Prompt Day 25: smoking section | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: smoking | POV: Eddie | Pairing(s): Steddie | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, AU - no Upside Down, sharing a cigarette (the sluttiest thing two people can do)
“You’re him, right? The music guy?”
Eddie looks up from his examination of his fingernails. There’s a guy standing in the entrance of the smokers’ section, wearing a polo shirt that denotes him as venue barstaff. He’s got a glorious swoop of hair, that Eddie, as something of a hair guy himself, can appreciate. He also looks exhausted – understandable, given Corroded Coffin had packed the house out tonight. Poor guy was probably run off his feet.
“The music guy?” Eddie echoes, around his cigarette. He doesn’t do groupies, so if this is that then he’ll be pretending to be anyone other than who he is.
“Yeah,” the guy says, though a note of doubt does creep into his tone. Perhaps not. “You know, with the guitar or whatever.”
He mimes playing the guitar, which – dorky. Cute. It’s both. Eddie likes both, so to speak, he plays for both teams. He runs his eyes over the guy again, noting he’s very good-looking. “That’s me,” he says, chuckling. He digs in his pocket for his pack, and holds it out. “Want one?”
The guy takes one, and Eddie lights it for him. He mirrors Eddie, leaning against the wall with about a foot between them. Eddie watches him in his peripheral vision; he takes a few leisurely drags, tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.
“Did you enjoy the show?” Eddie asks, after a while. He’s curious, but not hopeful – Mr Handsome looks very straight-laced, very pop-rock, very church on Sundays.
“I could see this much of you from the bar,” the guy says, framing his face between his two hands from his eyebrows to the top of his head.
“And yet you still came looking, huh?” Eddie can’t help himself, can’t help dipping his toe in the waters to test them – he’s a born flirt.
Gorgeous shoots him a bitchy sideways look that sets Eddie’s heart aflutter, especially when the corner of his mouth twitches ever-so-slightly. “I don’t know that the sound is for me,” he says, with distaste, the way one would say a daily colonoscopy is not for them.
Eddie might be in love.
“Ed! Come on dude, we gotta go!” Jeff calls from the doorway. Eddie lifts himself away from the wall, ashing his cigarette and tossing Handsome a charming grin and a waggle of his fingers.
“See you tomorrow night,” he croons, following Jeff out.
***
“It could grow on me,” Mr Handsome says, appearing and taking his spot against the wall in the smokers’ section near Eddie.
“What could? Mould? Probably need to get that checked, big boy.”
Oh that look of bitchy contempt. Eddie’s going to write a love song about it.
“I mean, if you want to compare your music to mould,” he says, lifting a brow. He sticks out his hand and opens and closes it in a give me gesture. Eddie’s already handing over a cigarette.
“Either way, you came back,” Eddie says, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Mr Handsome’s gaze follows the motion for a flicker of a heartbeat before it darts away.
“I work here. I have to come back.”
“No, I think it’s me, I think you’re obsessed with me and you’re Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan,” Eddie teases. Their shoulders brush, leather against polo. Behind Mr Beautiful’s head, Gareth appears, gesturing for Eddie to hurry up.
“There’s that famous rockstar ego, huh?” Handsome says.
“Guilty. I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Eddie calls over his shoulder as he leaves. “Third and final show.”
“I wouldn’t count on it!”
***
Gorgeous is already waiting for him the next night.
“Steve.” When Eddie lifts a questioning brow, Gorgeous points at himself. “I’m Steve.”
He doesn’t offer Eddie a pack of cigarettes – he offers Eddie his own lit one. Eddie takes it, their fingertips brushing. Steve watches Eddie bring the cigarette to his lips, his eyes trained on Eddie’s mouth, on the way they indirectly kiss by touching the same spot. Eddie feels it so acutely, more than he has in a long time – the loneliness of the road and the lifestyle that he’s been ignoring, the deep longing for his person. It’s a strange thing, to miss someone you haven’t even met yet.
But Eddie’s had the beautiful bartender – Steve – on his mind for two days now.
And Eddie… well Eddie’s never exactly played it safe.
“You know the French have a saying,” he begins, conversationally, “‘qui allume encule,’ which roughly says, ‘light their cigarette, fuck them in the ass.’” He holds the cigarette out for Steve to take back.
He’s gone very still though, and Eddie tenses, suddenly aware that Steve is clearly athletic stock; probably well and truly capable of kicking Eddie’s ass. Maybe he read this wrong, maybe Steve wasn’t looking at him like that, maybe he’s been alone so long he can’t read signs anymore–
“You just threatening me with a good time, or you gonna follow through?” Steve asks, low and husky.
Eddie blinks, because he didn’t realise they were standing so close – they’re facing each other, their shoulders against the wall, a scant six inches between their chests. Eddie can smell his delicious cologne, and see the green in his hazel eyes. Steve tilts his head, rocking a little closer. They’re alone in this smokers’ section, the venue already closed up for the night.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Eddie says regretfully. His hand finds Steve’s hip, and slips around to his lower back.
Steve shrugs. “I don’t like this job much. My best friend has always wanted to design band merch.” Both his hands rest on Eddie’s chest.
“Did you just hire yourself to my crew?” Their noses brush.
“Someone has to come keep your ego in check.” Steve’s mouth ghosts against the corner of Eddie’s lips.
“I promise you none of this is deflating my ego,” Eddie says, and before Steve can answer, he captures his open mouth in a kiss.
I said “expect this to be drawn and posted some time this month” in August, and now here we are in September, but better late than never :) I missed drawing this pretty boys I love them.
Ok so, sex ed teacher Steve. He wants to cover all the bases, including the gay ones, so he goes to the only gay dude he knows - Eddie Munson.
He's like, I did all the research so you don't have to do my job but please let me know if I'm off anywhere, and sits Eddie down to be his trial audience for the gay sex lecture.
He's so earnest Eddie doesn't have the heart to tell him he's not gay.
But after the long and detailed description of anal sex and the banana + condom demonstration, he's not so sure if it's the truth anymore.
what if: high school steddie, where Eddie is all too aware of the social hierarchy of Hawkins High and his standing in it—the lowest of the low—versus a Steve who either doesn't know or doesn't care.
Eddie knows he's at the bottom of the food chain. Knows he's the first to eat shit when some jocks are hungering for some violence. Knows he's about as good as the dirt on their shoes, as far as they're concerned.
And at the top of that mountain, just about the other side of the world, really, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. Double Team Captain. Mister Harrington Charm.
They shouldn't EVER interact. It's against the laws of nature, or some shit, Eddie's sure.
Which is probably why it seems like the world's imploding when Steve "The Hair" Harrington—Mister Harrington Charm, Double Team Captain, whatever the fuck else Gareth has on his endless list—asks him to prom.
It's probably a good thing they're alone, in the middle of the woods, on opposite sides of Eddie's favorite deal-making table, so no one's around to hear him yell, "What the fuck?"
It echoes around the woods anyways, maybe louder than he meant to be, which is good, because it's definitely a 'what the fuck' moment.
They've literally never spoken before. Actually, they've done less than spoken—they could live on opposite poles of the Earth, for all the interaction they've had. They don't share any classes. Hell, they don't even see each other in the halls.
And now Steve Harrington is staring at him like he's actually waiting for an answer.
Again: What the fuck?
A record scratches in his brain and yup, there’s Harrington’s voice again, smarmy little smile on his face, asking: “Will you go to prom with me?”
As in, Steve Harrington just asked, in this existence, in this reality, on this planet, for Eddie Munson to go to Hawkins High Senior Prom with him. For real.
For real?
No. No way.
Harrington’s joking, Eddie knows. Figures the day’d come he decides torturing Eddie is just as much fun as the rest of his shit-jock cronies made it out to be.
And then, suddenly, Eddie knows what it is. Has seen enough of those terrible movies on early-morning TV with Wayne. Has seen the same damn plot enough times to smell it coming from a mile away.
“You know what,” he says, leaning into Harrington’s space, too close, brimming with irritation and a disgusting desire to one-up the smug, cocky bastard, “You get me a bouquet of roses as black as your twisted, festering soul, and I’ll wear a pretty little dress for you, too.”
Harrington’s frown makes anger tighten Eddie’s jaw. “Do roses… grow in black?”
“I guess that’s for you to find out and for me to know, Harrington,” Eddie sneers. He gets up, snatches his lunchbox, and stalks back through the trees to school.
He throws a “fuck you” over his shoulder when Harrington calls out “Benny’s at six?” but doesn’t turn around because the last thing he needs is to eat shit tripping over a goddamn branch. As it is, he’s already waiting for any of Harrington’s little friends to appear out of the shadows and jump him. That’s how it goes, right?
Only, it doesn’t.
There’s no swirlies, no shoving into lockers, no missing clothes after gym, no brutal beatdown on late days after Hellfire. Eddie’s almost worried the meatheads have had too many concussions and forgot he was next on the hit list.
And then he realizes—oh. Oh no. They’re waiting for prom. Actual prom night to fucking flay him open on stage in front of the whole school or something equally psychotic. Drown him in the punch. Stomp him to death on the dance floor.
Clearly, they HAVE had too many concussions if they think Eddie would EVER show his face there. Fuck Harrington, and fuck his minions. Like Eddie’d make it that easy for them.
Except, in the days leading up to prom, weird things keep happening. And Eddie doesn’t know what to think about it.
There’s pudding at his spot at the head of the table. Once a week, because the cafeteria only has pudding once a week. Eddie loves cafeteria pudding.
Steve Harrington grins at him from across the goddamn cafeteria and Eddie’s gut curdles.
One of the Hellfire posters he puts up monthly (and is always shredded by first period’s end) is still up a week later. Sure, torn and taped back together, but it’s not slush in a toilet, either.
Steve Harrington tells him that he looks nice when he finds him smoking just outside the school, and Eddie’s skin itches like he needs to tear it off.
There’s a flower on the driver’s seat of his van the day he forgets to close the window all the way, a day-old daisy with the petals stained a dark blue, the yellow center dulled.
Steve Harrington says he’s got a nice voice and he’s really good at playing the guitar and Eddie wonders how the hell he knows that.
One day, Harrington drops down to sit on the curb next to him, in the parking lot of the shitty little convenience store that’s a five-minute walk from the trailer park. He passes over a pack of his fancy smokes and nabs one of Eddie’s cheap beers so they can drink and smoke together and neither of them say anything. Eddie wants to say it’s because he doesn’t want Harrington to realize exactly what he’s done and get his shit beer cans crushed over his head, but in truth, it’s because he can’t get a damn read on the guy.
Another, Harrington and Hargrove both come to school looking like they’ve been run over, then backed up over, and then run over again for good measure. Hargrove doesn’t haggle him for weed again, and Harrington still smiles at him from across the cafeteria like the pull of his cheek doesn’t make his broken nose and black eye smart.
Again: What the fuck?
He asks the guys. “What the hell is going on with Harrington?”
He doesn’t like how they look at him, mouths twisted and uncomfortable and unsure.
“Heard he and Hagan beat the shit out of each other a while ago. Haven’t talked since.”
Hagan. Not Hargrove. A while ago.
“Ditched Carol P. and Stacy C., too.”
…
What the fuck?
…
The day of prom comes. Vaguely, Eddie remembers: Benny’s at six. Yeah-fucking-right.
He doesn’t go. Doesn’t have a suit, anyway, and wouldn’t have gone even if he did. Obviously. He might be stupid, repeating senior year, but he’s not THAT stupid.
An hour later, the phone in the trailer rings. When he picks up, Gareth is on the other end of the line. Distantly, Eddie can hear the shitty pop that makes up the school’s prom mixtape.
“What’d Harrington’s face look like?” he asks. “Was he pissed?”
“He didn’t show,” Gareth admits. “I dunno, man, maybe he was being serious.”
Eddie’s laugh probably pisses off half the trailer park. He can’t hear Gareth’s through the phone. “Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t kill the messenger.”
“Messenger might get me killed,” Eddie bites back, and then he hangs up. He hopes the punch is spiked and Gareth gets so drunk he falls asleep in a bush.
He grabs his keys off his nightstand and the trailer door slams behind him when he leaves.
Outside Benny’s diner is dark, shadows over the parking lot, but Harrington’s beamer is still there, clear as day. Maroon and hideous. God-fucking-damnit.
Harrington is in the driver’s seat, arms crossed over his chest as his head lolls back against his seat, half-asleep and definitely getting there. He’s wearing a nice shirt and nice pants and his tie goes flying like a whip across his cheek when Eddie knocks his fist against the roof of the car.
“The hell’s your damage, Harrington?” He barks, before the guy can even get his bearings.
Harrington fumbles, flailing limbs punch a short blare out of his horn, and his tie ends up over his shoulder.
“Eddie, hi. Hi, Eddie.” There’s drool at the corner of his mouth. Eddie’s lips curl.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps again. Harrington’s window is half-down—he can definitely hear him.
“Um.” Harrington looks sheepish, now, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “It was—Benny’s at seven. I was waiting for you. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Eddie’s jaw tightens.
“It was Benny’s at seven, right? I thought it was Benny’s at six, at first, but I can’t really keep dates straight up here, anymore,” he knocks against his head with a knuckle, “All the pointless melon-splits of American sports, or whatever.”
Vaguely, Eddie remembers a long-winded rant on the top of a cafeteria table about the same subject.
“It was at six,” he acknowledges. “I didn’t bother showing up.”
“Oh.” Harrington’s eyes drop, take in his pajama pants and his threadbare tee. “But you did. Now.”
“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns the words over. “Call it a lapse of judgment.”
Harrington nods. He’s not looking at Eddie anymore. It sours something in his gut that he doesn’t acknowledge.
Eddie looks past him. In the passenger seat, a bouquet.
Of black roses.
Harrington’s fingertips are stained a shade darker, black stuck underneath his nails.
What the actual fuck.
“What the hell was your plan here, Harrington?”
Harrington blinks up at him with those stupid big eyes that Eddie definitely, absolutely hates.
“Dinner, and then, you know, prom? Isn’t that how is usually goes?” He asks, like Eddie would have any fucking clue.
Eddie grinds his teeth. “You realize you’ve wasted your only senior prom on this dumb joke, right? And I didn’t even fall for it? Way to have your priorities in order, King Steve.”
Harrington’s face scrunches. Eddie bites his tongue.
“I’ve had the misfortune of having two, and I didn’t subject myself to either. So you can cut the shit—”
“Wait, hold on,” Harrington cuts him off. “It wasn’t—what joke, Eddie?”
Oh. Oh no. If Gareth’s right, he’s gonna have to throw himself from the quarry cliffs.
“You know,” he spits, like it doesn’t affect him, that every last goddamn person in fucking Hawkins sees him as a freak, like a bug to torture and then squash, “Lure me to prom. Dump a bucket of pig’s blood over my head or however that movie goes.”
Harrington—Harrington looks horrified.
Well. The quarry’s always empty at seven in the evening.
“Even I’m not that dumb, man.” He ignores how the words come out, slower, an edge of uncertainty.
“That’s fucked up,” Harrington whispers, “There’s a movie like that? I wouldn’t—that’s not what I—”
“Yeah, I think I’m starting to get that.”
Harrington’s jaw shuts with a click, and they’re both quiet for a minute. And then, like a curse he doesn’t want to say aloud lest he bring it to life, Eddie asks, “That was you, wasn’t it? With the pudding and the posters and the flowers.”
“I broke Tommy’s nose when I caught him trying to let the air outta your tires, too,” he says, hollowly, like it doesn’t matter anymore.
Fuck.
There’s no one in the parking lot, and Eddie tells himself its the only reason he rounds the car and drops into the passenger side seat. The flowers are saved by Harrington’s quick reflexes, and Eddie kind of wants to curse him out for having his doors unlocked.
“Okay.” He hypes himself up like he’s seen Harrington do in PE, a quick breath in and out. “I didn’t know you were being serious. I thought it was just a dumb joke.”
“Yeah, I got that part.”
He twists his fingers together. “Those were for me, right?”
Harrington hums. Hands them over. “Kinda makes it worse, but sure. Yeah, they were for you.”
“Worse?”
Harrington laughs, scrubs a hand over his face. “I thought it’d be funny. You said you’d wear a dress if I got you black flowers, but I—I didn’t mean it that way. I just wanted to get you flowers you’d like.”
Fuck. Eddie does remember that, now.
The stems are still thorny and prick at his fingers when he hold them. He likes them better that way.
“You’ve been… practicing these,” he realizes. Remembers the little blue daisy.
“First ones came out a really gross kind of green,” Steve admits.
God fucking damn it.
“I don’t do prom,” Eddie says.
“Yeah, I figured that one out,” Steve replies. Dry. Still isn’t looking over at Eddie.
“No, I mean—I wouldn’t have gone even if I’d thought you were being honest from the get-go. I don’t DO prom. It’s the death of counter-culture and individuality.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“What I’m saying is,” he takes a deep breath, a little part of him still praying Steve won’t punch his damn lights out, “I’m not gonna go to prom. Ever. That’s an invitation to douchebags like Hargrove and Hagan to split my skull open on the gym floor. I don’t want my last breath to be weeks-old jock socks.”
He ducks, tries to catch Steve’s gaze. Doesn’t manage. He ends up pressed against the dashboard like a moron.
“But there’s this bar I go to,” he continues, “It doesn’t really check ID. I think they’d go out of business if they did. They let us play on Tuesdays.”
“I know.”
He knows? Jesus fucking Christ. Maybe Eddie needs to buy the flowers. About six dozen. Fuck him.
His leg jostles, knocks against Steve’s door. He finally looks up.
“That’s more my speed,” he admits, in a big rush. “It’s… probably better than prom as a first date, anyways.”
Steve’s eyebrows jump up into that famous hair, perfectly styled. Eddie’s is a mane of despair and hopelessness, wilder than a tornado.
“Really?” he asks, like Eddie didn’t just say he’d thought he was a piece of shit in seven different ways. “That’s—you’d—really?”
“I mean, not right now,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve’s face drops. He hurries to amend, “I’m not really dressed for the occasion. But maybe, like… tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Steve repeats, and Eddie flushes. “That’s soon.”
“Or never,” he snaps, because he’s a goddamn moron, “That works too.”
Steve’s grin splits his face and Eddie has to look back at the flowers in his lap. “Tomorrow’s good,” he agrees, too easy.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, kicks the door open, probably leaves a scuff, but Steve doesn’t say a word. “Better be.”
Steve’s still grinning as he gets out of the car, slams the door closed, rounds the side again. He’s not scared of a gaggle of dipshits ready to jump him because they’re not there. And he’s got a bouquet of black roses pressed to his chest.
“See you then, Eddie,” Steve chirps, as Eddie climbs back into his own van, and Eddie—Eddie has to hide his smile behind a curtain of hair as he throws the piece of shit into reverse and backs out of Benny’s diner.
…
He leaves the flowers on their tiny kitchen counter and the next morning, Wayne’s put them in a vase Eddie didn’t know they had, with water and that weird flower-food crap and everything.
Steve deciding to deal with the fact that he has a crush on his FWB by asking Eddie “hey could we maybe. Roleplay that we’re actually a couple. I think that would be hot”
Written for the third of the @steddiemicrofic 3rd year anniversary celebration prompts, micro | WC: 555 | Rating: E | CW: 18+ SMUT MDNI insecure!Eddie, body worship, mention of scars, oral sex, cum eating | Tags: Post-S4, semi-established relationship
Steddie masterlist | General masterlist
Eddie feels like he's under a microscope. It's a sunny afternoon, and he's never been examined in such detail before. Ordinarily he'd be uncomfortable, squirming under such close scrutiny. What if they dislike his body? What if the more they see the less they want? What if they somehow uncover his true self? What if they run…?
But today, Steve's inspecting every curve of muscle, every crease, every inch of skin, every freckle, inked line and perceived imperfection. And all Eddie can do is lie there and take it.
They've hooked up a few times, albeit hurriedly. Eddie’s van, the break room in Family Video, midnight at Skull Rock. Always mostly clothed, or somewhere dark enough where Eddie doesn't care. So it's a new feeling, being this naked, this… open with someone.
He allows Steve's eyes and fingers and mouth to travel wherever they please, over sharp bones and spindly limbs, second-rate and half-decent tattoos, all his scars, his very being. Lets him lick and stroke and suck and sigh, focusing only on the experience and sensations, ignoring the niggling apprehensions about what Steve might be thinking or feeling and trying to believe the muffled murmurs that sound like he can't bear to leave Eddie’s skin,
“My god, Eddie. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”
Steve's mouth skims over the uneven, pink flesh of Eddie’s chest. Humming, he sucks the peaked flesh of his remaining nipple past his lips. Eddie whines, gasps, hands grasping his own hair, trying to ground himself while Steve’s attention moves down his stomach and happy trail and he mumbles,
“And you taste… mmm… so fucking good.”
Soft skin slips around his cockhead, and Eddie hisses as Steve slurps his smeared precum like its manna itself before wet heat suctions around him. Eddie jerks and bucks, Steve's broad palms holding his hips static as he swallows him down.
Eddie writhes and moans, finally yielding to the restraint, and suddenly he's succumbing to the bliss of Steve's mouth embarrassingly quickly. He grunts unintelligible warnings as his balls tighten and abs tense, and his hot spend pulses forcefully into Steve's receptive throat.
Breathing heavily, he lifts his head to watch Steve sit back on his heels, groaning as he swallows Eddie's seed. He's accustomed to them having quick hookups, and anticipates Steve'll leave now, but Steve's heavy, lidded eyes lock to Eddie's. He dips to lick a wide stripe along his softening length, suckling gently at the head to garner every drop of release, Eddie’s cock twitching valiantly even as he shudders with overstimulation.
Hands squeeze his hips affectionately before sliding up his sides, and Steve continues watching, assessing, examining until their lips connect. Eddie tastes his tongue, himself mingled with Steve's unique flavour, and now Steve's exploring every crevice of his mouth, tongue mapping the roof and dragging around his teeth. Eddie registers Steve's hard member rutting against his damaged thigh as his mouth moves to Eddie’s jaw, hairline, earlobe, his large hands still exploring every location he can reach.
And unexpectedly, Eddie realises this isn't an examination. It's a proclamation. Of adoration. Of addiction. Of love.
And if Steve ever decides to crack him open and examine his soul and psyche with similar microscopic scrutiny? After today, Eddie thinks that prospect might not be quite so frightening after all.
Prompt #22 - "Clap On, Clap Off, The Clapper!" | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Sexual Content, Talk of STIs | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Established Relationship, 1990s, Sex Ed Teacher Steve, Idiots on Parade, Silliness
It's a hard call to make.
Steve picks up the phone several times, making a big production before hanging it back up again. Not quite ready to commit to the action. He clearly knows what's best, and knows it's his obligation to follow through with this, even if he's embarrassed.
And he is embarrassed. He dramatically touches his face, patting his own cheek, as if he's feeling heat there. Talking to himself:
"It's okay. It happens to lots of people, and you were smart, got tested, and sought treatment. You didn't ignore the signs. That was responsible of you. Now, it's my obligation to tell all my recent partners that they should get tested, too."
He dials again, and this time it connects.
"Hello. It's Tommy. From the bar. I know this is awkward, but I need to tell you that I have tested positive for a sexually transmitted disease and you should be tested, too."
There's silence, as Steve stands there, acting like he's listening.
"Of course. You're welcome. It was the responsible thing to do."
Then, he hangs up the phone with a smile.
"Cut!" Jonathan shouts, and Eddie is finally able to let out the laugh he's been containing for the past twenty minutes. This script is terrible. Steve's acting is terrible.
It's just terrible all the way around.
"Fuck off," Steve says, and Eddie just grins. "Do we have anything to work with?" Steve asks Jonathan, redirecting his attention.
"I mean, I'll see what I can do," Jonathan says, and Eddie supposes that's all they can ask of him. Steve ain't giving him shit.
Steve volunteering to make a series of sex education informational videos is objectively a terrible idea. Get him behind the camera and he's so wooden.
And Robin? She's even worse.
The two of them together? Oh boy.
But Eddie's keeping his mouth shut. He has no interest in being the face of VD, especially not at Hawkins High, thank you very much. Even if he feels like he could make this come across far more natural.
"This is stupid," Max says, and Steve deflates. Eddie wants to wring her neck.
"It's not stupid. It's a teaching tool and he's doing a great job," Eddie says through gritted teeth.
He gives Steve two thumbs up.
"Nobody believes Steve's got the clap acting like that," she argues, and Eddie doesn't think she's wrong, per se, but she's definitely not being helpful either. "He sounds like a professor! Nobody is gonna thank him for calling. They're gonna yell! I'd yell!"
"We can't scare kids into not calling!" Steve snaps. "We have to make it look painless."
"It's a lie!" Max yells even louder.
"Max," Lucas says.
"These videos will be helpful to kids. We can't have them all out there spreading around the clap," Eddie says. He may think the videos are terrible, too, and probably won't do a fucking thing besides be laughed at, but still. Maybe a kernel of truth will lodge in their pea-brains to be pulled upon, if needed.
Also, it's his job to take Steve's side and hype him up. No matter how foolish he's looking.
"I'm pretty sure I could do better," Gareth says.
"Yeah, me too," Goodie adds.
Eddie looks at Jeff.
"Oh, no, I think he's doing great," Jeff says, lying through his goddamn teeth. Smart man, though.
"If you think you can do better, well, have at it!" Steve bitches, and well, Eddie can't wait to see what happens next.
The videos aren't bad.
They aren't good either, but as far as PSAs go, Eddie's definitely seen worse make it to air on national television. Jonathan did the best with what he had to work with, and for being used at the school? They're fine.
And Eddie didn't have to tell anybody he's pissing fire or anything. So, he's taking it as a win.
Jonathan sent the finished versions today, and they are perfectly serviceable for what they are intended to be.
Steve, Robin, Gareth and Goodie all have their own videos on different topics that Steve's curriculum covers, and next fall, Steve will start using them in his classroom.
In bed, Eddie's lounging, lying in wait.
When Steve walks through the door, he very clearly narrows in on the fact Eddie's up to no good.
"What?" Steve asks, voice slightly sharp as he pulls his shirt over his head.
"You got anything you need to tell me?" Eddie asks, shit-eating grin firmly plastered on his face, even after Steve throws his shirt at him, hitting him square in the head.
"Shut it, or it'll be so long you won't even remember what it looks like."
Eddie peels the shirt off, tossing it away, then makes the motion for locking his lips.
"That's what I thought," Steve says, shucking off his jeans, and crawling into bed.
Steve reaches over towards the nightstand, opening the drawer. Pulling out a condom, and holding it up.
Eddie sticks out his bottom lip.
"Safety first," he says, and Eddie takes it. It's probably expired.
It takes less than a minute.
"Okay, I'm done with this. It's not worth the bit. Off," Steve says, and Eddie laughs as he pulls out, tugging off the condom. Sliding back into Steve with ease.
Steve sighs.
"That's the good stuff. Worth the risk."
Eddie makes an affronted noise. That's rude. He's not a risk.
"Mr. Harrington is a hypocrite," Eddie says, getting back into their familiar rhythm.
Steve scoffs.
Then, raises an eyebrow.
"Is there a reason I should be worried? I thought we were monogamous?" Steve asks, fake hurt filling his voice. Well, he's a better actor in bed than in front of the camera. Still. Not very convincing.
Eddie has very easily kept his dick in his pants for Mr. Harrington, thank you very much.
But if he doesn't think so…
"I mean, if you don't trust me, I can pull out…"
Steve's fingers dig into his back, his tune swiftly changing.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇
Notes: I kept thinking about the how stiff and wooden Steve and Robin both acted in that Starcourt Mall commercial, and well, here we are. 🤣
The PSAs in the 80s/90s were prevalent. Steve is positively hinged here in comparison to some of them. Calling himself Tommy was a little bitchy, though. Holding that grudge.🤣
@xxfiction-is-my-realityxx asked for Steve and Eddie hugging from behind, and an anon asked for kissing. So much like the 80′s I mixx-taped them both together for a cute kiss from behind ;P
July Prompt: Micro | Word Count: 555 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Minor Injury, Feet | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Slice of Life, Steve Should Know Better Than To Enter His Lair
"Godamnit, Jesus Christ, what the fuck?!"
Eddie jolts up straight, only to find that there's a paper stuck to face. He grasps at it, batting it away, trying to assess the situation.
"What? What's wrong?" Eddie asks. Alarmed.
Steve's hopping around the spare bedroom, the one where Eddie does his hobby shit.
"I stepped on a Lego!" Steve hollers, voice incredibly bitchy.
Eddie doesn't have any Lego in here, so that seems rather unlikely. But he's not about to tell Steve that. No use poking the bear with a stick.
"Sit down, let me see," Eddie says, heart hammering in his chest. Steve scared the fucking shit out of him. He doesn't usually bulldoze his way into a room, making a ruckus. That's Eddie's schtick. Not Steve's.
Foot in hand, Eddie checks him over. Good news? He isn't bleeding. Eddie sees no glass, no cut. No major disaster. Bad new? There is a red mark on the sole of Steve's foot that Eddie is sure hurts like hell.
"What'd you step on?" Eddie asks, and if looks could kill, Eddie would most certainly be dead. "I'll find it. Don't worry."
And Eddie starts feeling around the laminate flooring, still half-asleep. He didn't know he was going on a scavenger hunt tonight.
Eventually, Eddie finds the offender. A tiny Micro Machines car.
Oh, that's definitely Eddie's bad. But to be fair, this is his room. Eddie doesn't go into Steve's home gym, hurt himself, and then blame Steve. And come on, he only dropped that weight on his foot once. He learned. Steve will learn, too.
Eddie had been experimenting with a modern day campaign, just for something new and different, and had found the tiny cars to be perfect. Clearly one of them got away from him. Whoops.
They do have wheels. He can't be blamed totally.
Eddie kneels in front of him.
"Sorry," Eddie says, picking Steve's foot back up. He's not a foot guy, but this is Steve's foot and he is definitely a Steve guy. He places a kiss on the bottom of Steve's arch in apology. "Is that better?"
"I can't tell," Steve complains. "Better do it again, just for good measure."
He's taking advantage. Goading him. Eddie wouldn't have it any other way.
Eddie kisses the spot again, and relishes the smile that Steve gives him, his annoyance melting away. Eddie's good at making that happen. If he wasn't, they never would have made it this far.
"Thank you. Now, I have something else you could kiss," Steve says, and Eddie is totally game for that. That's much more enticing to him than feet will ever be.
"Oh yeah? Just for me?" Eddie asks, running his hands up Steve's thighs.
"Just for you."
"Is that why you were coming to collect me? You needed a little something, something tonight?"
Steve laughs, and Eddie offers him his hands, helping him to his feet.
"Sure, we'll say that," Steve teases, and reaches over to turn off the music that's playing probably just a little too loud.
Oh.
Still. Eddie won't look a gift horse in the mouth.
"To bed!" Eddie says with authority and excitement, as Steve hobbles along in front of him, Eddie hitting the light switch as they exit.
Eddie will really have to make it up to him tonight.
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Prompt #23 - Acid Wash | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Some Friendly Stalking | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Eddie & Steve, Pre-Steddie If You Squint, Steve & Dustin, Eddie & Dustin | Tags: Post Series, Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, But They Don't Know That, Witness Protection, Reuniting
Eddie watches from afar. Standing under a tree on campus. Cap pulled low.
They look good. Happy. Both of them. Even if Henderson is wearing some loud-ass shorts. Kid has never shied away from being himself. Weird Al shirt wearing freshman, to right now.
Harrington's now wearing acid wash jeans, fashion always changing. He can picture his closet. Polos shoved to the back, making room for this stuff. For Guess and Z. Cavaricci. Pepe.
Eddie's been in the mall. He sees what they're selling at Brass Buckle, and Steve looks like one of those store mannequins right now. Eddie misses the Levi's.
Eddie misses everything.
He knows he's not supposed to be here, not supposed to be stalking them. But Eddie has kept an eye out, and an ear to the ground. It's been harder than he imagined to let go of everything. He hated Hawkins, and only wanted out. And now that he is? All he wants is to go home.
By following Henderson, he's inadvertently followed Harrington. And Steve stayed. It puts an ache in Eddie's chest. Everybody else scattered, but Steve stayed, and now Eddie is unfathomably jealous.
Henderson has tattoos, his tattoos. Eddie grips his own forearm, palm pressing hard.
He misses them.
But he can see the stark black proof on Henderson's arm that he's missed, too.
Eddie has made it a mission to check up on everybody in a loop. Wayne. Gareth, Jeff, Goodie. Henderson, Harrington. And then he starts all over again. He isn't living, because he's stuck in this holding pattern watching everyone else live without him.
Time is passing, and Eddie Munson is dead. A ghost.
Not literally, but he might as well be. He didn't realize how much it would hurt to take the shut up and disappear deal. Whoever he is right now is a mirage. Prone to disappearing if he, or anyone else, gets too close.
Henderson hops into Steve's pickup, and they're gone again. Pulling a travel trailer behind them.
Eddie is standing in front of the pre-packaged sandwiches. Looking at the dire options. He wonders what the risks are of eating tuna salad from a gas station. He gets bumped into, and he takes an unsteady step forward, his stupid fucking leg, getting ready to brace himself against the cooler door if he stumbles.
"Sorry, man. My bad," the voice says, and Eddie's whole body tenses.
Steve. That's Steve Harrington. No question about it.
"It's okay," he says, and doesn't turn to look. He can't. He just clutches the handle of the cooler door. He fucked up. Thought they were gone. Out of town. Off on some adventure together. Thought, well, fuck. Thought he was stealth enough, but he should have known he'd be dumb enough to get himself seen eventually.
He wants to be seen.
"Mind if I just grab something real quick?" Steve asks, patting Eddie on the shoulder. Friendly.
Eddie nods, and steps aside as best he can. He can't really move laterally too well these days. He's not steady enough on his feet for that. But he gets out of the way, only stumbling a little, dragging that foot that doesn't always cooperate, and then limps straight for the bathroom, locking himself in the single stall.
Breathing hard and uncontrolled.
That was a close call. Too close.
Boat shoes. Pretentious, stupid boat shoes are standing in front of the stall.
"Uh, hey, man. I know this is weird. But. Here," Steve says, and his hand appears over the stall, a plastic bag dangling.
Eddie takes it. It's heavy.
Inside there are three different sandwiches, a couple bags of chips, some candy bars, and different cans of pop.
"I didn't know what you wanted. And it seemed like you were having trouble deciding before I nearly knocked you down. Sorry about that. So. Here."
The tears burn Eddie's eyes.
"Thanks," Eddie chokes out, and he reaches up and grasps the top of the metal door. Hanging on, like he's drowning.
Maybe he is.
"No problem," Steve says, and stands there a beat longer, waiting to see if Eddie is going to say anything else. When he doesn't, Steve turns to leave. Eddie watches his feet until he can't see them any longer.
Eddie takes a deep breath. Then, he loses the war. He's won the battles, but here? Now? This close and this tested? He fails, spectacularly.
"Steve."
Steve's footfalls stop.
And it's quiet, too quiet.
"Yeah? I'm Steve," Steve finally says. "How'd you…?"
Eddie flips the lock. The sound echoing in this enclosed space, where the tension is high. Steve is Steve Harrington.
And Eddie is Eddie Munson. Once, now, and always.
But he can't make his feet move.
Steve can, however. He walks back over to the stall and pulls the door open. Brave. Always so fucking brave.
Eddie meets his eyes, and one of them makes a noise. Eddie thinks it was him, but maybe it was Steve. A wounded sound.
"What the fuck?" Steve says, but he doesn't wait for an answer. Doesn't hesitate. Not for a single second. Because Steve's a good dude. Arms wrap around him, hugging him tight, something Eddie hasn't felt in a long fucking time. Nearly five years.
It's like he's been brought home.
"What the fuck?" Steve says again, but he doesn't let go, and Eddie laughs wetly.
"Surprise," Eddie says, hugging him back just as tight.
The bathroom door bangs open, "What the fuck, Steve? Did you fall in—are you hugging a stranger? In a bathroom?"
Henderson.
Eddie laughs.
"No fucking way," Henderson says as he squeezes around Steve, squishing through the open stall door, shoving them over as he forces his way into the hug.
Eddie wraps a hand around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Laughing. Crying. Both at the same time.
"Is it really you?" Henderson asks, face pressed firmly into Eddie's chest.
It's really him.
He's Eddie Munson.
And once upon a time, he had friends.
Correction: Has friends.
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