Chapter Text
Steve's drunk. He's so drunk he doesn't remember leaving his house, much less getting in the car and driving to Wayne's place. He blinks back into awareness on the porch. His head is so heavy, and he's so tired, and when his knock goes unanswered he slumps down to sit against the wall. He’ll just rest for a minute, and then he'll get up and go home. He doesn't know why he's here anyway.
There's a creak above him and Steve swivels his head to see that Wayne's opened the door and is looking down at him.
“I suppose you'd better come in,” Wayne says neutrally, and extends a hand. He's stronger than Steve expected, pulling him up like it's no problem. He has to more or less drag Steve inside, because Steve's legs have forgotten how to work.
Wayne deposits him on a sofa and disappears into what must be the kitchen. Steve's never been here before. This is Wayne's new place, the one he got…after. Which means Eddie's never been here either. It's comforting, somehow, to know that. To know that Steve won't look around and see Eddie’s shoes by the door or his jacket hanging on the coat rack or his books scattered on the coffee table.
But it hurts, too. Because sometimes all he wants is to be able to sleep in Eddie's bed one last time, and he can't.
The sofa dips and Steve startles sluggishly. For a second he expects to see Eddie there, grinning at him, but when he opens his eyes it's just Wayne, holding out a glass of water.
“Drink it,” Wayne says. “You'll thank me in the morning.”
Steve drinks. Wayne takes the glass back from him when he's done and sets it down. He leans back and fixes Steve with a look that makes him want to squirm.
“You want to tell me why you're here?”
Steve’s throat tightens up and he shakes his head. “I should go home.”
“You're not going anywhere until you sober up.”
“I'm fine.” He pats his pockets, looking for his keys, and comes up empty. “The fuck are my keys?”
“You can have them back in the morning.”
“You stole my keys?”
“Borrowed,” Wayne says, and it's such an Eddie thing to say that Steve turns away and presses his hands over his eyes until he's sure he's not going to make a fool of himself.
A warm hand lands on his shoulder and Steve flinches.
“What's going on? You in some kind of trouble?”
Steve shakes his head again. “Eddie,” he croaks, all he can get out, and the hand on his shoulder tightens, fingers digging in, and then relaxes again.
“You came here to talk to me about Ed?”
Did he? He thinks maybe he came here because it was the closest he could get to Eddie, short of visiting his grave. And the last time he'd done that, he'd scared Robin so badly that once he’d sobered up she’d sat him down and told him she loved him and did he think maybe it would be better if he didn't go back for a while.
His face is hot. He can't bring himself to look at Wayne. But he can't keep his fucking mouth shut either.
“Me ‘n Eddie,” he starts, and stops again. “I…”
“You and Eddie,” Wayne repeats, like he's trying to make sense of it. “At the funeral, you said you were his friend.”
Steve nods. He'd barely been able to speak more than a few sentences to Wayne, hands shaking, stuttering over his words, and ultimately fleeing to puke up his guts in the bathroom.
“Is that all you were?”
The words seem to take a long time to penetrate Steve's brain. He thinks he'd feel more afraid, if he weren't so drunk. If the worst possible thing hadn't already happened to him. Nothing else matters, not really.
“Steve,” Wayne says, when Steve doesn't say anything. “I know Eddie was seeing someone.”
Steve opens his mouth and shuts it again. His hands are clammy and he rubs them on his jeans and presses them hard into his thighs, until it hurts. He hopes it bruises.
“You do?” he croaks.
“He thought he was being sneaky, but he was always easy to read. For me, anyway. I knew he'd been having someone over while I was out. I even asked him about it once, but he said he couldn't tell me yet.”
Steve chances a glance at Wayne. Wayne's looking back at him steadily. He raises an eyebrow at Steve.
“You and Eddie?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.
Steve nods, just once. “I miss him so much,” he admits, voice cracking.
***
Steve calls out of work on Eddie's birthday and drives to Wayne's house. Wayne's out on the porch when he gets there. It's not even noon but he's already a couple cans of beer into a six pack. He hands Steve one without speaking and Steve takes it and pops the cap, sits down in the spare chair that turned up a few weeks after Steve started coming to see him.
They finish off the beer and sit for a while in a comfortable silence. Wayne's not much of a talker. Steve doesn't mind. Steve's not much of anything these days.
Eventually his stomach growls hard enough that he knows he's got to do something about it.
“I could eat,” Wayne agrees when Steve asks if he's hungry, so Steve heads into the now-familiar kitchen to look for something to fix for lunch.
That's where Wayne finds him some time later, staring at the packet of chocolate pudding mix he found in one of the cabinets.
Wayne reaches over Steve and shuts the door.
“Wasn't thinking,” he explains. “I put it in the cart and didn't have the heart to take it back out when I realized.”
“Eddie loved chocolate pudding,” Steve says. His eyes are welling up. He sniffs hard and tries to get himself under control, but he can't stop thinking that Eddie's never going to get to eat his pudding ever again, and a sob rips its way out of his throat.
“I know,” Wayne says gently. “C’mon and sit down with me.”
He steers Steve over to the sofa. Steve sags against him once they're sitting.
“I dunno how much longer I can do this,” he says dully. It's not fair that something as small as pudding can set him off. It's not fair that it's Eddie's birthday and instead of being here to celebrate it he's in a hole in the ground. He's in the fucking dirt and he left Steve behind and Steve is so, so sick of it. Everyone leaves Steve, sooner or later. Why doesn't he ever get to do the leaving?
“Do what?” Wayne asks. He's got an arm around Steve's shoulders. It feels like he's holding Steve together. Like Steve would just come undone and fall apart if Wayne let him go.
Steve shrugs. “Anything,” he says. “Everything. Sometimes I wish—”
He catches himself just in time and shuts his mouth with a clack.
“Spit it out,” Wayne says. “You wish what, Steve?” He sounds angry, like he already knows what Steve was going to say.
“Wish I was dead too,” Steve mumbles. It's the first time he's admitted it. It feels good to say it out loud.
Wayne breathes in sharply and turns to grab Steve by the shoulders and shake him.
“Don't you dare. You hear me, Steve? That's not gonna happen. I'm not losing you too.”
“I just wanna be with him.”
“You can't,” Wayne says, and pulls Steve in against his chest. “You have to live, kid.” His hand’s on the back of Steve's head. It feels good. Soothing. He sighs and closes his eyes. He's so tired.
When he wakes up, his head’s in Wayne's lap and Wayne's got the TV on, watching some game show. Wayne's jeans are rough under his cheek but his hand in Steve's hair is gentle. He stops when he notices that Steve's awake.
“No,” Steve blurts out. “Don't stop.”
There's a pause, like Wayne's thinking about it, and Steve holds his breath until Wayne’s hand is back in his hair, combing through the strands with his fingers. Steve turns his face further into Wayne's thigh. It's so nice to be touched again. He's missed it.
Wayne keeps petting his hair and Steve drifts along, half-awake. He likes how warm Wayne's leg is against his face. Wayne rubs his fingers over Steve's scalp and Steve feels like he's melting.
He feels good for the first time in a long while.
He could—he could make Wayne feel good, too. Maybe they could both forget, just for a little while.
He shifts and repositions himself ever so slightly higher up on Wayne's thigh. Wayne tenses under him, and then again when Steve rubs his cheek against him.
“Steve,” he says, cautioning.
Steve knows he should stop. He doesn't want to.
He slips off the sofa and onto his knees and goes for Wayne's belt buckle. Wayne grabs his wrists, holding tight enough that it hurts. Steve likes that too.
“We can't do this,” Wayne says, voice firm.
“We can,” Steve insists. “Wayne, please. I need it. Please let me.”
Wayne looks at him in that straightforward, serious way of his. Steve's on the verge of tears again, blinking hard to keep them back. Long seconds pass with them just looking at each other, and then, ever so slowly, Wayne lets go of his wrists.
Steve's hands are shaking as he pulls Wayne's belt through the buckle and unzips his fly. He keeps thinking Wayne will change his mind, will stop him, but Wayne is quiet and still as Steve reaches into his underwear and gets his dick out. Even though he’s mostly soft, it's a good size, thick and decently long. Steve wants it.
Wayne exhales loudly as Steve sinks down, taking him in his mouth, and then there's hands in Steve's hair again, not pushing or pulling, just resting there as Steve licks and sucks.
He falls into the familiar rhythm of cocksucking, and the world goes blessedly silent around him, narrowed down to Wayne's dick in his mouth and Wayne's hands in his hair.
It's not long before Wayne's saying his name again, voice tight with warning. Steve doesn't pull off. He sucks hard on the head, pulsing with his tongue on the underside, and swallows around Wayne as he comes, hot and bitter in Steve's mouth.
He gets maybe thirty seconds of pleasant afterglow, the satisfaction of a job well done, before the comedown hits him hard and he falls apart. He's sobbing before he knows what's happening, and only vaguely registers Wayne pulling him up into his lap. Wayne's hands are on his face and Wayne's saying something to him but all Steve knows is that Eddie's gone, Eddie's gone and he's never coming back.