Eddie lies on the cold, damp earth, head ringing, anvil struck. Something warm and wet trickles over his upper lip, and he’s pretty sure his nose is bleeding.
Out of the darkness, a strangled voice asks, “Eddie?”
He forces himself upright, blinks past the dizziness, but he can’t see for shit, and that flashlight—unharmed in his heroic and terrible attempt at self-defense—points uselessly at a tree trunk. With a rustle and snap of twigs, the beam sweeps an arc through the trees until it reveals a square jaw and full lips, a scattering of moles on a sun-browned throat.
“Did—did you tackle me?” He asks.
“Um.” Eddie’s face flushes hot. “Yeah.”
There’s a second where he thinks Steve might deck him, the way his chin goes stiff and his jaw ticks. He braces himself, thinks he probably deserves it, but Steve’s face goes all wobbly, and then he starts—laughing?
It’s a choked snorting at first, horrible, the least attractive thing he’s seen Steve do, and it still buzzes through his system like his first cigarette of the day. Literally everything Steve does is hot, even this, even when his words are sharp and meant to cut, Eddie can’t get enough. The realization makes him laugh, and then they’re both going, until they’re breathless and tearful. He lets himself pretend it’s all a joke, that this is normal, that every giggle isn’t edged with hysteria.
Just as he’s finally falling to hiccups, his stomach muscles aching, Steve goes sharply quiet in a way that signals danger.
“Shit, is it—” He can’t help looking--the sharp turn of his head enough to have his hair spinning out around him--but the only thing to see is darkness.
“No, it’s—stop panicking,” Steve says. “Your nose is bleeding.”
“Huh?” Eddie blinks at him.
In the Steve of it all, he’d forgotten his pathetic defensive attempt, and he prods at his face. “Oh, fuck,” he groans as the pain blooms.
“You touched it, didn’t you?” Steve’s voice is flat, edged with something like bemusement. Even now, even hurt, Steve's obvious annoyance spikes Eddie’s heart rate.
“You’re a mess.” It’s not nice, not affectionate, but Eddie goes warm all the way to his toes anyway.
Feet shuffle through the carpet of dead leaves, and Steve drops to his knees at Eddie’s side.
He shifts to put space between them, Steve’s sudden closeness putting his body on high alert. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at your nose.” Which makes Eddie shiver when it absolutely should not, and when Steve says, “tilt your head up for me,” his spine straightens, head snapping high.
Shame and arousal pool in his blood, and he wishes he could resist Steve’s words, his charms, his effortless beauty even when he’s anything but.
Oh, what's that? A new chapter of Hellfire Radio just dropped on ao3!?
