"...and she was nice, but every girl I've gone out with lately has been nice. I need more than that, you know?" Steve says as he sets the timer. Putting it next to the stove, he searches the kitchen for something else to do for the next 20 minutes. He settles on unpacking the half empty bag of groceries that's sat on the kitchen island.
Eddie, leaning on the island and munching on a cereal bar he nicked from the bag (how long has it been there, anyway? It better not have any perishables, or Eddie will be chewing Steve out for wasting food), does in fact not know. No need for him to confess to it, though – Steve will elaborate. He always does when it comes to failed dates.
"Like sure," Steve continues, "we had things to talk about this time, but I'm not sure we would again. Everything's pretty much already been said."
He shuts the pantry, groceries put away (and no perishables – good boy). Next he goes for the two clean plates and half dozen cutleries in the dish rack. They could join the kiddies in the living room until the 20 minutes have ticked ticked ticked away, but Eddie's pretty sure both of them want to stay away for as long as possible. When they left, Dustin and Mike had already started arguing about which movie to pick; the discussion has only gotten more heated in their absence. By the sound of it, even Robin has joined in.
As if cue, a high-pitched screech reaches their ears. Sighing, Steve yanks the towel off its hook so quickly it makes a whiplike snap. He makes no attempt to check what's going on out there. Neither does Eddie. He knows what real trouble sounds like with those kids, and they're not there (yet). He'd rather remain, even if it means listening to Steve 'Serial Romeo' Harrington whinge about the hardships of being desired by half of Hawkins female population. After all, there are cereal bars out here.
"And there was no spark," Steve says, waving a fork in Eddie's direction before slamming it into a drawer. "And the kiss. Not the worst I've had, but still pretty bad."
"Huh," Eddie says. "What made it so bad?"
Because, if you ask him, simply the prospect of being kissed sounds like a win. Does it have to be perfect on top of it? Yeah, if the other person was important, then it would matter more. But on a zero-stakes first date? A kiss at the end would be a consolation. 'Sorry, it won't work, but here – have a smooch for the trouble'.
However, Steve makes it sound like a disappointment, like a disaster. Clearly, he knows something Eddie doesn't (unsurprising in this context). So when he comes to a halt with a thoughtful expression, Eddie leans in, surrendering all of his attention.
"Well," Steve says. "There was just, uh, nothing to it? Like, we both wanted for there to be something, but neither would put in the effort."
"That still doesn't sound so bad. Lackluster, maybe, but not bad."
"Yeah, well." Steve snorts. "Sometimes, lackluster is worse."
Eddie's skepticism must show, because Steve chuckles.
"C'mon, man. A bad kiss can end up a story. But nothing is... that's just nothing."
Steve shakes his head, a teasing smile that's prettier than it has any right to be. "You've either not had enough mediocre kisses or enough bad ones to compare them."
"More like none at all," Eddie says under his breath.
It's not meant to be heard. It's a whisper drowning in a ridiculously huge kitchen, shouting teenagers a mere hallway down to help cover it up.
But Steve's smile falls off; his brows shoot into his hairline. Shit.
"Nothing." Eddie glides off his chair. "Let's go make sure they're not tearing apart your majestic movie collection, hm?"
"Eddie, no, wait-" In an eyeblink, Steve's cutting off his escape route. Damn his jock speed. "You're telling me you've never been...?"
Eddie presses his lips together. Shrugs with his entire body. Says nothing.
The smile creeps back onto Steve's face.
"Dude, don't laugh at me!"
Groaning, Eddie pivots and thumps his head on the island. A large hand pats between his shoulder blades, gentle and apologetic.
"Sorry! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I just never would've guessed!"
Eddie turns his head a smidgen to glare up at Steve, who, to his credit, looks genuinely remorseful in response to Eddie's dramatics. Even so, 'never would've guessed'? Is he trying to be funny?!
"Are you trying to be funny?"
"No! I seriously didn't think... I mean, why wouldn't you have had your first kiss?"
Ouch. Eddie know Steve doesn't mean it as in 'you're too old to be a kissless virgin'. He means it as in 'you're my friend and a good guy, ergo a catch, ergo you should be dodging babes left and right'.
But that sadly doesn't change the fact that Eddie is way too fucking old to be a kissless virgin.
He knows why he is, though. He knows it's not his fault, at least not entirely. And based on Steve's pained expression, he does too.
"It'll get better," he says, continuing to stroke Eddie's back, calloused fingertips scratching at the nape of his neck where his hair has slipped down and left the skin exposed. The contact sends a shiver running along his spine. "You'll escape this shit hole, and all the judgemental dicks that live here. Then it'll be easier."
"Maybe so. But," Eddie huffs, pushing off the island, "that's a meager comfort. I'm already 20 fucking years old. I don't want to wait any longer. I want to experience all the shit everyone else already has now."
"Steve, the 15-year-olds currently in this house have seen more action than I have."
"All right, okay, I hear you. We'll solve it for you."
"Well," Steve's tongue darts out to wet his lips, "if you just want to get it over with, then... I could kiss you?"
Eddie's jaw detaches from the rest of his face and hits the ground as such velocity a dust cloud would rise, if the floor wasn't so fucking pristine. Did he just say...
"Weren't you only moments ago complaining about bad kisses? And now you want another one that, surely, will be even worse?"
"That's different. We're friends."
And perhaps it's Eddie who's the weird one. Perhaps it's he who doesn't understand, since, hello! Kissless virgin! Dreadfully Inexperienced! Has no clue what he's doing!
So, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes before dragging the palms down his face, he says, "Okay! Let's do it. Teach me, oh master. Show me the way."
Steve rolls his eyes, fond, and cups Eddie's cheek. Eddie's breath hitches in his throat.
They're doing it now? No preamble? They must be, because Steve is leaning in, eyes sliding shut. Eddie's do, as well, after one last, blurry yet breathtaking, closeup of Steve's face.
"First thing you gotta do," Steve says, breath hot on Eddie's lips, "is get a good angle. Don't just smash your faces together."
"Okay," Eddie whispers, eyes still closed. Steve's thumb is caressing his cheekbone in a move that shouldn't be as soothing as it is.
"Don't forget to breathe," Steve continues, and shit, did he? Eddie sucks in a breath to be safe; Steve chuckles. "And don't rush. Take your time to explore. Be cool."
"Jesus H Christ, Steve," Eddie hisses. "If you don't kiss me now, I'll-"
Nothing life changing, to be honest. Sure, it's nice – soft and warm and kind of fuzzy in his chest – but not as spectacular as he's been led to believe.
Then Steve parts his lips. His tongue, wet and hot, licks along the seam of Eddie's mouth; he opens it with a gasp. Steve slips his tongue into Eddie's mouth, and wow, yeah, that's good. Then he drags his tongue over Eddie's, and that's really good. The hand on Eddie's cheek slides to his neck, tipping his head back with a sweet tug on his hair, allowing Steve to reach even farther, and that's really fucking good.
Literally – he slumps against Steve's frame, grasping his shoulders, Steve's arm an anchor around Eddie's waist.
Eddie's pulse is hammering in his throat. Steve's chest is solid where it's pressed against Eddie's. He's doing this thing where he coaxed Eddie's tongue into his mouth and now he's sucking on it, and it makes something curl in Eddie's groin and down to his toes, and-
They break away with a gasp, but they don't let go of each other. Steve's eyes are hazy, his mouth slick and slightly bruised. Eddie is warm from the tips of his ears to his clavicles and his innards can't stop moving: heart bouncing, gut somersaulting, lungs rattling with emptiness at the sight of Steve so close.
The timer stops ringing. In the living room, the kids are still noisy. In the kitchen, blood rushes in Eddie's ears.
"So," he says. "That's lesson one."