Exalted

Eddie drifted to wakefulness, awash in a cloud of golden light. He squinted into the glare, trying to figure out if he’d left the light on; his room was never this bright in the morning. He yawned and cautiously opened his eyes further, encountering a warm expanse of skin and caramel-colored hair. He blinked, taking further inventory. Stubble sparkled like honey down the sharp curve of a jaw, and the broad chest under his arm rose and fell in sleep.

The music they’d turned on last night was still a faint undercurrent in the room, and Eddie felt like they were suspended in amber - a solitary, glowing moment in time, this brief peace before the day rolled in with its frenetic motion and sound. A sharp ache pinched in Eddie’s chest before smoothing out into something like awe. This must be what church is like for some people, he thought. If waking up with Steve Buckley was as close as Eddie ever got to a religious experience, he’d consider it a win. Life hadn’t brought Eddie many golden mornings, or very much peace, and he grabbed at this one like a drowning man, tucking back in close to Steve’s neck with a sigh. He reflected on the night before as he lay there, Steve’s arm wrapped around his waist and his other hand encircling his wrist in a loose hold. 

He’d been so determined not to make an idiot of out himself, and then he had drank all the beer he could find and absolutely done that very thing. Steve, however, had been so sweet. Amused - he’d definitely found it funny - but not in a mean way. Eddie had been at pretty close to his unfiltered light-weight worst, and Steve had just looked fond. He’d been a shit to the delivery guy, cried, drank all the beer, fell asleep on the floor, blurted out a bunch of stuff he was trying not to remember any more clearly than he already did, and made Steve share his bed with him and cuddle. To have been a disaster for the whole night and get rewarded with this morning was a gift he hadn’t expected, didn’t deserve, and refused to give up until he had to.

After that thought, it seemed comically inevitable that a sudden beeping cut through the peaceful air, and Steve groaned and reached blindly for his phone, perched on the nightstand. He silenced the alarm and the music, and flopped back down on his pillow, still holding Eddie to his side. “Sorry,” he murmured and yawned. “Not the best way to wake up if you have a hangover. How’s your head?”

“So far, so good,” Eddie smiled. “No promises for when I try and sit up, but I think I’m okay. Steve blinked at him sleepily and returned the smile, and Eddie suspected people would call this ‘cozy.’ He had no idea how to do cozy, but he had a sudden grasp of the appeal. “Sorry about last night - I am a little vague on the details, but I remember enough to be pretty sure I was very annoying.”

Steve gave a raspy chuckle, and Eddie felt it rumble through his chest. “You were fine. You’re a happy drunk,” Steve reassured him.

“That’s a generous way to put it,” Eddie grinned. “Thanks for keeping an eye on me, and letting me invade your bed,” he added.

Steve waved off the thanks. “I’m not going to complain about cuddles,” he demurred.

The cocky side of Eddie stirred at that, and he nuzzled closer into Steve’s neck. “Cuddles with me, or just cuddles in general?” He asked in a sly tone, just humorously enough to pass as a joke, but he could feel the tiniest tension stitching his neck muscles tighter again. Steve might just be a cuddly guy in general. A hugger, touch-as-a-love-language kind of person. That is all perfectly fine and none of your business; what is wrong with you? Eddie was so busy lecturing himself that he almost missed Steve’s response.

Steve had given a small shudder, and quickly replied: “I’m not much of a toucher with people I don’t know really well,” he admitted.

Going to figure that one out later; it didn't sound great, Eddie thought before grinning into Steve’s neck. “So what I’m hearing is that I’m special,” he purred, and Steve laughed again.

“Yes, Eddie, you’re special,” Steve teased. “I wouldn’t let just anyone drink all my beer and sleep in my bed, even if they did think my ass belongs in a museum.”

“Well, it does,” Eddie said, then pulled back to look at him suspiciously. “Did I say that?”

“Mmm,” Steve hummed, untangling their limbs and sitting up. “You talk in your sleep,” he said over his shoulder as he swung his legs out of bed and got to his feet. “You also answer questions.”

Eddie’s mouth dropped open, his eyes rounded with dawning horror. “Steve! What did I say? Wait! That’s not fair!” Eddie scrambled to get out of bed and follow, but Steve was already in the bathroom.

“Have to get ready for work, Eds,” came laughingly through the door. “Why don’t you go make some coffee?”

Eddie shuffled to the kitchen, too occupied with his conflicting emotions to notice his head didn’t hurt. On one hand - Steve had clearly egged him on to embarrass himself last night. On the other hand - Eds. He giggled as he scooped coffee into the filter and filled the carafe, doing a fidgety little dance step as he waited. It was worth a little embarrassment for Steve to be more comfortable with him, he decided. He said I was special.

Eddie giggled again, and turned to find the coffee mugs, coming face to face with Robin, who was leaning against the counter watching him, eyebrows raised and a dry expression on her still sleepy face. “I will forget that you were dancing and giggling in my kitchen if you pour me a coffee, too,” she politely blackmailed him.

…

Eddie waved Steve off to work before he got into his van, swinging into a drive-through on the way to his apartment for another coffee and a greasy breakfast sandwich. He hummed along to the music, tapping on the wheel and managing to not bang his head around with great effort - he’d like to keep the ‘no headache’ thing going if he could; he had work to do. 

He pushed the door closed with his foot when he got home, already opening the sandwich as he walked into his kitchen. He spread the wrapper out on the counter to catch crumbs and wolfed it down, reflecting that the one Steve had brought him had been better, before crumpling the wrapper into a ball and tossing it in the trash. He brought his coffee with him into his room, chugging as much of it down as he could before setting it on his dresser and going to take a shower. If he didn’t take one before he started working, he wouldn’t take one today, and with how he was, one day would turn into two and next thing he knew it’d be time to meet Steve and he’d still be wearing the same clothes.

Dropping onto the couch after his shower, Eddie settled in to work with his phone plugged in to charge and music blaring. He’d already had the beginning of an idea for what he wanted to do the first time he saw Steve, and every time he’d met him since another piece of the puzzle had slotted into place. He flipped open his sketch book and started spinning out thick, flowing lines, drawing some pieces from only one angle and others from dozens, not trying to narrow it down, just letting it all cover the pages. He’d do the winnowing later, for now he just wanted to put it all out there and look at it.

He sat back hours later, hand cramped, back frozen in place, and blinked around the room. The sun had shifted from one side of the space to the other while he sat, but he had all the sketching done, and now he needed to pull the pieces that hung together the best and tweak them. He flipped through pages, marking some pieces with a check and passing others over, dressing the models in his head in one thing or another, until he came to the sketches he’d made knowing it would be for Steve. These were more detailed than the others, really almost full drawings rather than the simple outlines of a fashion sketch, and he’d known this was the only thing he was putting Steve in. On the page it was a simple suit, highly structured with a stand-up collar, but he could see the fabric spread over Steve’s shoulders. He checked both versions, then flipped the page and quickly ticked off the accessories there.

The clothes he’d planned for the girls were trickier; his plan was just to narrow it down and get input from his professor before he came to a decision. There were a couple of pieces - that collar, for one - that were a must have, but what they ended up attached to was flexible for everything but the suit. He fiddled idly with one of the sketches of the suit planned for Steve, adding a little shading, a few more details, picking away at it until he realized he’d ended up completing the drawing and was going to have to do the sketches over - if he walked into his professor’s office with this he’d get shit for sure. He carefully pulled the page loose, redoing the sketches in more of his normal hurried style, and tucked the page into the sketch book he used for more personal art. He could have just tossed it, but his hand froze as he went to crumple it up, Steve’s eyes under his fingers, so into storage it went.

…

The meeting with his professor had gone well, and after a feverish morning of shopping and gathering materials Eddie paced the small space of his studio, waiting for Steve to arrive. He’d laid everything he needed to take measurements out on the table in reach, and hung the fabrics from a garment rack so he could show them to Steve. His sketchbook and tablet were ready with the sketches and more samples, and he’d even set up a model’s screen in case Steve was shy about changing. Chrissy would be bringing Robin the next day - Chrissy had helped him before, and having her around would make it less weird for Robin. 

A pile of bright red caught his eye, and he turned to contemplate it, chewing the edge of his thumbnail. That was the rub - he could make do with just the suit on Steve. It’d be perfect, he would be perfect. Eddie picked up the end of the crimson, silky cord and rubbed it between his fingers before letting it fall. It’s just an aesthetic, he reminded himself. If it makes Steve uncomfortable, we just do the suit. Everyone else would carry the theme, and the binding pieces were actually critical to their looks, but ironically Steve’s was the only one he could eliminate and also the only true binding. The truth was that the vision of Steve’s outfit was what had started the whole thing, and he’d be heart-broken if he had to give up even a bit of it.

Knocking on the studio door startled Eddie out of his contemplation, and he hurried to let Steve in. “Hey,” he said as he flung open the door. “Thanks for coming over, I really appreciate all your help with this.” He stopped and stared. “Did you bring food?”

Steve laughed as he brushed by him into the studio, juggling a paper bag that left a delicious scent trail behind it and a small duffle bag. “I didn’t have time to go home after work. It’s just sandwiches from the deli, but I swear by the pickles.” Steve popped the staples to open the bag, dropping his other bag on the floor by the wall. “I figured it would be embarrassing if my stomach starting growling where you were measuring me, and that’s just how my luck works.”

Eddie laughed and settled at the table, unwrapping the sandwich Steve handed him. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, but I get it. My luck works the same way.”

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s that for?” Steve nodded his head at the pile of cord, and Eddie almost choked on the bite he was trying to swallow.

“That?” He squeaked. “Oh, that. Well.” He fidgeted with the sandwich wrapper. “Let’s finish eating first, and then I can show you some sketches, walk through the whole thing?” Steve nodded agreeably, and Eddie’s mind whirled. Simple, non-threatening explanation. Something that does not sound like I invited him to my studio so I could tie him up. I mean, I did, really, though. Just not like that.

No matter how much you might want something to last forever, everything comes to an end - which includes sandwiches when you have a handsome man waiting for you to explain something you probably should have mentioned a while ago. Eddie cleared away the wrappers and cleared his throat. 

“Okay, so I know I told you the basics of this being sort of a mini-collection, and how people assume that certain elements of my style go with certain types of people more than others.” Eddie waved a hand between them. “Basically, that I design for people that look like me rather than people that look like you.” Steve nodded. “Which is more true than not - any small brand leans toward being a ‘lifestyle’ brand today, and my style suits me.” Eddie stood to pace again. “But I’ve been feeling really limited by that, and constricted, and like I was making assumptions about people. Like I was making it into a self-fulfilling prophecy: if I can only picture one ‘type’ of person wearing what I design, then those will be the only people who do.” 

He flung around to face Steve, who was watching him like it was a performance, all careful attention. “I’d been wanting to do more challenging work but I just wasn’t finding it and I couldn’t get it to come together, but then I met you and I figured it out.” He stepped closer to Steve and pointed to the large leaning mirror that showed them both. “That.”

Steve looked curiously, the mirror reflecting him in his usual work-appropriate attire, this time a cream sweater and light gray pants, a stark contrast to Eddie’s torn black jeans and indecipherable metal tee. He shifted his gaze from the Eddie in the mirror to the one standing close to him. “A darkness and light kind of thing?” 

Quick, Eddie thought. “I’m not - it’s not anything bad,” Eddie haltingly explained. “It’s more that your style isn’t your substance, or some other pretentious art-school bullshit. Just because you look like a midwest girl’s dream boy doesn’t mean that’s all you are, and just because I look like I summon satan on the weekends doesn’t mean it’s all I am.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I thought there’d be a robe or something if you were summoning satan.”

“It’s in my closet,” Eddie shot back, feeling relief start to ease the tension in his spine. He could explain this, Steve would listen. Steve would get it, even if he couldn’t explain it right. “Let me show you the sketches.” He reached past Steve to open his sketchbook and flip to the outfit planned for him. 

Steve leaned over the table, taking in the simple sketch, head slightly tilted. “Okay - I wasn’t an art major, but this is suit, right?” He looked at Eddie. “You’re rebelling against stereotypes by doing…traditional menswear?” 

Eddie snorted a laugh, the absurdity hitting him only when Steve said it. “It would be a pretty good rebellion for me if I just left it at that, but it’s not that traditional. It’s more of a subtle subversion of traditional menswear.” He pointed details out to Steve, like the standing collar, the sharp darts indenting the waist, the unusually long length of the jacket. “There’s also this.”

Eddie picked up the end of the length of cord, handing it to Steve. “If you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to show the suit without a traditional shirt. Just this.” 

Steve rubbed the cord between his fingers, his face unreadable. “I’m not sure I’m following,” he said, handing the cord back to Eddie. 

“Like this,” Eddie flipped a page in his sketchbook and pointed to a smaller study of a torso, criss-crossed with red lines to form a five-pointed star. The cord wrapped around the neck from two of the points, and the star’s singular bottom point tapered to a band of cording encircling the figure in the middle of the ribcage. “I’m not an expert,” Eddie continued, “but there are Youtube videos, and I’m pretty sure I can make it look right. It doesn’t have to be functional.” Steve arched an eyebrow at him, and Eddie could feel the blush creeping up his face to his hairline. 

“I’m using the same cord on the other pieces,” he went on quickly. “But as decorative elements.” He showed Steve the elaborate collar he intended for Chrissy’s dress, the cord knotted and twisted and almost woven into something nearly like a breastplate, with a high collar and finished with curving loops along the edges. “This one will actually have closures in the back, so it can just be taken on and off and not have to be wrapped every time, to make it a more functional piece.”

“But mine will be… wrapped?” Steve tried out the word. “So it’s an actual binding?”

Eddie swallowed, feeling like his head was going to float away. “Well, yes, but not the whole thing. Usually you would use something like this either decoratively, like we would be, or as part of a set of bindings.” 

Steve nodded. “Okay, do you want me to change?” He gestured to his bag. “Probably easier than my work clothes.”

“Sure,” Eddie hesitated. “Look, if at any point it makes you uncomfortable, we drop the binding idea and just go with no shirt. It’ll still be a contrast with the structured suit. Or we could even paint it on,” he added.

Steve chuckled and shook his head as he stooped to pick up his bag. “Thanks, but I think it’ll be fine. I’ll let you know if I’m wrong about that, but I’m not worried.” He stepped behind the screen. “Painting won’t work, anyway,” his voice floated out as Eddie paced a tight circle on the floor. “I’ve got a lot of chest hair, and I really don’t want to wax. I did it for swim team, but it was a nightmare.”

Eddie dropped into a crouch, holding onto the edge of the table. Of course. Of course he’d be so agreeable and sweet about this, and oh my god how much chest hair is ‘a lot’?

“You alright?” Steve’s voice came from behind him, and Eddie stood up and turned to face him.

“Yeah, fine, just stretching something out…” Eddie’s voice died as Steve padded across the studio, clad in runner’s leggings and nothing else. 

“I figured these would be easiest,” Steve said, waving at his legs as he set his clothes down on the table. “Not much different to skin. I’m not sure how precise you need the measurements to be, but I didn’t want to mess anything up for you.”

“Good, great,” Eddie’s could feel how thin his voice was, but still couldn’t remember exactly how breathing worked. “Suiting is pretty unforgiving, especially when you want to show off the tailoring like we do.”

He spun to the table and grabbed his tape. “So if you can stand under that light,” Eddie pointed to the industrial light hanging from the ceiling, “I’m going to take what is probably going to seem like a ridiculous amount of measurements and write them down,” he tapped his notebook and swallowed, holding the tape in his hand. “I feel like I need to say that I’m going to have to get, um, really close.”

“Eddie.” Steve smiled. “You have spent the night drooling onto my neck. I think we’re fine with close.”

“Right. Sure.” Eddie took a deep breath. “Okay, so I’m going to measure your chest first. Just relax your arms at your sides.” Steve complied, and Eddie reached around him with the tape, his face hovering scant inches from Steve’s chest as he made sure it was even and not pulled too tight. “I have to line it up,” he muttered, trying to focus on the tape and not on Steve’s chest hair, or the nipples he was trying to line the tape up with. 

“I’m going to get around your neck now,” Eddie unwrapped the tape and scribbled down the number. Steve’s gaze was unsettlingly fixed on Eddie’s face as he wrapped the tape carefully around his neck, under his Adam’s apple. The overhead was washing Steve in the golden nimbus of light that seemed to follow him, and Eddie could barely focus on the numbers. We never did negotiate that kissing thing, drifted through his head, and he mentally batted it away as he turned to write down the measurement. Bad timing, bad thoughts, nonono.

“I’m going to get your shoulders now,” he explained, moving around Steve. If Eddie had thought it would be easier to focus without the expanse of Steve’s chest gently rising and falling in front of him, he quickly learned that he had grossly underestimated the effect the span of golden skin covering thick muscles that was Steve’s back would have. He ran the tape from edge to edge, following the curve of Steve’s back and writing it down with fingers that were a frozen contrast to his overheating face.

Measuring Steve’s arms was next, from shoulder to elbow and elbow to wrist, and while that part was easier, wrapping the tape around Steve’s biceps made Eddie’s head swim. One of Steve’s biceps was almost as big as both of Eddie’s, and Eddie did not consider himself a scrawny man. The wrists were actually easier, Steve holding his hand out obediently, still placidly watching the process.

Eddie cleared his throat. “I’m going to measure your back now,” he announced. “Usually you would measure from the top of your spine,” he tapped the bone just below Steve’s neck, “to the back of your crotch, so I’m going to do that, but I’m also going to measure for the full length of the jacket.” Eddie held the end of the tape against Steve’s spine and dropped it loose, pulling it gently to be taut but not tight, trying not to focus on where his hand was as he double-checked the number and moved on.

Measuring Steve’s waistline was straight-forward, and almost felt like a hug. Measuring his hips, though, set off alarm bells as it forced Eddie to contemplate exactly where the thickest part of Steve’s ass was, and then wrap the measuring tape around it. 

Steve’s lips twitched. “Still ready for the museum, Eddie?” he joked, and Eddie swallowed hard and summoned up a grin.

“You have no idea. Now I have measurements for posterity.” He blinked. “That was almost a really bad pun, and I want credit for not making it.” They both laughed as Eddie wrote down the number and stepped back.

“Next is your legs,” he said, looking at the list. “So inseam first, and then I’ll get your thighs.” He bit his lip and looked at Steve cautiously. “This is where it gets up close and personal,” he warned, and Steve nodded, smiling faintly. “Just stand with your feet a little apart.” Eddie knelt on the floor in front of Steve and placed the top of the tape measure at the highest center point of Steve’s thigh, pulling it along the inside of his leg. 

Eddie chanced a look up at Steve as he wrote down the numbers, his breath catching as he rocked back on his heels.The light from the overhead cast every angle and plane of Steve’s torso in sharp contrast, like a bronze statue of some hedonistic god, as he stood above Eddie, seemingly completely unbothered by having a worshipper on his knees before him.

For the first time in his adult life, Eddie understood the drive to worship.