“I mean it’s a big deal if Steve Harrington thinks I’m cool, that kind of makes me cooler than prom king-”
“I was never prom king you asshole, shut up,” he laughs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“C’mere,” Eddie replies, smiling at him. Steve’s face is still pink, but it’s hard to tell if that’s from the ride or from other factors. Eddie wants a closer look.
And there’s no one around out here. Just Eddie and Steve, and the bike and the sunset and the trees by the quarry. Just the quiet, the comfortable kind.
Steve scuffs his feet but wanders over, stands by the front of the bike, fidgeting. He runs a hand over the handlebars. Wrinkles his nose at some of the bugs squashed on the front head lamp- try as he might, cleaning that thing is a Sisyphian task, Eddie thinks. Summer’s bugs are destined to die on my motorbike.
“You don’t need to be jealous, anyway,” Eddie tells him. “I told you already that I’ll take you out whenever you like. Especially now that I know you think I look cool on it-”
“You’re so- you’re never gonna let that one go, are you?”
“Nope,” Eddie grins, reaching out to twist a hand in Steve’s shirt and pull him closer still.
Steve glances away- and yep, the pink in his cheeks is definitely from influences other than the wind, it’s darker now.
“Since I look so cool-”
“Jesus- shut up, Munson-”
“-can I have a kiss?”
Steve blinks, then looks at him. The bravado Eddie’s been wearing like a shield begins to dissipate a little- Steve still makes him so nervous. Unsure.
“Will you stop talking if I give you one?”
“That’s up to you, big boy.”
Steve huffs, but leans in, smiling. He cups Eddie’s jaw, positioning him gently to press their lips together. They’ve kissed often enough now that Eddie’s beginning to learn him- anticipate what Steve wants, knows what feels good. There’s less of that nervous rush to work out what either of them likes, just slow and easy, still stirring tendrils of want low in his gut. When Steve opens his mouth in a sigh, Eddie twists a hand into his hair, humming quietly, licking into his mouth. He tastes like-
“Twizzlers?” Eddie mumbles, breaking the kiss and laughing softly when Steve chases him, leaning forward and trying to re-capture his mouth.
“What? Like you don’t snack at work?”
Eddie answers him by pulling him back in again, kissing him slow and gentle, stroking his thumb against Steve’s neck. Time vanishes again into the distance, he’s just lost in Steve; the way he tastes and feels under his hands and the way he smells and the soft noises he makes when Eddie wraps his other hand around his waist, squeezes his hip. He pulls back eventually, eyes closed. Presses a few more soft, closed-mouth kisses against Steve’s lips, then his cheeks, nose, forehead. Tenderness rages like a summer storm in his chest, furious and unrelenting.
Steve exhales, pressing their foreheads together.
“You’re so…” he trails off, hushed. Eddie hums. “So cool?” he whispers, hopefully.
Steve scoffs. “So lame.”
“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to scare me off, Harrington. Lame is a pretty tame insult, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t want to scare you off,” Steve admits, glancing away shyly.
Dustin really saw Steve Harrington, rich kid/popular jock/grade a asshole, and domesticated him like a feral cat. He saw potential and played the long game. Say all you want about season two Steve and how sweet his relationships are with the kids, but he was dragged into baiting a monster to come eat them with Dustin (objectively a stupid plan), cussed them out multiple times, and then got his ass kicked trying to beat up a guy for bothering them. That guy is not a mom. That guy told a thirteen-year-old to look out for sexual electricity when talking to his crush. That guy used an extended basketball metaphor to try and talk them out of setting hell on fire. That guy mistook a middle school boy for his ex girlfriend while half concious in a car being driven by a seventh grader. He's an older cousin at very best.
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