Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve squirms in his seat, letting out a huff as he scratches out a string of numbers on his notepad. It is difficult to tell from Eddie’s vantage if his frustration is due to the statistics homework he doesn’t understand or the plug that has been in his ass for the last few hours, the hard silicone magnified by the hard wood of the library seats. He lifts himself up a little, wiggling, settling back down as if he is trying to find a way to sit that doesn’t call his mind constantly to that long, tapered bulb keeping him open and stimulated.

“I don’t get it,” he hisses, bringing Eddie’s eyes to him and away from the novel he is pretending to read for his Victorian lit class. “How did you get 2.74? That’s not —”

“You divided by n,” Eddie says, pointing to one of Steve’s scribbles. He has to lean into Steve’s space in order to look at his work, the smell of rain drying on his clothes and hair erotic instead of making him think of mildew like it normally would. Most things that occur in Steve’s orbit are erotic just by default.

It had started pouring halfway through their trip to the library, absolutely drenching them in the five minutes it took them to dash up to the library doors. It had been a frigid, early November rain, raising bumps on their skin and causing shivers up and down their spines. Luckily, the campus library has started to blast its heating system in preparation for the winter. The decades-old machinery has lost its finesse over the years, and now, if it is going to heat at all, it will overheat. Their little corner, hidden on the top floor amongst dusty records of grain yields and almanacs from the 19^th century, has become muggy with the evaporating rain they brought in with them.

Eddie rests a hand just above Steve’s knee as he leans over his boyfriend’s homework. His fingers wander down to touch the inside of the leg, feeling where Steve’s jeans crease at the bent joint.

“Yeah, so? You’re supposed to divide by —”

“The square root of n. You divided by 30, it’s supposed to be —” Eddie checks his own paper, his arm stretching long in the process because he refuses to take his hand off Steve’s leg “—5.477.”

“Oh, what the fuck ever,” Steve cries, throwing his pencil down. He squirms again, and this time, Eddie knows it’s the plug, knows that Steve can feel it all the more each time he twitches his hip or leans to one ass cheek, the walls of his hole pressing against that unyielding shape, locked inside him by the squeeze of his rectum around its skinny base. Imaging it there, imagining Steve feeling it constantly while he tries to wrap his mind around standard error — it’s enough to cause a twitch inside Eddie’s pants, a swell in his groin that is difficult to ignore.

He slides his hand a little higher up Steve’s thigh, getting another little wiggle. He is watching his boyfriend’s face closely as he moves, and he sees the moment when the plug probes at his prostate. Steve shuts his eyes for a long second, his eyebrows furrowing, a heavy breath blowing out through his nose.

“It’s so — stupid,” he says, but Eddie can tell his heart isn’t really in it at the moment. He’ll go on this rant again later as Eddie is prepping him for the exam next week. Right now, it’s just lip service, pretending he isn’t slowly giving into the strained insistence of his arousal. Eddie brings his hand up higher, slowly reaching toward his boyfriend’s crotch. “It’s not like — mmm — like I’m going to be teaching second graders how to — to estimate the standard deviation of a population from a — fucking Eddie —”

The front of Steve’s jeans is still damp from the rain, heavy and ill-fitting. This is what he gets for wearing his preppy little windbreaker with its bright lilac trim out on a stormy autumn afternoon. Eddie, on the other hand, was protected by his long overcoat and felt perfectly fine in the thin, worn denim of his warm, dry pants. Poor Stevie — wet jeans, plug stuck up his ass, Eddie’s hand massaging into his erection. He must be so uncomfortable.

“Maybe you should take a break, sweetheart,” Eddie says, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder as he whispers into his ear. His hand is still working, kneading relentlessly as Steve fidgets and swallows down little moans.

“I need to — I’ve got an essay draft due in sociology in two days — Eddie — and I need to finish this stupid stats bull — fuck!” Steve bites down on his bottom lip, looking around desperately as if a librarian with a beaded chain around her glasses and a slicked bun is going to pop her head around the stacks of historical trade ledgers and shush him like in a cartoon.

No one is around. People don’t exactly come in droves up to the top floor of the library and buried back amongst the most boring, useless books — they are all but guaranteed solitude, even if there are a few others hidden amongst other stacks in other corners of the floor. Throughout this floor of the library are large, wooden cubicles that seem to be a hundred years old, plopped randomly about, often two built together as the same piece of furniture. They are made out of heavy dark oak with walls that go down to the floor and extend upward by a few feet, enclosing the studier in privacy. Perfect for college students prepping for exams, or for Eddie, copping a feel of his boyfriend’s junk.

“You need to clear your head, baby,” Eddie tells him. “You’re tense and frustrated. Are you having trouble concentrating?”

Steve shoots a glare over at Eddie, who just smirks in response, his hand still but staying pressed against his boyfriend’s hard cock. It’s a nice cock and it feels good straining against the denim of Steve’s pants, twitching occasionally — clearly, it wants to be freed, played with.

“You are making it very difficult to concentrate,” Steve accuses.

“You wanted to wear the plug today,” Eddie reminds him, thinking back to the shy look on Steve’s face when he had wordlessly handed it over to Eddie before they left for class — when he bent over the bed so Eddie could slide it between his cheeks. “You made that sound when it went inside you, like you could feel it all the way inside your chest. You think that I’m the one making concentration difficult? You dirty little tease, walking around all day like you aren’t being kept open just for me. Trying to pretend like you’re just an innocent collegiate boy, instead of a cock-hungry slut.”

Steve blushes, his hips rocking forward in their own plea for Eddie to start massaging him again, instead of leaving his poor aching cock with just the static weight of his hand. Steve arranges his face in a sour expression, but it’s all for show. Eddie’s seen it before, keenly aware of the difference between his boyfriend’s true annoyance and one that he adopts for the sake of the dance. “What do you expect me to do, Eddie? Bend over for you in the middle of the library?”

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” Eddie growls, earning a muffled keen from his boyfriend when he presses down harshly on his groin. “Why don’t you get on your knees? Hm? Crawl under the table for me, suck my cock. You’d feel so much better after swallowing a load of my cum, wouldn’t you?” Eddie takes his hand away and scoots his chair back, making a space for Steve to fit himself under the table. He leans himself back, throwing his arm over the back of his chair, looking at his boyfriend expectantly.

Steve stares at Eddie with wide eyes, his face gone slack in surprise. He looks around himself once more, still searching for that cartoon librarian as if she is just waiting for him to give in to appear. “Are you serious?” He asks, whispered, shocked.

Eddie leans over to run a hand through Steve’s hair, down his cheek. “I’m dead serious, baby. I want you to blow me — but it’s up to you. We can go back to my dorm room right now instead, or you could tell me to be good and wait until you’ve finished your stats homework. Or you could get on your knees and wrap your beautiful mouth around my cock, take me deep into your throat, and try not to choke too loudly.”

Steve lets out a sound that is both a moan and a growl, and Eddie knows immediately he’s about to get his dick sucked. His cock pulses with the knowledge. He leans over and kisses his boyfriend on the cheek, soft and sweet, before leaning back again and watching with a giddy swoop in his stomach as Steve slithers down from his chair and crawls under the table. Eddie scoots his chair forward once Steve is in place, opening his legs as he goes, until from the outside all that anyone could see is Eddie sitting with his stats notebook open next to a George Eliot novel. His overcoat, thrown over the back of his chair, provides an extra screen of coverage.

It must be a tight fit in there — Steve’s lanky body compressed under the hard oak table, his long spine curved so he doesn’t hit his head. He makes no complaint about it, however, simply unzipping Eddie’s pants and freeing his erection. Eddie lets out a sigh at the change in pressure, at the light movement of Steve’s breath against his cock. The whole library is overly warm, but in that tight space with rain still evaporating off Steve’s clothes and the moisture of his panting exhales, it feels almost like he is getting a blowjob in a sauna. He can feel his face flush from the stifling atmosphere as well as the rush of anticipation. He can’t see Steve, doesn’t know what he is doing under the table, but any moment now he is going to take Eddie into his mouth and swirl his slick tongue —

“Oh, shit,” Eddie hisses, holding a fist up to his mouth to quiet himself down. They may be secluded in this quiet corner, but there are other private spots dotted around this floor, none too far away from where they are. If he were to start screaming in ecstasy, someone would hear.

It’s not an easy task — not with Steve’s hand wrapped around the base of his cock, pulsing and pressing, while his mouth slides up and down the shaft. Eddie has had enough blowjobs from Steve before to conjure the crystal clear image of him with his cheeks hollowed as he sucks, his jaw stretched down as he struggles with Eddie’s girth. He pulls off for a moment, the hot, humid air sticking to the spit left behind on Eddie’s cock. Steve’s sounds are muffled under the table, but if Eddie listens closely enough, he can hear the way Steve is swallowing down air, peppering little pecks up and down the shaft in between those gulps.

He takes just the head back inside his mouth, treating Eddie’s cock like a lollipop, his tongue flat and liquid — somehow at the same time — and his lips slick with saliva as he mouths at Eddie’s glans.

It has been maybe five minutes — five minutes of all of Eddie’s attention chained to the skillful stimulation of his boyfriend’s tongue, lips, the occasional hint of teeth — and that’s when Steve finally takes him all the way. The suddenness of it, of Eddie’s head sliding down into his boyfriend’s throat, reminds him of the drop at the start of a rollercoaster when he has been slowly dragged to the top of a crest and then allowed to fall. Even though he knows it’s coming, it still feels like a surprise.

Steve is hammering his own throat with Eddie’s cock, drenching him in spit, making choked, gurgled sounds that make their way up to the surface despite the dampening quality of the wood between them. Eddie has Ms. Eliot’s masterpiece Middlemarch held between his hands, squeezing the tome into a cylinder as he tries to fight off his orgasm. He doesn’t want it to end, not when the vulnerability of their position out in the open is heightening the pleasure so beautifully.   

“Oh, sorry, man,” a voice says to the side. Eddie looks over, his chest rising and falling, his brow furrowed with the overwhelming heat and bliss, like he can hardly understand how something could feel so good. At the opening between two stacks, a thin boy with patchy skin and a rain-damp pageboy haircut is standing with his hand held around the strap of his backpack.

“What’s up?” Eddie replies, as casual as he can be, trying to smooth out his features, trying to ignore the fact that Steve is holding him deep in his throat. He isn’t moving anymore, but the rhythm of his swallows is still enough that Eddie could blow his load any moment. If he relaxes a single muscle of his body, he is going to come.

“Nothing, just hoping this spot was empty. I like it back here, you know? It’s private.”

“Yeah — yup. Private. Sorry, dude. Better luck next time.”

The guy nods, but he still points at Steve’s empty seat. “That spot’s taken?”

“Oh, yeah — uh, my friend just went to the bathroom. He’ll be back in a minute —” Steve releases Eddie from his throat, coming up for air, breathing out harshly against Eddie’s slick cock, even that sensation almost too much. God, fuck, Eddie wants to reach up and rub his nipples or — or reach down and grab Steve’s hair and ram back inside his mouth. Fuck, he needs something — he needs — shit, is that kid still there?

“All right, I’ll find somewhere else. Good luck with your studying,” the guy says, turning around and marching away.

“Have a nice afternoon!” Eddie shouts at his back, far too loud, but he is losing control of himself. Steve is working his head again, humming delicious vibrations around him. “I’m gonna come, baby,” Eddie whispers down to him, not sure if he can hear it or not. He must, judging by the renewed vigor with which he goes to his task, swallowing down once more, wet gags barely audible as he forces Eddie in and out. Finally, finally, with the books as witnesses and some untold number of other students hiding around the numerous other corners, Eddie shivers and moans and comes into his boyfriend’s mouth.

“Swallow, swallow, baby,” he commands, still spilling his load, his boyfriend sucking him through it. “Come on, slutty boy, sucking me off in the library like a fucking little tart. Swallow all of it, good boy. Oh, God, good boy. Good boy, love you, Jesus. Love you, slutty boy.”

Finally, Eddie is spasming with overstimulation, and he has to slide his chair back to get his cock released from Steve’s mouth or else Steve will just keep milking him dry. He scoots back far enough that he can look down and see Steve, obscured slightly by the shadows of the large cubicle. He is still visible enough, however, that Eddie can see him using the back of his hand to wipe away the drool that covers his chin. Eddie bends down, getting a better look at him, smiling at the desperate, overheated sheen on his face — the dazed look in his eyes, the layer of sweat covering his forehead. If only Eddie had a camera to preserve this moment for posterity. When he is old and wrinkled and no one wants his ass anymore, he can look at it and remember the hot, slutty boyfriend he had in college who sucked his cock in the library. Hopefully, Steve will still be around, putting up with him.

“You hard, sweetheart?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs, incredulous, and hisses out, “Of course, I’m hard! Fuck, I love your cock, Eddie. I can almost come just with it in my mouth. When that guy showed up, fuck, I thought I was going to blow a load in my jeans right there —”

“Take your cock out, baby. Come on, quick, before someone else shows up and sees you being a little whore. Might think you’re up for grabs, some free use slut that anyone can take for a little stress release. Come on, take your cock out.”

Steve obeys, unzipping his jeans, his hand finding his erection immediately. He whimpers as soon as his fist encases it. “Jerk off, baby. Wanna watch you come. Come in your hand, baby, go on.” Steve nods, pulling harshly on himself, his free hand cupping just below his head. Eddie thinks of the plug still inside his boyfriend, how frantically Steve must be convulsing around it, how large it must feel as he squeezes it tightly with his ass.

“Better be fast. Don’t want someone to show up and think they get a turn with you. You’re mine, aren’t you, baby?”

Steve nods, his hand jerking back quickly, little uhs being punched out of his chest. “Yeah, Ed — yeah, just yours.” It’s just a few more pulls, and he is spilling into his hand, swallowing the long moan he wants to shout, the sound vibrating out of his throat. He catches most of his spunk in his cupped palm, only a few drops landing on the library carpet, soaking into the fibers where they will stay until someone gets around to a deep clean, and who knows when the hell that will happen?

“Lick it up, sweetie,” Eddie orders. Flushing, Steve lifts his palm up to his face and dips his tongue into his own release, starting with little kitten licks like he is too embarrassed to commit, has to go in halfway in order to pretend he isn’t really eating his own cum. “Gotta go quick,” Eddie reminds him, “You want some stranger to see you licking up your own jizz? Might show up any second, you want them to see you like this?”

Steve’s tongue goes flat and wide, running up the span of his hand, gathering all his cum up into his mouth and swallowing it.

“Show me, let me see you got it all,” Eddie says. Steve shows him his palm, slick with spit but cleaned of cum, and sticks out his tongue to prove he swallowed everything. Eddie moans at the sight of him, still hunched under the table, his softening cock sticking limply out of his pants, holding his mouth open just to prove that he obeyed Eddie’s orders.

Eddie’s going to be dreaming of this tonight, after he fucks Steve a few times just to exhaust himself of the fever the boy inspires inside him.

“Good boy,” Eddie tells him. They both tuck themselves away. Eddie scoots even farther back so that Steve can emerge from under the table, stretching his arms over his head and cracking his back. Eddie reaches up and grabs him by the collar of his t-shirt, bringing him down for a long, deep kiss, tasting a mixture of both of their cum on his boyfriend’s tongue. Once he has satisfied himself with the flavor, he breaks the kiss and looks hard and firm into Steve’s eyes. “I fucking love you, Steve,” he says. “You make me crazy. I love you so much.”

Steve blushes, and the sweetness of it almost makes Eddie want to fuck him again right this moment, but he refrains. Steve smiles his beautiful smile and says, “I love you, Eddie. God, I love you, too,” before taking his seat back in the cubicle next to Eddie, squirming to get comfortable with the plug still inside him.

“Okay,” Steve says, clapping his hands and pulling his stats notebook back in front of him with a newly optimistic look on his face. “So, you take the sigma and you divide by the square root of n, right?”