges, fresh coleslaw, and soft bread. He’s never been a big fan of rye, but this stuff is really fucking good.

“Mmm,” he hums, swallowing another mouthful. “What brand of bread is this?”

Eddie snorts and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “It’s local. My friend’s mom owns the bakery over on Cedar Street. Claudia. She makes it fresh every day.”

“Next you’re gonna tell me the fish was just caught this morning,” Steve chuckles. 

“It was,” Eddie deadpans. “Lake perch. Benny, who runs the kitchen here, goes ice fishing every day. And before you ask, the sauce is made in-house, and the cabbage for the slaw and those lovely potatoes were grown on my uncle’s farm.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Steve looks down at his plate, amazed. “I just figured it was all shipped in from Sysco or something.”

Eddie kind of turns his nose up at that and says, “Why would we use that mass produced bullshit that's been frozen for god knows how long when we can source our own stuff?”

“It’s easier,” Steve shrugs.

“Sure, I get that. But is it better?”

Steve pops the last bite of fish into his mouth and shakes his head. Eddie smirks back at him and nods his approval. When their meal is done, they get another round of beers, Steve insisting that Max puts them both on his tab, and they turn back to face each other.

“So, aside from the mind blowing fish fry, what other treasures have you found in Forest Hills?” Eddie asks.

You.

“The peppermint mochas at The Daily Grind,” Steve answers, starting to check them off on his fingers. “Bob’s beef jerky. Pretty much everything from the butcher shop, actually. The wine selection at the liquor store. And oh! My god! The bath salts from Hillside Bath and Body!”

A slow grin creeps up on Eddie’s face and Steve furrows his brow. “What?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Just trying not to picture you in a tub. It didn’t work.”

“Oh!” Steve laughs. “So this one’s a flirt, too!

“Guilty as charged,” Eddie winks. “Which bath salt did you get?”

“All of them. They smelled so good I couldn’t decide. But I tried Satyr the other night, it was amazing.”

Eddie slowly nods and says, “Paint a picture for me. Steaming tub, earthy salts…what else?”

Steve feels his cheeks flush a bit, especially when Eddie shifts and rests his foot on one of the rungs of Steve’s bar stool. “Bottle of wine. Lights turned low. And I set up my laptop so I could lay back and watch a movie.”

“A movie or…a movie?” Eddie asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh my god, it wasn’t porn!” Steve laughs. “An actual movie! Pan’s Labyrinth.”

Eddie pauses his own laughter and cocks his head. “That…is really fitting, holy shit. Why did I never think to pair a movie with Chrissy’s salts? It’s like…an immersive experience.”

“Exactly! You know Chrissy? She was so sweet.”

“Yeah, she’s one of my oldest friends. I actually helped her name all the salts.”

Steve gasps and slaps Eddie’s knee. “You’re the friend! She told me about that!”

“Aww, she was talking about me?”

“Not enough,” Steve huffs. “She failed to mention that her friend was insanely hot.”

A little bit of pink dusts Eddie’s cheeks and he bites his lip. “Well…it seems like several of my friends already met you before I did and failed to tell me about the gorgeous new visitor who’s been wandering around town. They will be hearing about this.”

“And I’ll lodge a formal complaint with Chrissy.”

“Please do.”

Eddie smirks and hooks his foot under the rung it was resting on, and Steve’s bar stool scrapes against the floor as he gets pulled closer. Steve startles, bracing himself on Eddie’s thigh. It’s warm and solid under his grasp and he’s in no rush to let go. 

“Nice move,” Steve breathes.

“Thanks. So tell me, Stevie…you got a boyfriend or anything back in the city?”

Steve slowly shakes his head, circling his thumb over Eddie's inseam. “I’m as single as they come. You?”

“Same. Wanna get out of here?”

“My place or yours?”

“Oh my god, pay your tabs before I’m forced to witness any more of this!” Max slaps down their checks and waits with her hands on her hips while they dig their wallets out. Steve and Eddie eye fuck each other as she runs their cards, and as soon as they sign on the dotted line - Steve leaving an extra large tip for having to deal with them - they’re rushing to throw on their coats and practically running out the door.

The street is empty and their breaths come out in clouds of white as they step out onto the sidewalk. Before Steve can even ask where Eddie’s parked, he’s being pressed against the brick exterior of the tavern and Eddie’s lips are on his. Steve makes a sound of surprise and kisses him back just as enthusiastically. 

He fists Eddie’s leather jacket, pulling him in closer, and sucks that plump bottom lip into his mouth. Eddie groans, tightening his hold on Steve’s hips. Their mouths open and their tongues collide, filthy and urgent and so, so fucking good. Eddie’s a hell of a kisser.

Breaking away, their breaths mingling between them, Eddie’s eyes are dark and heavy lidded when he says, “We should go. Before we're arrested for public indecency.”

“We’re just kissing,” Steve says, leaning in for another taste.

Eddie makes a wounded sound, allowing one more before taking a step back. “True. But I plan on doing a lot more than that. And if anyone’s getting cuffs on you tonight, it better be me.”

“Oh, shit.”

“My van’s right there,” he says, gesturing across the street. “Follow me back?”

Steve nods and soon enough, he’s trailing Eddie’s tail lights through the dark wooded roads. He was hoping the drive would calm him down a bit, but when he pulls into Eddie’s driveway, he’s still half hard and his skin is buzzing.

Inside his cabin, it’s not terribly different from where Steve is staying. Pretty much the same layout, but the decor is different. He barely gets a chance to take it in. They kick off their shoes and shed their coats, and Eddie’s lips are on his again, his strong hands holding Steve’s face as he walks them back to his bedroom. 

Eddie separates their lips to flick on a small lamp on his dresser, lighting up the room in a soft glow. He unzips his hoodie and shrugs it off, letting it fall to the floor while Steve perches himself on the end of the bed. The pillows and sheets are blood red and the duvet is jet black. He doesn’t know Eddie very well, but it seems fitting.

“Were you serious about the cuffs, or was that all talk?” he asks.

Eddie grins and stalks over to him, standing between Steve’s spread legs. He runs a hand through his hair and asks, “Would you be down for that?”

“I’m down for anything that involves us taking our clothes off.”

Without missing a beat, Eddie pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it across the room. And Steve bluescreens. He doesn’t know where to look first. The ink swirling up Eddie’s biceps? His broad, muscular shoulders? The tattoos on his chest? The silver bars glinting in his nipples? The hint of abs? The trail of hair leading into his jeans? He’s a fucking feast for the eyes.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking hot.”

Eddie chuckles and starts to unbuckle his belt. “For someone who wanted to get naked, you’re awfully overdressed.”

Steve doesn’t tear his eyes away from Eddie’s body as he pulls his sweater off. That is, until Eddie makes a sound like he just got punched in the gut. Steve’s eyes snap up and he asks, “Are you ok?”

Licking his lips, Eddie slowly nods, his hands frozen on the button of his jeans. “Nothing could have prepared me for all of that.”

Steve preens a bit as Eddie looks over the expanse of his hairy chest. Not everyone is into it, and with the quick bathroom hookups he's grown accustomed to, pretty much nobody sees it anymore. The fact that Eddie appreciates it only makes his dick grow harder.

When their jeans are gone and forgotten, Steve scoots back on the bed and Eddie follows, crawling up the mattress and leaving a trail of kisses up his thighs and stomach. He flicks his tongue over Steve’s nipple, nuzzles into his chest, and latches his mouth onto Steve’s neck.

“If you’re really into using cuffs,” he murmurs against Steve’s skin, “Then tell me now. We don’t have to.”

“Fuck,” Steve gasps as Eddie’s teeth lightly bite down on his throat. “Yeah, I want that.”

“Ever been tied up before?”

“A few times.”

“You tell me if they’re too tight. Or if you want out. And we’ll stop, ok?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, his arms already above his head, ready and waiting.

Eddie shuffles over to his bedside table, retrieving metal handcuffs, a set of keys he jingles to make sure Steve sees them, condoms, and lube. Fucking hell, Steve feels himself leaking in his boxer briefs just from the anticipation alone.

The sound of the cuffs clicking into place around his wrists has him squirming. Eddie checks to make sure they’re not too tight and Steve lets him know it’s perfect. Now tethered to the rungs of Eddie’s metal headboard, he’s completely at the mercy of the other man and he couldn’t be more excited. 

Eddie gets on all fours to hover over him, his hair making a curtain around them as he leans down and kisses Steve hard and dirty. On instinct, Steve moves to reach for him, get his hands in that hair, feel how firm the muscles are in his arms. The chain connecting the cuffs rattles against the bar they’re looped around and Eddie chuckles into his mouth.

It’s absolute torture as Eddie moves down his body. Steve isn’t used to going this slow. Every lick, every kiss, every bite is excruciating in the best way. He’s panting and moaning and pulling at his restraints as Eddie takes his time exploring his skin. Finding spots that make Steve jolt and arch his back and whine pathetically. 

“God, you sing so pretty for me,” Eddie says, kissing at the moles on the soft part of Steve’s tummy, just below his belly button.

“You’re killing me, Eddie!”

“Patience, sweetheart. There’s no rush,” he smirks, hooking his fingers under the waistband of Steve’s briefs and slowly dragging them down. His dick has been trapped in there for way too long and it slaps against his stomach as the material is pulled down and off.

“Finally,” he pants, spreading his legs wide.

“God damn. Look at you.” Eddie’s eyes rake over Steve’s body, lingering on his aching cock. “That is one pretty dick, Stevie.”

Any retort he had dies on his tongue as Eddie leans down and licks a wide stripe up his shaft. He pins Steve’s hips to the mattress, teases the flushed head with his tongue, and then grins before swallowing Steve down to the root.

“Oh fuck!”

The chain rattles again as Eddie starts to bob his head, swirling his tongue around and hollowing his cheeks. His mouth is so hot and wet and Steve wants nothing more than to bury his hands in that hair and thrust into the tight clutch of his throat.

Eddie removes one of his hands, teasing his fingertips over the crease of Steve’s thigh and cupping his balls. He gives them a little squeeze, a gentle tug, and makes a rhythm of it as his mouth works up and down Steve’s cock. The careful attention, the concentrated effort, the inability to reach out and touch…it’s almost too much.

Tears prick his eyes as Eddie slips a finger down his crack, barely grazing over Steve’s clenching hole.

“Eddie!” he cries. “Oh god, please!”

Slowly pulling off his cock, Eddie kisses the tip and asks in a gravely voice, “What do you want, sweetheart? You want my cock? Want me to ride you?”

Yes, yes, both, everything, anything.

Steve lets out a pathetically frustrated sound. Eddie crawls up the length of his body and captures Steve’s lips in a searing kiss. 

“Want me to decide for you, gorgeous?” he asks.

“Yes. Please, Eddie. Just do something.”

Eddie reaches over and grabs the lube, flips the cap, and pours some of the clear liquid on his fingers. Steve sighs in relief as they slip between his cheeks and rub firm circles over his hole. Eddie watches him, his gaze unwavering, as he sinks the first finger in. It’s so fucking intense. The eye contact, how close they are, how slow Eddie’s moving. 

A tear rolls down Steve’s temple as Eddie slides a second finger in. Steve has never cried during sex before, isn’t even sure if this would technically count, but he doesn’t even have a moment to overthink it. Eddie kisses it away while pumping his fingers in and crooking them just right to find Steve’s prostate. Steve feels like a live wire, electricity and want coursing through his veins, lighting up his nerves, making him feel more desperate than he’s been in years.

He tips his head back into the pillow and lets out a ragged moan when Eddie eases a third one inside. Those thick, strong, talented fingers. Steve realizes belatedly that Eddie must have taken his rings off at some point. He didn’t even notice, and wonders if they do this again and he asks nicely enough…would Eddie keep them on? So he could feel the hard press of them against his rim? The thought alone has Steve shivering and he can feel his dick leaking more precum onto his belly.

“There we go, sweetheart,” Eddie quietly says against Steve’s throat. “Opening up so nicely for me. You think you’re ready?”

That shiver turns into a full body shudder when Eddie rubs his fingertips over that spot. “Fuck…I swear if you don’t get your cock in me soon I’m gonna die.”

“You are something else,” Eddie chuckles. “What’s the rush, huh?”

Steve fucking whines, squirming in the sheets while Eddie slowly fingers him open and sounds way more bratty than he intended when he says, “I just want you to fuck me already! Feels like you’ve been teasing me for hours.”

“Hey…Stevie. Look at me.”

He didn’t even realize how tightly his eyes were pinched shut. Steve blinks them open, his lashes feeling wet and clumped together, and Eddie is right there. So close to him, his expression somehow both dark and soft. Steve feels like he can’t catch his breath.

Eddie places a kiss to the side of his mouth and says right into Steve’s lips, “It’s not every day I have a beautiful man in my bed. And I’m in no hurry for this to be over. You gonna let me take my time with you?”

Holy shit. Steve was not prepared for this. He thought they were just gonna get right to it, tear each other’s clothes off and go to town. Quick and to the point, no muss no fuss. He completely underestimated this man.

“Ok,” Steve pants, tilting his head to chase Eddie’s lips. He moans against the other man’s mouth as those fingers continue their work in Steve’s ass. Eddie kisses him deep, letting out his own sounds of desperation as his tongue plunges into Steve’s mouth. 

After what feels like a fucking eternity of teasing, Eddie sits up between Steve’s legs and carefully drags his fingers out. He wipes them on his checkered boxers, which are tented obscenely, and starts to push them down without looking away from Steve.

Steve, who finally gets to see all of this gorgeous man. There’s a tattoo on his hip, dear lord. A fucking dragon, and it’s coiled tail trails down Eddie’s thigh. His cock springs free, jutting out from a thatch of dark hair, and Steve makes the most whorish sound he thinks he’s ever made. It’s long. Thick. Cut. Has a slight curve upwards. And looks so flushed and angry, like it’s about to blow any second.

Eddie kicks his boxers off behind him and gives himself a few slow strokes, biting his lip and groaning as looks at Steve like he wants to eat him alive. He leans over and grabs a condom, tears the wrapper open with his teeth, and rolls it on. Steve feels like he’s gonna explode. Like there’s a supernova just under his skin ready to incinerate them both. 

Slicking up his cock with a little more lube, Eddie nudges Steve’s thighs further apart and shuffles closer. Steve brings his knees up as best he can without the help from his hands, really exposing himself to Eddie’s hungry gaze. A finger circles Steve’s rim, and before he can whine or bitch or complain, he feels the head of Eddie’s cock pressing against his desperate hole. 

Fucking finally.

Eddie eases himself in, and they both let out long, low groans as he sheaths himself in Steve’s body. God, he feels so full. All the prep Eddie did paid off, there’s none of the usual sting he feels with a quick hookup. There’s nothing but fucking bliss. He goes boneless, finally getting what he wanted, and relaxes into the mattress while Eddie grinds his dick in deep.

“Jesus, Stevie…that’s what you needed, huh?” Eddie plants his hands on the back of Steve’s thighs, pressing them down as he starts to rock in and out, just an inch or two with each slow roll of his hips. “Needed to be filled up? Fucked so good you can’t even think?”

Steve can’t think. Eddie’s probably right, what does he know, his brain left the building as soon as Eddie bottomed out. He just nods with his mouth hanging open, letting out these breathy moans every time Eddie draws out a little further and pumps his cock back in.

He doesn’t know how long it goes on like this. Time doesn’t exist in Eddie’s bedroom. Steve loses himself in all the delicious sensations, the touch of Eddie’s hands, the rocking of his body as Eddie starts to thrust in faster, the way the head of his cock rubs just right over Steve’s prostate, the beautiful things spilling out of those plush lips.

So gorgeous. God, look at you. Feel so good wrapped around me. Taking my cock like you’re made for it. 

Eddie changes it up, slowing his pace when he knows Steve is getting closer, speeding up when Steve starts sounding desperate again, wrapping Steve’s legs around his hips and leaning over him so they can kiss. He seems to know every time Steve is right on the edge of cumming, and changes up what he’s doing to draw it out longer. 

He’s edging me until I die, Steve thinks.

After grinding in deep and licking a tear off the side of Steve’s face, Eddie sits up again. He takes one of the legs that’s wrapped around his waist, grabs Steve’s ankle, and pulls it up to his shoulder. Not breaking that intense gaze of his, so dark and nearly predatory, Eddie wraps his arm around Steve’s thigh, pinning it to him as he starts to fuck in faster and faster.

He changes his angle ever so slightly, holds on tightly to Steve’s leg, and his other hand wraps around Steve’s neglected cock. One sharp thrust into just the right spot, and the world shatters. Stars collide, planets explode, and Steve cums with a scream as he clenches down hard on that big, beautiful dick.

Eddie reaches his own climax shortly after, rabbiting his hips a few more times before he stills and lets out one punched out groan after another. His head is thrown back, hair cascading, mouth agape, skin glistening, inked chest heaving. He’s the most gorgeous thing Steve has ever seen.

When their orgasms ebb, and the world seems to come back together again, Eddie leans over and gets the keys from the nightstand. Unlocking the cuffs, he tosses them aside and inspects Steve’s wrists, kissing over the pink marks where he was pulling at his restraints.

“Does it hurt?” Eddie asks.

“No,” Steve breathes, still coming down from the best sex he’s had in years. Maybe ever. Eddie’s still inside him and he doesn’t want him to leave. “I’m ok.”

Eddie keeps kissing his wrists until Steve manages to get one free and snakes it into that hair he’s been dying to touch. He pulls Eddie down for a proper kiss, their lips kind of sticking from their mouths being dry. They were panting like dogs in heat for a while there. Eddie swallows down a whimper as he slowly pulls out, leaving Steve feeling so fucking empty. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’d stay inside you all night if I could, but I got a couple things to take care of here.” 

He gives Steve a lingering kiss before climbing off the bed and tossing the condom. Steve stretches himself out on the mattress and watches Eddie’s cute little butt as he leaves the room. He hears water running, and soon Eddie is joining him again with a wet washcloth in hand. He gently cleans Steve up, wiping between his cheeks, dabbing at his spent cock, and cleaning the cum off of his chest and stomach.

And Steve just lays there drinking him in as he works.

Eddie catches him staring, eyes darting to the curl of Steve’s mouth where it’s upturned in a lazy smile, and chuckles. “You a bit of a pillow princess, Stevie?”

“Right now I am,” Steve smirks.

Tossing the washcloth towards the hamper, Eddie climbs back into bed, bringing the covers with him. They’re soft and warm and smell like Eddie…a hint of his cologne, his shampoo, his natural musk. Steve wants to bathe in it.

“Not usually?” Eddie asks, settling in under the sheets and trailing his fingers through Steve’s now damp chest hair.

“Honestly,” Steve chuckles, “I don’t remember the last time I had sex in a bed. On the rare occasions that I do go out, it’s usually just quick hookups. Bathrooms, back seats. Whatever.”

Eddie looks pained hearing this. He kisses Steve’s shoulder and nuzzles his nose against the spot. “So that’s why you were in such a rush?”

“Yeah, I guess. Not used to somebody taking their time.” He rolls onto his side to face Eddie, wrapping an arm around his waist and giving him a soft kiss. “That was amazing, Eddie.”

He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair and kisses him back. “It was. And I’d love to do this again if you can make the time for it. In your oh-so-busy schedule.”

“I think I can squeeze you in,” Steve flirts, getting his lips back on Eddie’s. 

They make out lazily for a while, just kissing to kiss and touching to touch. It feels like a luxury. Something decadent he’s indulging in. Eventually Steve breaks away and moves to sit up.

“I should get going.”

“Why?” Eddie asks petulantly.

“Because all my shit is across the street!” Steve laughs.

Eddie yanks him back down to the bed and rolls on top of him. “What’s so important that you need to leave this bed, huh?” he asks, starting to kiss over the moles on Steve’s cheek and neck. “Think about it, Stevie…having to put clothes back on? Your coat and shoes? Having to go all the way back there alone? To an empty bed? It’s cold outside, baby. Just stay here. Where it's warm. And naked.”

“You make some valid points,” Steve sighs. 

“I’ll even make you breakfast in the morning,” Eddie says, nipping at Steve’s earlobe.

Steve smiles and something warm unfurls in his chest. “Sold. But I get to be the big spoon.”