The Technicality of Teeth

Steve's Night Out

Eddie chose Steve's clothes for going out that evening. Always did, even when Eddie wasn't joining him. It was part of his ritual. Always got him ready too. Herded him into the shower two hours before he was supposed to leave and washed him down. Scrubbed his hair and shaved his legs and between them, which... it made Eddie happy, even if Steve didn't exactly get it. And then, when Steve was clean and hairless, Eddie would bundle him into their fluffiest towel and blow dry his hair the way he'd been taught. Styled it the way Steve liked too. Steve always swelled and preened at how well Eddie knew him. How well he learned and memorized what Steve needed and wanted. There was no Omega better taken care of than he was.

Next, he'd sit Steve up on the vanity counter and smudge black liner onto his eyes and blacken his lashes with mascara. This part was fun for Steve, because when Eddie was concentrating he pinched his tongue between his teeth, the tip dipping so low that it nearly touched his chin. Sometimes, when Steve was feeling particularly difficult, he'd lean forward and lick it. When Eddie did this, the only sounds in the apartment were their breathing, little sounds of concentration from Eddie, the occasional, "look up, Imzadi," and whatever music Eddie had chosen for the evening. This time it was something instrumental, violins and piano filtering into the bathroom from the bedroom.

The last thing to go on Steve's face was a layer of thick, clear gloss. Sometimes it would have glitter or tint, sometimes not. But Eddie always applied it so thickly that it strung between Steve's lips when he opened his mouth.

Outfits varied based on what Eddie wanted from Steve when he got back home. Sometimes it was panties and khakis if he wanted Steve soft and sweet when he got back. Those nights Eddie just cleaned him up, got him water, and put him to bed. Sometimes it was nothing under leather, when Eddie wanted to play with Steve when he got home. Today, Eddie wanted him to be naughty while he was out. Wanted him to flirt and fawn and touch and be touched. He'd worked Steve into a pair of his tightest jeans, making his legs and ass look just so touchable, a plain white t shirt pulled tight around his chest and shoulders, and one of Eddie's many leather jackets. This one Steve's favorite. Black and pierced with safety pins across the shoulders and studded with metal spikes down the sleeves. All manner of Corroded Coffin patches and pins adorned the lapels and the front, with the back panel covered in the graphic from a shirt from Eddie's first tour around the Midwest. Steve loved wearing Corroded's merch. Loved being a walking talking billboard for his mate and his band and his dreams. Someone always clocked his khakis and his polos and his preppy hair and asked him to name a few songs. Not only could he name them, he'd inspired most of the sappier ones. And one or two of the raunchier ones. He loved the look on their faces when he rattled off their whole discography and even threw in trivia whenever possible.

You must be one of those super fans.

Kind of, he'd answer with a smile. But I'm also fucking the front man.

"So everyone who touches you knows who this Good Boy belongs to," Eddie hummed into Steve's cheek once he was dressed, right before swinging Steve around by the hips and stepping him into a waltz he'd been taught for the music video of one of his ballads.

"You can dance every dance with the guy who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight."

Steve laughed as Eddie crooned into his ear, his warm hands sliding up under his shirt and settling against the bare skin of his waist. Steve shivered pleasantly under his touch, leaning in to catch the taste of lovely jasmine and rainwater right from the muted gland on Eddie's neck. Eddie only laughed at his clinging and held him tighter, catching Steve's hand in one of his own.

"You can smile every smile for the man who held your hand beneath the pale moonlight."

Of all of the parts of Eddie's weird ritual when Steve went out, this was Steve's favorite. When Eddie sang this song to him while he danced him around the room. Eddie had a beautiful singing voice. When he wasn't pushing it for his metal, screaming into a mic or manipulating it into a growl, he had the most elegant baritone. And when he sang into Steve's ear, voice so soft and buttery smooth, going out didn't seem like so much fun. Not when Eddie was stepping him around their room, flush from his hips to his nose but not in a way that felt anything more than soft.