Nancy stills with her hand on the doorknob, looking like a shellshocked private flung back into Saigon. Eddie’s hand slips from her shoulder, falling stiffly at his side.
The Dog in his brain perks up. It pants, instantly keen.
Groaning, he turns around and sees Steve Harrington peeking through the throng of partygoers. His eyes drift from the back of Nancy’s head to Eddie, and his relieved expression twists into recognition. Then, absolute befuddlement sinks into his face.
Eddie knows what it looks like, him taking Wheeler home. The beta dweeb freak that played Satanic board games in his spare time just swept an alpha’s girlfriend off her feet, whisking her away to his evil lair, no doubt to indoctrinate her into nefariously rolling a d-12 and screaming, I cast fireball!
First of all: not a beta, but no one needs to know that. Second of all: he didn’t sweep her off her feet. They were just bum-rushing out of a tight spot they found themselves in. Third of all: well. The Dog likes him.
(or: the modern omega’s field guide to the good, the bad, and the fucking bizarre.)
Words: 24107, Chapters: 3/9, Language: English
Series: Part 1 of 20th Century Dogs
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: M/M
Characters: Eddie Munson, Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Wayne Munson, The Party (Stranger Things), Jeff (Stranger Things), Hellfire Club (Stranger Things)
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Additional Tags: Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Pre-Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler, Pre-Chrissy Cunningham/Jeff, Both of these aren’t very relevant to the fic but they WILL be in the series, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, or at least my misguided attempt at it, Omega Eddie Munson, Alpha Steve Harrington, Everyone else is a Beta unless explicitly stated since this is a majority beta world, Alternate Universe - High School, Unfortunately this is a high school melodrama above all else, Eddie Munson & Nancy Wheeler Friendship, A love letter to the volatile teenager and Eddie’s various kat Stratford-isms, An attempt at the politics of the Omegaverse, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Rivals to Lovers, in a sense that Eddie has some thoughts about Steve’s designation and Steve is just a high school jock, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Falls First but Eddie Munson Falls Harder, Slow Burn, mostly because Steve barely shows up until halfway through lol, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, There’s a bit of a grey area regarding heats and explicit consent but there’s nothing sexually explicit, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, and also therapy, POV Eddie Munson, Stream of Consciousness, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Steve Harrington’s King Steve Persona, because the events of season one never happened unfortunately, he experiences a learning curve, Eddie Munson Being an Asshole, why wouldn’t he be though
Eddie is not a gamer per se, but his roommate and best friend Jeff is. Jeff's got all the cool shit, he's got light strips and RGB tech going on around his computer, and he's even set it up so Eddie can flip a switch and turn the rolling rainbow colours to Pulsing Red.
Jeff is working, so Eddie gets high and loads up whatever FPS Jeff's been digging into recently.
Eddie is not great at FPSes, he's not terrible, but he is high and he's mostly here to ruin Jeff's KDR on purpose and annoy whoever happens to be online.
He ends up invited to run BR duos by someone off of Jeff's friendlist, a guy called KingScoops who has an obscene level on his nautical ice-cream themed banner. Scoops calls him Jeff for the bulk of the first game they play, but Eddie's nowhere near Jeff's level, and can only stay quiet for so long.
He ends up snickering at something Scoops says that isn't even that funny, dude definitely doesn't seem to be talking to him half the time, but he is talking, and Eddie is a simple creature who giggles at dick jokes.
"Ohhh, you must be the roommate, that explains the skill drop." Scoops sounds a little bitchy, but it's playful enough,
"My shooting skills definitely do not pay the shooting bills," Eddie confirms, "I'd apologise, but I don't want to."
"That's fine, I'll just continue to carry your ass," Scoops proceeds to carry him to victory or top 5 for a few hours, calls him Roommate the whole time, Eddie never bothers correcting him.
It's about 5 hours later that Eddie is sobering up a little too much and turning kind of sleepy and quiet (for him), he genuinely doesn't think he's gamed this long before, but Scoops just goes "Going again, Roommate?" and he just... agrees.
The guy's got a voice like honey, Eddie could listen to him talk about dirt. "Well I don't know much about dirt, but I can talk about my sponsor if you want?"
"Egh, I didn't mean to say that out loud... fuck my ass..." that gets a pretty laugh from Scoops that almost has a pathetic noise slipping out of Eddie, his filter is shot.
Scoops does actually go into some preamble about something random like hair product whilst Eddie listens way too intently but takes in nothing outside of "Use Code SCOOPSAHOY to get your discount, guys."
"Ready up, Roommate." Scoops prompts after,
"I might be done, dude..." Eddie admits, and he realises he sounds like the saddest wet dog on the planet at the prospect of not being able to listen to Scoops talk to whoever the fuck else he's talking to about all kinds of shit (their days, movies, games, some babysitter meme, the guy sounds like he knows a thousand people Personally, it's endearing).
"Aw... you sure?" Scoops sounds pouty,
"I hate that I can hear the puppy dog eyes." Eddie feels weak.
"I have great puppy dog eyes, you'd love them." Scoops laughs,
"I would." Misery, except Scoops convinces Eddie to go for one final round but asks for him to hold on two minutes and mutes.
Eddie notices an immediate tone shift when Scoops comes back, he isn't as loud and cocksure, he's not responding to random shit anymore, he's asking Eddie questions, flirting, to be fair he has been flirting lightly all night, but there's a nice little rumble to him that gets Eddie weak as fuck.
There's definitely a point where Eddie watches Scoops tactically obliterate like 3 teams in rapid succession, with Eddie only just contributing, and Eddie sighs "that's so fucking hot dude..." which earns him a startled, embarrassed laugh.
"No seriously, I'm rock hard, I swear," Eddie assures him, which is so dumb, he doesn't even know this guy, "Christ shit, dude I'm sorry, what is wrong with me?"
"Don't apologise, I like it," Scoops chuckles, which is insane, because Eddie is actually turned on by this guy's voice and his fucking videogame skill. "I don't get people being super genuine with me like this, it's fun."
"No? You must be real fuckin' pretty," Eddie says it without thinking, "or rich."
"Something like that." Scoops laughs, they manage to claim one final victory (though Eddie valiantly self-sacrifices with a cooked grenade at the end), but end up hanging out in the between games lobby, just the two of them talking and flirting without readying up for the next game.
Eventually Scoops says he has to call it, "But I've really enjoyed hanging out, do you have your own tag?"
"Nope, I just steal Jeff's, ruin his KDR a little so he has something to strive for." Eddie sounds so proud of this it's unreal,
"Well, gotta say I'm not impressed, you didn't do much damage to it tonight."
"No, this dude kept saving me and getting me assists, really rude stuff."
They banter a little more but Eddie insists on letting Scoops go, throws out a sweet big boy in his goodbye before Scoops finally, reluctantly disconnects.
Eddie barely manages to quit the game before slouching off to bed, it's only in the morning when he finds out he's got about 30 messages from his young friend Dustin.
"ARE YOU GAMING WITH KINGSCOOPS?!"
"HOW DO YOU KNOW KINGSCOOPS?!"
"WHAT THE FUCK EDDIE???? THAT'S DEFINITELY YOU TALKING TO KINGSCOOPS I KNOW YOUR VOICE I KNOW THAT LAUGH!"
"STOP HITTING ON HIM OH MY GOD"
and many more, he also has two other messages, one from Jeff, one from an unknown number.
"Gave Steve your number, also told him your name, you're welcome, dumbass."
"Hi Eddie, Steve here, KingScoops. Got your number from Jeff. I had fun tonight, I'd love to hang out on purpose some time xx"
~
KingScoops, AKA Steve, is in fact quite famous online, but he met Jeff at a car show (Jeff went for fun, Steve went for a gig, something abt a realistic racing game, no brainer gig because he loves cars).
They hit it off talking about cars and gaming, Steve asks if Jeff is any good with games, Jeff proudly shows off that he is with some ranked something or other, so Steve is like "Nice! What's your tag? I'll add you. I need someone to game with who isn't up my ass."
They've been gaming together for a while now, Jeff is Steve's go-to duos guy, Jeff doesn't mind that he's on streams when they game, he's very laid back and he likes Steve, so he's just there to have fun and get some dubs.
Jeff had a slew of messages from Steve when he was finishing up at work that night:
"Hey Jeffster, I played duos with your roommate tonight, he's something else. xx"
"Is he a flirt with everyone or do I have a chance? xx"
"Kind of want to shoot my shot, is that okay? Y/Y? xx"
"jk Y/N? If Y can you pass my digits on to him? tyvm xx"
"Also here's a crazy question, lmao, what's his name? xx"
"I just spent 6 hours calling him Roommate. FML I'm such an asshole. xx"
Steve sends kisses to everyone because he had an ex (nobody named) who would get pissy and think he was being Weird with them if he forgot (which he oft did), so on the advice of his best friend (Robin, of course), he started sending them to everyone to make a habit. He has sent kisses to his dad, his legal team, and someone who rearended his car once. Guess which was the most awkward.
Additionally there's more under the "#Steddie KingScoops" tag because I have no chill.
Nancy stills with her hand on the doorknob, looking like a shellshocked private flung back into Saigon. Eddie’s hand slips from her shoulder, falling stiffly at his side.
The Dog in his brain perks up. It pants, instantly keen.
Groaning, he turns around and sees Steve Harrington peeking through the throng of partygoers. His eyes drift from the back of Nancy’s head to Eddie, and his relieved expression twists into recognition. Then, absolute befuddlement sinks into his face.
Eddie knows what it looks like, him taking Wheeler home. The beta dweeb freak that played Satanic board games in his spare time just swept an alpha’s girlfriend off her feet, whisking her away to his evil lair, no doubt to indoctrinate her into nefariously rolling a d-12 and screaming, I cast fireball!
First of all: not a beta, but no one needs to know that. Second of all: he didn’t sweep her off her feet. They were just bum-rushing out of a tight spot they found themselves in. Third of all: well. The Dog likes him.
(or: the modern omega’s field guide to the good, the bad, and the fucking bizarre.)
Words: 24107, Chapters: 3/9, Language: English
Series: Part 1 of 20th Century Dogs
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: M/M
Characters: Eddie Munson, Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Wayne Munson, The Party (Stranger Things), Jeff (Stranger Things), Hellfire Club (Stranger Things)
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Additional Tags: Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Pre-Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler, Pre-Chrissy Cunningham/Jeff, Both of these aren’t very relevant to the fic but they WILL be in the series, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, or at least my misguided attempt at it, Omega Eddie Munson, Alpha Steve Harrington, Everyone else is a Beta unless explicitly stated since this is a majority beta world, Alternate Universe - High School, Unfortunately this is a high school melodrama above all else, Eddie Munson & Nancy Wheeler Friendship, A love letter to the volatile teenager and Eddie’s various kat Stratford-isms, An attempt at the politics of the Omegaverse, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Rivals to Lovers, in a sense that Eddie has some thoughts about Steve’s designation and Steve is just a high school jock, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Falls First but Eddie Munson Falls Harder, Slow Burn, mostly because Steve barely shows up until halfway through lol, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, There’s a bit of a grey area regarding heats and explicit consent but there’s nothing sexually explicit, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, and also therapy, POV Eddie Munson, Stream of Consciousness, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Steve Harrington’s King Steve Persona, because the events of season one never happened unfortunately, he experiences a learning curve, Eddie Munson Being an Asshole, why wouldn’t he be though
The padlock clicks open and Eddie starts rummaging through his locker. “Fine, you win. But consider yourself warned.”
He yanks a notebook from his backpack; one with a tattered, plum-colored cover he’s designated as his ‘bullshit class’ notes. When he tears the essay out of the book, Nancy plucks it from his hand primly.
“It’d be nice to have a look into your little world instead of just hearing about it. It’ll be like looking into your head,” she muses. Eddie grimaces. Does she really want to delve deeper into that mess? His mouth filters whatever goes through his head enough as it is. “Also, I want to go over your work in a place that doesn’t make my allergies act up.”
“Fair enough,” Eddie responds. Before he shuts the locker door, he pauses. “Actually, you can keep going. I need to stay behind for a bit.”
“Oh no, I can–” Nancy promptly shuts her mouth as Eddie arches an eyebrow. He taps a finger underneath his jaw and she nods sagely. “I’ll go. Don’t be too late, okay?”
Eddie watches her depart before shoving his arm into the locker. He pushes past the clutter–his bag, a mounting number of campaign journals, a plastic baggie of emergency-cigs, a dog-eared copy of The Left Hand of Darkness, and the half-eaten tuna sandwich from last Wednesday he forgot about–and fishes out a box of scent patches. Then, he sprints to the nearest men’s bathroom.
When he throws open the door, he quashes the urge to groan in agony. Just his luck, there’s still a few people lingering there. Two guys chat casually beside each other at the urinals. Another boy is sanding down his tongue with a toothbrush over the sink.
Eddie sniffs, smells the smoke wafting off his hands, and figures he’s a beginner.
He spends the next handful of minutes sitting awkwardly on the toilet seat, waiting for the boys to leave. He tries to keep an ear out for zipping flies but he can’t hear it over their incessant chattering. Toothbrush-boy seems perfectly happy sequestering himself in front of the mirror and abusing his tongue for the next hour, too. Who the hell spends this much time cleaning off gray tongue, anyway? He’s going to lose his taste, the fucking amateur.
As much as he’d like to be economical with his time–well, Nancy would like him to–he can’t risk reapplying his scent patches in the stall. Once he peels those babies off, his scent is like a beacon. Everyone in the room would get a lungful spoiled eggnog and rotted cranberry. Bitch fear, they call it.
A good five minutes of anxious knee-bouncing later, Eddie hears the door creak open, then shut. He leans forward on his porcelain throne, trying to parse out the ambient sound of toothbrush-boy’s scrubbing, but doesn’t pick up a thing. The bathroom is utterly silent.
Stumbling out of the stall, he yanks the box out from his jacket pocket and makes quick work of the routine.
Peel, slap, lather. Repeat on the other side.
After he finishes, he smooths out the creases beneath his eyes and skitters out of the bathroom.
He manages to make it out the door before stopping dead in his tracks. Something feels…off. The air feels stale. Foggy. Like the oxygen he’s breathing has thickened, congealing into pudding in his lungs. He scans the hallway and finds it vacant. It makes him feel a bit delusional, but he shrugs it off. Must be his nerves; still on edge after lounging on a toilet seat for nearly ten minutes.
They’re always on edge, though.
Eddie strolls back to his locker with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
He still needs to grab his books like a fucking nerd, so he can show up prepared to the class he’s criminally late for. Also like a fucking nerd.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being a nerd. He is a nerd, after all, just a little to the left. He likes playing nerdy games and reading nerdy books, and he’s had his head dunked into flushing toilets like a nerd, too. Plus, having crippling anxiety due to the nature of his circumstances is a pretty nerdy attribute, right? They’re always like that in the movies, stuttering about needing their ointment and shit. Come to think of it, he should probably ask Reefer Rick for something stronger than weed to help. Actually, he thinks doctors can still legally prescribe Quaaludes to Omegas–
Suddenly, something seizes his arm. He’s jerked sideways, shoulder damn near dislocating with the force he’s being pulled. The hallway blurs into a slurry of green before his vision is swallowed by darkness.
Eddie staggers, back hitting the wall. His boot falls into a bucket. His hands fly to a bar, knocking something to the floor with a clatter–no, not something. That’s a mop. His left leg is wet because he’s standing in a fucking mop bucket. He’s balancing on the cleaning rack. This is the janitor’s closet. Someone’s trapped him in the janitor’s closet.
A hand soars to his shoulder and. Oh God.
The Dog jolts upwards with raised hackles. It rears backwards into a stiff arch, growling, grinding its sharp teeth. Globs of slobber oozes from its maw.
That’s when his heart jumpstarts, brain shifting into gear. Disorientation dissolves into blind panic. Something bad is going to happen. He knows it. The Dog knows it. Something very bad is going to happen and he’s frozen.
All he’s doing is shriveling into a fucking mop bucket, while someone, some jock, some sick, perverted creep is going to do something very very very bad to him and he won’t be safe in school he won’t be safe in this town he’ll never be safe in his body his own filthy body ever again and he–he moves. The threads of his muscles unwind. His limbs turn loose. He doesn’t think, he just does.
Eddie swings.
Knuckles graze skin. His fist clips a line of solid bone. His thumb snaps on impact. It detonates like a bomb as his hand erupts in stinging pain, like shards of ruptured steel puncturing his nerves. Hissing, he wrenches the hand into his chest.
The creep tumbles backward. Sneakers squeak against tile and he hits the opposite wall with a grunt. “Ow, fuck!”
Like a sudden command, the Dog eases, dropping into an eager sitting position.
Eddie freezes, drenched leg halfway out of the mop bucket, as his vision adjusts. The dark soothes into dim grey. The monstrous shadow sharpens into a boy–only a few inches taller than him–braced against the far wall. Strands of brown hair flop in a disarray over his dumbfounded eyes.
“Harrington?”
Harrington straightens. He rubs a hand on his shifting jaw, muttering, “Jesus Christ, that hurt.”
He shuffles forward slowly, hands raised in placation. The Dog jumps into action. It wags its tail and jumps up and down, excited.
Eddie, in turn, crowds further against the wall. “What the fuck?”
“Hey, listen, I didn’t mean to–”
“No, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I just wanted to talk…”
“So you nearly dislocated my fucking shoulder dragging me into the janitor’s closet just to fucking talk?”
Steve’s steps falter. His shoulders droop. He looks pathetic, raking a hand through his scalp, misplacing more strands of pathetically styled hair like a stupid, pathetic loser. “I didn’t mean to use that much force on you.”
“Right, Mr. Alpha over here didn’t mean to use that much force to lock me in a dark room. This fixes everything!” Eddie’s hands fly upward, but his right knocks against the cleaning rack and his nerves shriek. “Fuck!”
“Shit, can I–” Harrington says with a wince.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Eddie snaps. He huddles into a corner, cradling his damaged hand. He prods at the base of his thumb, raw skin already swelling into a bruise, and whimpers.
“You shouldn’t touch it.”
“Don’t tell me what to fucking do.”
“Alright. Okay. Put some ice on it and keep it elevated, though. It’s probably just a sprain–”
“Shut the fuck up.” Harrington slinks a step backward. “What do you want?”
“Just–I don’t–”
“Uh, I don’t–I don’t–I don’t,” Eddie stutters mockingly. “What the fuck did you want to kidnap me for?”
Harrington knits his brow, confused. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? I’m trying to explain.”
“Can you explain without sounding like a fucking moron, then? I thought I was going to get beaten into a pulp–I broke my goddamn hand!”
“You didn’t break it, you just sprained your thumb because you punched wrong!”
“I don’t give a shit if I punched wrong, I thought I was gonna die!”
Harrington groans, falling back against the far wall. He squints, searching. “You thought I was gonna kill you?”
“You were in World History, you dick. Evidence shows. So what, did you stalk me out of class and wait for me to be alone to abduct me?”
“Abduct? No, I didn’t–I just–you just happened to walk out of the bathroom when I–”
God, what a fucking joke. Eddie can’t believe this. He shouldn’t have celebrated the death of Harrington’s scent. The smell is oppressive, impossible to miss. It’d waft behind closed doors, slipping beneath the cracks, straight into Eddie’s nostrils–and the Dog would barrel toward it like a homing missile.
Now that it’s been stifled, he has no sense of direction. No idea where Harrington could be at any given moment. No chance to stop and slap himself over the head before the Dog pivots him towards Alpha.
If Eddie had known–if he could just catch a faint whiff of cherry slurpee and chlorine–he would have been more cautious. He wouldn’t be standing in the janitor’s closet with soapy jeans, listening to Harrington fumble through his sentences.
The man of the hour drops his head. He pinches the bridge of his Romanesque nose and sucks in a deep breath. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“I gathered,” Eddie glowers. “Come on, why am I here?”
Harrington looks up. “What do you want with Nance?”
“What?”
“What are you doing with Nance?” Harrington repeats, hands on his hips. “One second, you don’t even know she exists, and the next, you’re attached to her fucking side.”
Eddie barks out a laugh, though he isn’t in a humorous mood at the moment. The room is starting to bleed red. He shakes his head deliriously. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I am. I don’t know what you want with her, but–”
“Is this a shovel talk? This is a fucking shovel talk!”
The corners of Harrington’s mouth curl into a frown. He crosses his arms. “This isn’t.”
“Look at you! You’re trying to ask me what my intentions with her are.”
“So what? I want to know why she's slumming it up with someone like you.”
Eddie’s stomach boils with rage, bubbling to the surface. It evaporates into air that swirls up his throat and into his mouth; solidifying into the words he spits out “Slumming it up? Do you think I’m some sort of fucking creep trying to get into her pants?”
“Maybe!” Harrington retaliates. “I don’t fucking know with you!”
“Jesus Christ, have you ever heard of having friends? Or is that some sort of foreign concept to you because everyone you surround yourself with is your fucking crony?”
“I have friends–”
“Sure, great, I’m so happy for you. But you know what?” Eddie spins to face Harrington, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Nancy needed someone. A friend. And if you didn’t have your entire head shoved up your ass, huffing your own fucking farts, then you would’ve noticed.”
Harrington’s eyes dart towards Eddie’s finger. He presses his lips into a line, face twisted in barely-repressed anger; all wrinkled noses and furrowed eyebrows. Then, he begins pacing the closet. “Right,” he jeers, “ you’re just friends.”
“Of course you don’t fucking believe me,” Eddie mutters, watching Harrington take two short strides before switching directions. “You know what happened to Holland. You were there, and it just…slid off you, apparently!”
Harrington slides to a halt. He hardens visibly, shoulders stiff, as he whips his head toward Eddie. It’s his turn to thrust a threatening finger at him. “Don’t fucking say that.”
by god i'm finally writing omegaverse who can believe that. here's a snippet of my current wip 'a necklace made of flowers from the trash can' (which is the first of a series i'm calling 20th century dogs, fingers crossed). featuring: o!eddie and his various kat stratford-isms, a!steve who's somehow both reeling from a breakup and falling for his ex's weirdo new best friend, and the transformative power of platonic ednancy.
if you wanna check out more of my fics (i've actually posted two oneshots that i completely forgot to advertise here lmao), check out my ao3 account!
Ever since Steve found out that Eddie's still a virgin, he can't be cool around him anymore. He keeps checking out his ass when Eddie leans forward to insert a VHS. Every accidental brush of arms, fingers, or legs against each other has his blood heat, his brain running overtime with images of all the other places he wants to touch Eddie. When Eddie grins that big goofy grin of his, Steve can't help but imagine seeing him look like that after blowing his mind wide open.
He knows it's weird how obsessed he is with the idea of deflowering a good friend; that wanting to have sex with him just to be his first is not a normal thought.
Cue Robin telling Steve to lie on the couch in the WSQK, sitting across from him with a notebook in her hand, giving her best understanding therapist face.
"So, why do you think it matters so much to you if somebody is a virgin?"
"Not somebody. Just Eddie," Steve answers, because he hasn't cared for a long time if any of the women he'd been dating had experience or not. Most of the time, he'd even preferred it if they knew stuff in the bedroom he'd never tried before.
"Okay," Robin concedes. "Why do you care that Eddie is a virgin?"
Steve shrugs, thinks about it. "I just think it's hot?"
"And why do you think it's hot that your platonic friend has never had sex?"
"I don't know, Robin," Steve whines. "I guess because he looks so badass? So him being innocent in that regard, it's like... a dichotomy?"
Robin hums, clearly not satisfied yet with his answers.
"Okay, let's try a different angle. Why do you keep thinking of deflowering him if you don't like him like that?"
"Who says I don't like him? I do like him."
"As a friend."
"As a human," Steve corrects.
Robin hums again, scribbles something in her notebook.
"So, you want to be Eddie's first."
"Fuck," Steve groans, rubs his face in embarrassed frustration. "Yes."
"Let's try to dig deeper here, Stevie. Why do you want to be his first?"
"Because-" He hesitates, imagines Eddie beneath him, writhing in pleasure, hands buried in Steve's hair, lips swollen with Steve's kisses, pupils all blown with desire. "I just want it to be good for him. First times can be weird, awkward, disappointing."
"And you would make sure it wouldn't be like that?"
"Yeah," Steve agrees, slapping the worn leather beneath his hand. He feels like they're finally onto something. "I would make it so good for him. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from coming back for more."
"And you would want that? Eddie coming back to you for sex again and again?"
He imagines it then, imagines all the ways he could blow Eddie's mind. God, it could take years until they've tried everything Steve wants to try with him, decades if they get creative.
Steve nods, hesitantly, and Robin sighs.
"Steve," she says seriously, "I diagnose you with being a doofus."
Steve sits up, offended. "Hey! You're supposed to be supportive!"
"There's no supporting the willfully ignorant."
Steve frowns at her.
"Lucky for you, there's an easy cure." She points her pen at Steve. "Ask Eddie out on a date. Right now."
He thinks about it, thinks of taking Eddie out for dinner, feels his heart climb into his throat.
"What if he says no?" Steve whispers, fingers curling into the leather of the couch.
"Then you come back for another appointment tomorrow. But I've got a feeling you won't have to. You're not the only doofus in the world, ya know."
"Who's a doofus?" Eddie asks, walking in on them. He looks so good in his worn leather jacket and combat boots that Steve's mouth runs dry.
"You are," Robin declares, getting up to give them space, wiggling her brows as she walks backward and mouths, "Ask him."
Eddie laughs at her weird behavior, then turns to Steve. "What was up with that?"
Steve shakes his head, grins an awkward little smile. "What would you say about going out to grab some dinner?"
"Dinner?" Eddie shrugs, clearly not aware that he's been asked out on a date. "Sure, let's go."
If someone told Steve a few years ago that he would regularly lift Eddie Munson into his arms, he would have advised the poor soul to take a long vacation at Pennhurst.
But here he is, holding Eddie against the humming fridge in his dark kitchen, fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, with not a single inch of space between their bodies, Eddie's wide, dark eyes fixed on his.
"Two is a coincidence..." Eddie mutters, licking his lips, letting the rest of the sentence dwindle out as Steve's eyes fall shut.
It all starts here:
A hot summer day, them sitting on the lounge chairs next to the pool in nothing but swimming trunks, nursing two cold Coke bottles, when Steve notices something off with Eddie.
"What happened to you, man?" He points his bottle at Eddie's ribs, the large purple bruise on his pale skin enough to have him wince in sympathy. Eddie looks down at himself, then flushes, a pretty pink spreading across his sternum, climbing along his throat and into his cheeks.
"Oh, this?" he asks, sheepishly. "Just a little accident."
"What kind of accident?"
"Just, you know..." Eddie shrugs, turns his head away from Steve, hiding the heat in his face.
Steve frowns at him, unsatisfied with the non-answer. Then, it dawns on him.
"You mean that happened during...?"
Eddie blushes even harder if that's possible. Steve's never seen him like this. He's normally so shameless, flaunting his opinions loud and proud.
"Yeah, Steve, it happened during dot dot dot. Satisfied?"
Steve is, and he isn't. Because how would you even get bruised like that during sex? Unless...
"Did somebody do that to you? Like on purpose?" Does Steve have to drive all the way up to Indy to beat up one of Eddie's hookups?
"No, nothing like that." Eddie groans and rubs a hand over his face. "I fell."
"You fell?" Steve looks down at his Coke bottle. "You fell from what?"
Eddie thumps his head back against the chair, eyes rising towards the sky like he's praying for patience. "From the hot guy's arms I was in, okay?"
Steve chokes on the sip of Coke, he was just about to swallow. "You mean you had sex while standing up?"
"Not exactly sex," Eddie says and shakes his head. "Just making out, I guess."
"Somebody made out with you while lifting you up?" The words feel weird in Steve's mouth, tacky, as if they should have stayed glued to his palate.
"Seems impossible, right? Should've known it could only end in disaster," Eddie laughs. "It was hot in the moment, though. Before he let me fall, and I hit the dresser next to us. Being worried that I might've fractured a rib was kinda a mood killer. Don't think we'll see each other again."
"It's not impossible," Steve remarks, before he can think better of it. "I made out lifting the other person up before. Multiple times."
If possible, the heat in Eddie's cheeks burns even brighter now. Is he getting sunburned? Steve should probably get out the aloe for him later.
"With girls. It's not the same."
"I could easily lift your bony ass, Munson."
Eddie stares at him with raised brows, then scoffs. "Sure, Harrington."
Steve feels his fingers itch with the desire to prove himself, but before he can act on the impulse, Eddie's up and jumps into the pool, splashing water all over Steve's shins.
Steve's determined not to let it drop.
The first time he gets the opportunity is a few nights later when they hang out at the Munson trailer. They climb on top of the roof to split a joint between them, smoking and talking about nothing and everything, about their days, about their friends, about their random shower thoughts.
He likes that about Eddie, how easy things are with him. Eddie's one of those friends who can go on long tirades about the constraints of society, but he never judges Steve, even when they disagree. It's new for Steve, too, to hang out with someone who doesn't think his thoughts and ideas are stupid, even when he tries to estimate how many slices of pizza he's eaten in his lifetime.
So, when he finally jumps off the trailer's roof, a little higher and a little more giggly than before, and Eddie looks down from where he's sitting, worrying his lower lip, Steve doesn't hesitate to open his arms for him.
"Was this always this high?" Eddie asks, and Steve can't help but laugh.
"C'mon, Munson, I've got you."
Eddie doesn't look entirely convinced, so Steve adds, "I would never let you fall, promise."
Next thing he knows, Eddie pushes off the edge of the trailer. Steve catches him around the middle, Eddie's hands landing on his shoulder, fingers digging deep into his flesh.
Steve looks up at him with a happy chuckle, says, "See?" and Eddie's eyes get all wide and startled. He looks kinda pretty, Steve thinks while he keeps Eddie lifted off the ground for a moment longer, what with that star-sprinkled sky behind him.
Then he slowly lowers Eddie down on his feet, showing off his muscles and proving he can indeed lift Eddie without making him fall, even if only for a moment.
They don't talk about it afterwards. Just head inside, cook mac and cheese from the box.
The second time it happens, Eddie's drunk on Steve's couch. They made cocktails with the contents of his parents' liquor cabinet and exotic juices Robin brought from the store while watching Rocky Horror. Steve's not a big fan of sticky-sweet alcohol, so he's mostly stayed faithful to his beer and is thus the only one relatively sober among the three of them.
Robin's already headed up to crash in the guestroom, but Eddie's apparently content with falling asleep right here, in his uncomfortable clothes, without washing up.
"C'mon, Ed, get up," Steve groans, trying to pull him into a standing position by his arm.
"Just leave me here," he grumbles, "don't wanna move."
"Ah, ah," Steve chastises him. "We don't skip the bedtime routine in the Harrington household. You had a lot of sugar, so you have to brush your teeth. Either get your ass up yourself, or I'll carry you to the bathroom."
"Yeah," Eddie laughs, slumps down even further. "As if."
Steve leans down before he can rethink his decision, guiding Eddie's arms around his neck, then sliding one hand below his thigh, and the other around his middle, holding on fast. He lifts him up and into his arms with a grunt, jostling him up and resettling his grip by holding onto both of his thighs.
Eddie's not exactly heavy, but his drunken wobbliness makes it a bit of a challenge to carry him up the stairs to the second floor, still.
"What the fuck, Harrington?" he mumbles into Steve's shoulder, arms curled tight around Steve's neck. Steve turns his head, inhales Eddie's musk- tobacco, and something a little more spicy- tries to ignore the demanding beat of his own heart.
He kicks open the door to his bathroom, sets Eddie on top of the marble countertop, then searches for the spare toothbrush under the sink. He wets it under the tap, then squeezes a bit of toothpaste onto it and hands it to Eddie, who looks at it as if Steve just handed him a weird insect.
Steve ignores his skeptical look in favor of brushing his own teeth, then hands Eddie a cup of water to rinse his mouth. There's no logical reason for Steve to lift Eddie in his arms again afterward, besides wanting to do so.
Eddie curls around him like a koala, not even questioning Steve's motives anymore, holds on like he never wants Steve to let him go. Steve's stomach flips when one of Eddie's hands buries inside his hair at the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his strands, one of his rings snatching on a stand, the sharp pain enough for Steve to have to suppress a moan.
He puts Eddie on his bed before he does something he will regret later, tosses some clean sweatpants at him, then goes downstairs to clean up the total mess Robin and Eddie left in his kitchen. When he comes back, Eddie is already asleep, face pressed into Steve's pillow, like he's trying to soak up every bit of Steve's scent.
It gets a little more complicated for Steve after that. The kicking of his heart, the nervous flutter in his gut, are still there, and they're getting harder to ignore. There's not much chance to lift Eddie up, and Steve's feeling a little desperate to hold Eddie in his arms, to feel his breath against his neck, those strong fingers digging into his skin, holding onto his hair.
Opportunity finally arises a few weeks later, when they're in Steve's backyard again, playing Badminton (the only sport Steve could convince Eddie to give a chance).
Suddenly, Eddie yelps, tugging his bare foot around to inspect the sole of it.
"Shit, fucking ouch," he hisses when Steve hurries over, "I think I stepped on a bee."
Steve doesn't hesitate to pick Eddie up, just this time, he puts an arm beneath his knees and the other around his shoulders.
"Did I hit my head, too?" Eddie wonders, but is still holding onto Steve's neck as he always does. "I think I'm getting carried princess style by one Steve Harrington."
Eddie swoons and puts the back of his hand against his forehead. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes in answer, doesn't know what to say to make it less weird. He carries Eddie into the kitchen, sets him on the kitchen counter, then gets an onion and slices it into half before pressing it to the swollen spot on Eddie's foot.
"Do you think the bee is okay?" Eddie asks, and Steve thinks he's a little bit in love with him.
The fourth time it happens, it's on Eddie. He comes storming into Steve's house, calling for him, calling, "Steve, Steve, I've got the job at the garage!"
Steve steps out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel, when Eddie flings himself at him, arms curled tight around his neck. Steve's got no choice but to drop the dish towel, curling his arms around Eddie's waist and whirling him around until they're both dizzy with laughter.
So.
Two is a coincidence.
Three is a pattern.
Five. Well. Five might be a bit of a problem.
That final time in his kitchen at night, happens like this:
The other side of Steve's bed is empty, even though Eddie stayed over. They haven't felt awkward about sharing a bed in a long time, which Steve realizes might seem a little strange in itself, but since they're both members of the regular nightmares club…
Steve heads down, finds Eddie in the kitchen refilling a glass with water from the tap.
"Did I wake you?" he asks, and turns to Steve, leaning against the counter. He looks so good like this, with Steve's shorts a little too big on him and slung low on his hips, hair all tousled from sleep, slim fingers ringless for once. Pretty eyes, pretty lips, even the exact cut of his chin is pretty.
Steve didn't plan for it to happen like this, didn't plan for anything to happen at all, really, but he tugs Eddie's glass out of his hand, places it on the counter, then bends his knees to lift him into his arms, slowly, fabric sliding against fabric.
Eddie's thighs come around Steve's waist like they've rehearsed this, like they've done this a million times before, will a million times more. Steve takes a few steps to the side, trying to find a surface he can secure Eddie against, finds the tall fridge to be perfect for that.
Eddie gasps when his back comes into contact with the cold metal, and he tightens his arms and legs around Steve. For a short moment, they only look at each other, breathing hard against each other.
"Two is a coincidence..." Eddie mutters, licking his lips. Steve lets his eyes fall shut, leans in until his nose slides against Eddie's. His heart is stuck in his throat at this point, his fingers tingling where they're digging into the naked skin of Eddie's thighs. He slides them a bit higher, high enough that they slip under the hem of his shorts.
"Five?" Steve breathes. "What is five?"
"Five is a confession," Eddie whispers back. Steve can't help but press his smile against the edge of Eddie's jaw. God, he likes him so much.
"Do you have any idea what this does to me?" Eddie groans, fingers curling in Steve's hair and tugging on it until Steve moans against his skin. "Lifting me in your freakishly strong arms like it's nothing? Promising me not to let me fall? Jesus freaking Christ, I thought I was going to spontaneously combust every time."
"Yeah?" He hums, pulls away enough to look at Eddie in the spare light of his dark kitchen. Steve's still grinning, his cheeks aching from it.
"Are you always this competitive, Harrington?"
"I like to be the best at whatever I do. Sue me," Steve shrugs, jostling Eddie in his arms in the process.
"Well, we haven't made out yet, so the jury is still out on whether you can do it without dropping me on my ass."
Steve's mouth lands on Eddie's true and right. Kissing the sass right out of him, kissing him pliant and soft, until Eddie's shivering and sighing in his arms.
True to his word, he doesn't let Eddie fall. Not even twenty minutes later, when their kisses have turned hard and heavy, when his hold on Eddie has gotten so tight, he's leaving his own kind of bruises on him.
Inexperienced Virgin Eddie who is hanging out with Steve and doing a "guy's night" because Robin left them to their own devices after some very confusing and intricate facial expressions which Steve seemed to understand perfectly, and responded in kind, Eddie had shaken his head and gone to roll a joint , he didn't need to be involved in.. whatever that was.
So they're hanging out watching movies and then someone mentions someone else being gay in the movie. And Steve knows Eddie is, he came out to him and Robin a few months after Vecna gone. Which was like... maybe two years ago. They have a nice rhythm together, the three of them.
And Steve just sighs, this big heavy thing and lets his head roll to the side to look at Eddie and is like,
"Can i ask you a personal question?" And Eddie feels his mouth go dry, wants to make some quip or something about Steve being sublte and wanting to ask him a question after the mention of /a gay/ in their movie. But he just nods, starts picking at a thread on the knee of his jeans. Steve hums,
"Cool. Okay so, is it... different kissing guys? Than kissing girls i mean?" Steve asks, and Eddie's head snaps up, his eyes lock on Steve and he just looks... curious. Eddie thinks, so he clears his throat and tries to string some words together. He KNOWS how to make sentences with words, he can do this.
"I don't know." Is what comes out.
Nailed it.
Steve's head tilts, he thinks for a moment, and then his eyes light up and he rolls his eyes, at himself, and slaps his own head gently.
"Oh. Duh. You only like guys you wouldn't know. My bad." He wiggles around in his seat so he's facing Eddie more, one knee tucking up onto the couch, his head falling sideways to rest on the back of the couch again.
"But is it nice kissing guys?" He asks again, innocent and unknowing. Eddie's palms are sweating, he licks his lips, them wipes them off with the back of his sleeve, heat crawling over his cheeks, down his neck, and his back, and fuck he can feel it in his TOES. he opens his mouth, closes it. Steve is still looking at him. Patiently. No judgment there. Yet.
"I don't know." He says again. His brain screaming in his head that he's a dumbass, he's the stupidest boy alive, and a virgin to boot. He's the fucking worst. Steve sits up then, his chest and neck straightening.
"You- ...?" The head tilt again, and that fucking furrowed brow, Eddie's gonna die talking about kissing with the cutest boy alive, like a fucking idiot. He shakes his head, eyes dropping to his lap, letting his hair fall past his ears, hiding behind it.
"Oh. Well that's okay. I get it. No big deal." Steve says, easy. And Eddie raises his eyes, Steve face is open, and he's smiling.
"You... get it." Eddie says, voice flat. Steve nods.
"I mean yeah! Robin just had her first kiss recently. It's gotta be harder for it to happen when it's... ya know. I mean it can be dangerous. Right?" Steve asks, nervously tucking his hair behind his ears, he'd been doing that a lot lately. Eddie wanted to do it too. Eddie felt himself smiling.
"Yeah. It can, yeah. That's... hmm." Eddie huffs. Sort of at a loss for words.
"Well do you um..." Steve trails off, purses his lips and looks around the room for a moment and then looks back to Eddie. He widens his eyes at Steve, waiting. His fingers twitch against his leg, his hand resting on his thigh.
"Do you wanna maybe try? With me?" Steve asks, his eyes darting away from Eddie again, and before Eddie can not say anything because his brains have got to be fried, they have to be melting out of his ears right, Steve keeps talking.
"I'm a good kisser. I think. I mean that's not why! I just think it could be... nice? Maybe? If we kissed. It could be cool. Good. It could be... good." His face scrunches as he loses momentum, he rubs at his forhead, scratches his neck, his eyes on his knees.
"Do you wanna kiss me Steve?" Eddie's mouth finally supplies, and Steve glances up and then locks eyes with Eddie, frozen there. Eddie knows what Steve is seeing, knows the face he's making, like he doesn't believe what he's hearing. Because he doesn't. But deep down, he knows Steve wouldn't joke about something like this. Not with him.
"I um... maybe?" Steve says, scratches at the seem of his jeans and then shoves his hand under his thigh and sighs, his shoulders drooping a little.
"I mean yes. I do." He says, gaining confidence, he leans forward a little.
"I do wanna kiss you. Like a lot. We can go slow. I'm not gonna like shove my tongue down your throat or anything." He holds his hands in front of him in surrender. Eddie's throat makes some undignified sound that has Steve smiling and moving closer still.
"Can i?" He asks, his hand moving slowly toward Eddie, it stops moving when Eddie's eyes land on it.
"You really wanna kiss me?" He asks, brows furrowed, eyes still not able to stay on Steve.
"Yes. Hundred percent." Steve nods, his hand still hovering awkwardly between them, waiting
"You wanna kiss me... because you want to kiss me. Or because you wanna know what it's like to kiss a guy." Eddie says, says the last words slowly, and then flinches when Steve moves, fast.
"Oh no. No no! That wasn't- why i asked that. I was just trying to like, get on the subject. I was trying to bring it up, so then we'd be both be thinking about kissing. And then maybe you'd... kiss me." Steve says, in a rush at first, and then slower.
"That seems..." Eddie takes a slow breathe.
"Stupid?" Steve supplies, sounding a bit dejected.
"Needlessly complicated." Eddie finishes, his eyes landing on Steve, finally. Steve perks up again, the most adorable embarrassed smile tugging at his lips.
"I mean, it's worked before, i just... i dunno. Didn't know what else to do. My Harrington charms haven't seemed to be working on you." Steve admits, tucking his hair behind his ears again, it hadn't moved. Eddie's heart nearly skips a beat.
"Your... charms? You've been charming me?!" Eddie asks, his voice going loud, probably too loud, probably annoying, but Steve just smiles, and nods.
"I've been trying. You're hard to read." Steve says, Eddie frowns, rubs his hands over his face rapidly, and then pushes his hair out of his face. He takes a deep breath, and then takes Steve's hand.
"They worked." He says, serious, Steve tilts his head, Eddie nods.
"I'm hard to read cuz i was hiding my feelings." He says, letting the truth come out.
"Your feelings?" Steve repeats.
"Yeah. I have feelings." Eddie says, rolls his eyes.
"For you. Feelings for you. I'm like... pretty much in love with you. I just couldn't say that. I couldn't tell you. Cuz i thought you'd leave. Wouldn't wanna be friends with me anymore if you knew i had a huge fucking ridiculous crush on you." Eddie rambled, his fingers twitching against Steve's.
"I still wanna be friends with you." Steve says, then turns his hand under Eddie's so he can hold it.
"I don't ever wanna not be friends with you. But i was thinking maybe..." he trails off, bites his lip nervously, Eddie bites his own lip to fight a smile.
"Yeah?" Eddie prompts. Steve huffs a laugh and shakes his head.
"I was thinking maybe we could be friends that kiss. And hold hands." He lifts their tangled hands between then for emphasis, making Eddie smile.
"Friends that, go on dates, and maybe like, sleep in the same bed. And cuddle and take care of each other." Steve says this all slowly, a cute little questioning lilt at the end, his eyes on Eddie.
"So like... boy. Friends." Eddie says, slow, a teasing smile growing to match the one on Steve's face.
"I mean yeah. That's just... what I'd been thinking. Ya know. For a bit." Steve shrugs, smiles again, nervous. Eddie hums,
"Ya know I've always said you have the best ideas." Eddie bites his lip again, smiling lopsidedly at Steve from under his bangs. It's a joke, sort of, half a joke, maybe sixty/forty, because Steve is looking at him all warm and gooey when he says,
"Yeah I know." Like Eddie calling his ideas good means something, like it means everything to him. Eddie swallows, roughly, and nods.
"And it's... okay? That I've not... i mean that i don't have any experience. Like, i dont know what i'm doing. Like at all." Eddie shakes his head, hand pulling away from Steve to fidget with his hair. Steve sighs, moves again, closer still, pushing into Eddie's space.
"I don't care about that at all. I just wanna be with you. Maybe i can teach you some stuff." Steve shrugs, but wiggles his eyebrows and suprises a laugh out of Eddie.
"You're gonna have to teach me everything." Eddie sighs, only sort of, kind of, self depreciating.
"Yeah. I'm okay with that." Steve says, easy. Eddie lets out a breathy little laugh, and nods.
"Okay. Sounds good. Great, actually. Dream come true." Eddie says, his voice is soft, he sounds nervous, that doesn't seem to bother Steve.
"But for the record. Or like, future reference?" Eddie starts, looking at Steve, looking at him.
"Yeah?" Steve's eyes are wide, waiting.
"If you wanna kiss me?" He pauses, watches Steve soften, his eyes droping to Eddie's mouth quick and then back up.
"All you have to do is ask." He says, nodding a little, encouraging, feeling a bit giddy.
"Eddie?"
"Yeah?"
"Can i kiss you?" Steve asks, voice low, eyes on Eddie's mouth. Eddie nods, licks his lips, and then clears his throat.
"Yeah. Yes. Fucking please." Eddie asks, begs, and the last thing he sees before his eyes fall shut is Steve's easy smile as he closes the distance between them.
The kiss is soft. And sweet. And slow. Everything Eddie could have hoped for a first kiss. Never really imagined he'd get it.
The next kiss is... more. Not as soft. Impossibly slower. And definitely not sweet.
Eddie gets lost after that. Lost in the way Steve moves against him. Lost in the way Steve kisses him. Lost in the way Steve tastes.
He's lost. But he's happy. And Steve keeps asking if things are okay. Checking in on Eddie and making sure he's alright. And Eddie doesn't have the words to tell Steve that he's great. He's perfect. That Steve is everything he's ever wanted.
He'll find the words later, write song after song with the words he has for Steve. Telling him just that. That he's all he ever wanted. Couldn't be happier, or luckier, to have him. But until then, he just holds on.
He holds onto Steve, and follows his lead. Learning as he falls heart first into Steve over and over, both of them smiling against each other, and laughing into each other's mouths as Steve kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.
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Obligatory tag list cuz thats a thing i do now guess! If you wanna be added let me know. I might start an actual tag list i guess, i dont wanna commit to that, it makes me nervous, i don't know why. 🤣 : @hotluncheddie @friendly-jester @scoops-aboy86 @allsteddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx
“I should go,” Eddie blurts out, standing up so quickly that the chair under him scrapes against the floor like nails on a chalkboard.
Just like that, the spell breaks, and Steve’s smile drops. His brow furrows incredulously. Standing as well, he says, “What? Why?”
If only Eddie could list the reasons.
‘Sorry Steve, I really thought you making sweet and passionate love to me meant something to you as it did to me, even a fucking modicum. You positively ripped my heart out of its cavity and jump-roped on its remains. Please excuse me so I can stagger out your front door and throw up into your mother’s rose bush.’
(or: the morning after, and the days after that.)
Words: 6353, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Wayne Munson
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Implied Sexual Content, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Eddie Munson, Steve is a little bit emotionally unintelligent in this one, But to offset that Eddie navel-gazes and is as unreliable as it gets, Robin Buckley being the number one friend ever, Steve Harrington Has a Bisexual Awakening, One Night Stands, Eddie Munson Has Self-Esteem Issues, Which is very common for me to write, Prepare to be a bit frustrated with the boys in this one, But I assure you there is a happy ending included, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Some men be fighting demons and the demons are bisexuality, Tisoy Eddie Munson, Not thematically relevant but its relevant to ME, Period-Typical Homophobia, None coming from any of the main characters but it is the 80s
Steve watches Eddie fold himself like a steel chair over his dad’s pool old table and successfully knock a third ball into a corner pocket. To his detriment and absolutely no-one’s surprise, Eddie plays pool like a fucking professional, what with all the time he spends lingering at the hideout when he’s not shredding guitar on stage. Not that he performs much anymore, since Sweetheart’s been buried under Upside Down dust for the past four months, and he doesn’t have enough cash to fork over for a new electric guitar. He’s a thrilled winner, too, pumping his fist and running in place with excitement like he hasn’t spent the last five minutes running circles around Steve. “I’m totally kicking your ass!”
Steve’s competitive streak rears its stupid ugly head, because his ass was getting kicked a million yards past the fucking field goal, and it never expected to lose to a stringbean dweeb who spent his high school career climbing tables and talking like a wizard in a labor union. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says dryly.
“Looks like someone has some growing up to do,” Eddie snaps back. He nudges a blue ball against a green one, sending two others into a scatter that thankfully stops short of a pocket. He rises with a huff and blows his bangs off his forehead as Steve approaches the pool table with a satisfied smile.
“How’s that ass-kicking going, Munson?” Steve chirps, leaning over the table and lining up his shot with one eye closed and his trusty shooting eye cracked open.
“Careful with the shittalk, Harrington, one wrong play and you’ll start your next extended stay on the curb.”
Steve scoffs all too confidently and aims to slam a striped ball into the nearest pocket with a solid purple ball diagonal from it. As he taps it with the tip of his cue, it sails an inch off the table and careens into a wall cushion instead, somehow managing to pitifully bounce back into the eight ball. He watches it all unfold like Pompeii blowing up while Eddie chokes back laughter behind him.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve breaks his silence with an embarrassed groan. He drops his head in abject defeat. How could he be so fucking bad at a game that involved hitting balls with sticks? Eddie made it look as easy as addition with his whole Goddamn leg plastered against the ledge of the table like a chick!
Eddie, with all his wisdom and humility, raps Steve’s shoulder with his cue. “You gotta stop hitting the bottom of the ball, man. Do that again, and it’s gonna be on the moon.”
“How else am I supposed to hit it?”
“If you want a smoother shot, you have to hit it at the base. Here, watch.” Eddie nudges Steve backwards with the back of his hand, knuckles brushing softly against the fabric of his thinning Adidas shirt. Next thing he knows, Eddie’s practically arching forward against the table, stretching into a U like it’s his personal yoga routine. The ratty band tee he’s wearing rides upwards with the exaggerated movement, and Steve's gaze suddenly falls to the exposed spot above the waistband of his jeans. His eyes land on a dark freckle near the end of his spine, an inkblot bleeding onto his nearly anemic skin. He can’t help but remember the way Eddie’s breath shyly hitched when Steve thumbed at it like a scientific discovery, how it tasted when he flattened his tongue against the mark to see if it lasted. How many licks would it take to get to the center of this tootsie-pop?
Christ, did Steve bite into it, too? He can’t quite remember every fuzzy detail, but he knows he’s a dog during sex, and the habit of marking territory has never really left him.
The memory of it hits Steve with all the destructive force of an atomic bomb. His brain blows away into a mushroom cloud, and he wonders if it levelled any nearby cities, too.
The loud clicking of the pool balls shake him out of his mind-drunk stupor and he watches them scatter like spiders against the billiard surface. Two solid-color balls dutifully roll into their respective pockets and Eddie quickly pushes himself back into a standing position. He swings to Steve with a cat-got-the-cream grin and sweeps his hand with a flourish. “See? Now you try.”
“Uh.” Oh Steve saw, alright. Saw another dizzying reminder of sex and Eddie’s body and the press of his own lips against the line of Eddie’s spine. Steve wasn’t paying a single lick of attention to the simple demonstration because of his irresponsible eyes and how they caught, hook line and sinker, to the stupid fucking mole and its infinite hypotheticals. The entire world blurred against the freckle’s edges and the memory of his teeth scraping gently against it, alight and frayed at its burning corners. He tries to blindly grasp at Eddie’s advice, thinks he told him to to aim for the base and not the bottom of the pool ball, but he’s pretty sure that posturing and technique was completely void when all he could think about was the salty-sweet taste of Eddie still dancing on his tongue. “Did that count?”
“Oh shit, let me–” Eddie scrambles around the table, shoving his wrist down the table’s pockets with the grace of a Medieval surgeon and tactfully arranging him the best he can. Which ultimately meant they rolled an inch into the opposite direction. “Alright, your turn, tiger.”
Steve swallows, cottonmouthed, and tries to treat the whole situation like a pre-tournament handjob. If the particular way Kelly Schwartz flicked her wrist didn’t keep him from his winning shot, then the mole shouldn’t be too much of an issue, right? But the mole, that insistent bastard, keeps lighting up his brain like the constant cyclical beeping of a submarine radar and flinging him back to square one. It sticks between the wrinkles of his brain like chewed up bubblegum underneath O’Donnell’s desk and he can’t bring himself to scrape the fucker off with his fingers or a ruler or fucking anything.
But it isn’t going to keep Steve from trying, if only to prove to himself that the mole and Kelly’s skilled hands were one in the same– a teeny-tiny setback on the road to success. He carefully leans forward, positions his cue to the middle of a solid blue ball, and prays that his spotty memory retention wasn’t completely limited to the small of Eddie’s back and its intimate details.
Are you there, God? It’s me, Steve Harrington. You know, the kid who pushed Johnny Walters off the monkey bars that one time and repented after barfing in the confession booth? I know I haven’t talked to Father Ghallager in years, but I need you to do me one more solid before I enter the kingdom of Heaven from embarrassment. Sorry about all the sex before marriage and the sodomy too, by the way.
The ball spins diligently forward and clacks against a ball with an orange stripe down the middle, edging it an inch or two closer to a corner pocket.
Steve rises, amazed at his own self-control, and pride flickers between his ribs. It’s tangible proof that his capability hasn’t been a hundred percent lost the moment sex was thrown into the equation: this was his winning shot. Eddie slaps his hand against the edge of the pool table with a celebratory whoop. “You’re learning!”
Guys I finally updated Stand There Looking Backwards!! Check it out, it's 10k+ words :)
With three movies to compare between, I really appreciate how each Knives Out movie explores justice from a different thematic angle, not based on the murder that was committed but based on the cruelty that led to that murder.
In Knives Out, a compassionate, ethical young woman treats everyone around her with generosity, and the people around her repeatedly try to take advantage of her kindness to force her into losing the fortune that was gifted to her by a dear friend. There, justice means that she keeps the fortune and decides that actually, she doesn't have to be kind and giving to people who've proven themselves assholes.
In Glass Onion, a woman loses her sister to a gang of wealthy, successful people who've sacrificed their principles for the sake of ambition and ego. There, justice means that everyone involved will be made notorious: whatever their other accomplishments, they will forever be known for being complicit in the burning of the most famous painting in history.
In Wake Up Dead Man, the church takes advantage of a young girl's loyalty and faith to place her under a lifelong burden and fill her with guilt, shame, and hatred. Justice means helping her understand what was done to her and the women around her, and giving her compassion so she can find peace.
This is cool because it means the movies contradict each other! The compassionate justice of Wake Up Dead Man would be totally misplaced in Knives Out, and so would the toppling-monuments justice of Glass Onion. And because each movie has something different to say, they all stand on their own and feel fresh.
This is also why Benoit Blanc is the uniting figure but never the protagonist of these movies. He's an agent of legal justice in that he's the detective and it's his job to figure out whodunnit, but the protagonist -- Marta, Andi and now Jud -- is always the character who delivers thematic justice.
glass onion really was benoit's day off like yeah there was an explosion and he had to run around in the dark while a murderer was carrying a loaded gun but ☝️ helen didn't keep trying to confess to murder
you know what? i will forever be a math-whiz steve truther. any subject that has a rigid process that he could follow, he was really good at. but when it comes to english? absolutely fucked. he’s good with the objective, not anything that he has to interpret through subtext. also he’s dyslexic.
