"...You don't have to always worry about me, y'know?"
Steve stops fiddling with the edge of Eddie's sleeveless top, hand moving to card through wavy hair instead, "I know, I just... I'm not letting you slip through my fingers. Not again."
The easy smile on Eddie's face probably couldn't get any softer, but somehow it does, "You never did. Over and over and over. You never gave up on me."
Steve hums in acknowledgment, eyes distant, "Would it sound cheesy if I said I never will?"
Eddie snorts, leaning in to hide it in the crook of Steve's neck, "Absolutely."
The shoulder under Eddie's cheek starts shaking with laughter as Steve finally eases into the cushions, arranging their bodies a little to get more comfortable, "No, I'm serious, Eds, you gotta take me seriously."
"It still sounds cheesy."
"You know what?" Steve slides a hand under Eddie's shirt, fingertips running along pink, raised skin, skimming the path of a shared history only the two of them know the whole truth of, "I'll dig up your notebook and next time we're having a bonfire night, I'm throwing it in the flames."
Eddie gasps, hand pressed tight to his own chest in dramatics, "You butcher! You wouldn't dare slaughter my eldest daughter, would you?"
Steve shrugs – as much as it is possible with at least half of Eddie's weight on top of him – cocking his head to the side, completely innocent.
"Steve Harrington," Eddie coos, grinning from ear to ear, "Just because you're cheesy as fuck, you don't have to commit a murder spree on my journal."
"Oh, yeah?" Steve challenges, "And how come half of said journal is full of corny lyrics, stuff you wrote, mind you–"
"That's different." Eddie butts in to no avail.
"–Stuff you spent many sleepless nights on, oh, and by the way, you still refuse to show me." Steve finishes, using his fingers to count and keep track of his apparent list.
"Baby, I hate to tell you this, but you're overreacting," Tapping Steve's jaw twice, Eddie finally manages to capture the attention he long craved. Hazel settles on chocolate brown, and suddenly the world stops and continues to spin simultaneously, "You can burn that thing all you want, but the stuff that's in there is engraved in here," Eddie points to his temple, "and here." Then, the same finger moves to prod at his chest where his heart beats, alive and in rhythm, thanks to Steve's quick thinking.
Steve stares at him for a hot second, gaze intent and fiery in ways not even the sun could resemble, and it's getting way too difficult for Eddie not to get lost in the warm hues.
Eddie watches a smile form on soft, rose colored lips, morphing Steve's face until it reaches his eyes. Eddie's own smile gets permanently attached to him at the sight.
"I'm surprised you didn't gag." Steve comments, impressed.
Eddie swats at him, throwing his head back as laughter makes him shake to his core, "You're full of shit."
"And you're a romantic in denial!"
"Sweetheart," Eddie starts, tone dropping, "I never said I wasn't going to love the hell out of you. Gotta fish for opportunities, though."
Steve rolls his eyes, but the gentle smile he wears evolves into a wider one, pulling at Eddie's heart strings.
Comfortable silence settles in, coating them in what Eddie only registers as a homey, orange glow of warmth. Steve's fingers still trace patterns into Eddie's scar, the one that matches the one on Steve's side. He listens to Steve breathing, steady and calm.
The quiet, tranquil moment is so nice Eddie finds himself almost nodding off.
"I know where you keep it." Steve murmurs, stirring the stillness.
Stirring Eddie's heart, as usual, although this time Eddie might be a little more worried.
When Steve doesn't continue, Eddie tilts his head in the perfect angle to see the smug look Steve sports. Determined, sure, serious.
It isn't even an exaggeration when Eddie yells in panic, "Steve!"
Eddie had promised that it would only be a last resort. They weren't exactly overflowing with an abundance of good parents around them as examples, and frankly, Eddie wasn't sure he counted her among them. Still, they'd never tried to keep a very tiny human being alive, and he'd pinned her number to the corkboard with a sigh. Teenagers, he told Steve repeatedly, were not the same as infants. And although he understood arguments that their teenagers were a special kind of stupid, who had actually been very hard to keep alive, Eddie maintained they should have a backup plan available in case something got tricky when the baby arrived. He was, after all, only three months old. They might need help.
And here they were. At last resort. And earlier than he'd expected.
He sighed and dialed, hoping that Steve wouldn't hear the phone from the other room where he was in the rocking chair beside the crib.
"Help," he said.
"I'll be there in six minutes."
When Joyce arrived, she shoved a glass casserole dish into his hands and immediately went to the kitchen to wash her hands. She looked at Eddie expectantly.
"He won't sleep," Eddie said simply.
She smiled. "Well, babies not sleeping is—"
"No. The baby sleeps fine. It's Steve. Steve won't sleep."
Confusingly, Joyce smiled wider and patted him on the shoulder. "Ah," she said. "The firstborn problem. Where is he?"
"Nursery," Eddie sighed.
"On it. Why don't you go grab a shower?"
The suggestion was gentle, but Eddie still chuckled. He definitely needed that, even he could admit it. When he reemerged from the bathroom in a waft of cinnamon-scented soap, he found Steve, sprawled fully clothed on top of the duvet.
"Joyce said she'll watch him," Steve murmured, exhausted.
Eddie frowned. He moved to Steve and started pulling layers of clothing off of him. He offered Steve the soft grey tee he preferred to sleep in, but let him keep his boxers. It felt like more work than it was worth to get him into different pants. He was disappointed; he'd been hoping that Joyce would offer a better solution than someone else pointlessly watching the baby, but. Still. Sleep was sleep.
They both fell asleep immediately; Eddie dreamed of a unicorn that fed off the native honeysuckle in their yard. Just as the Protect Unicorns Society was telling him the house was going to be taken over by the government, Eddie awoke to a sharp cry, followed by the sound of Steve bolting out of bed.
Eddie followed at a more sedate pace, curious and also alarmed by Steve's movement. In the nursery, Joyce stood in the middle of the room, holding the baby, a bottle of formula in one hand as she rocked.
"Oh, look at that. Less than two minutes and you're both here," she teased with a grin. "It's almost like you're going to hear your child no matter how tired you are. Eddie, I declare you on shift. Steve, go back to bed. He's safe. He's got two great dads. Shifts, boys. You'll survive this."
Eddie took the baby and smiled at Steve. Joyce put both her hands on Steve's shoulders and squeezed.
"It's hard. It's scary. It never gets less hard or less scary," she said gently. "But you've got this. Don't make Eddie call me again. He hated it."
Steve looked at Eddie over Joyce's head and gave him a small smile at the sight of the baby, curled into his chest, quietly calming down. She patted him once more and left.
"We've got this?" Steve asked quietly.
Eddie grinned. "We've got this.”
He shifted the baby to a more comfortable position. The tiny weight in his arms felt both impossibly fragile and remarkably sturdy. He watched Steve's shoulders drop, the tension visibly draining away.
"Joyce is right about shifts, you know," Eddie continued, keeping his voice low and soothing as much for Steve as for the baby.
Steve ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "But you have that commission due next week. You need sleep, too."
"Hey, I've pulled all-nighters for way less important reasons." Eddie smiled, carefully settling into the rocking chair. "Remember when I stayed up three nights straight to finish that D&D campaign for the kids?"
"That was different. This is…" Steve gestured vaguely at the baby, who had started to drift off again, tiny fingers curling around Eddie's shirt.
"This is everything," Eddie finished for him. “This is everything."
you wanna feel how it feels? (let's exchange the experience), 1/?
AO3 Link
Summary: After the Spring Break from hell, Eddie and Steve become fast friends, with a possible hint towards something more…except they're never quite sure what the other one is actually thinking. But maybe, just maybe, walking a mile in each other's shoes can lend them some much needed insight.
Notes: The long awaited first chapter of bodyswap fic is finally, finally here! This chapter is primarily just set up for the shenanigans yet to come.
I went ahead and added a taglist below for some of the folks who have been following along with the progress of this one. Apologies if I missed anyone, and if you'd like to be added to or removed from the list, please just let me know!
It was a typical Saturday night in late April–at least, typical post-the radical turn of events that had started with Eddie’s own personal nightmare during the Spring Break from hell, that series of dominoes tipping over and taking his life up to where it was now. And where he found himself was at Hawkins’ very own local Dairy Queen with Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and a rabid pack of six hungry teenagers and one formidable preteen who could rule them all with an iron fist if she wanted, following up yet another successful session of Hellfire with some celebratory ice cream.
Being able to hold a meeting of the Hellfire Club at all was cause for celebration in Eddie’s book, especially since the school would no longer allow them to host events on school grounds, despite the fact that all the charges against Eddie that had started the witch hunt in the first place had been dropped. Hawkins wasn’t exactly a forgive-and-forget kind of town, something Eddie had always known and been even more acutely aware of given the even more frequent, vitriolic stares that had been following him around since March.
Still, he was soldiering on for now, at least until graduation–thanks in no small part to the apocalypse stopping crew currently clamoring over each other at the front counter. Despite the school’s best efforts, the club venue had been relocated to the Munsons’ newly minted trailer, courtesy of the government suits. And with the revival of their D&D campaign came the start of this new tradition–begun by none other than Steve himself, who had pulled up to Forest Hills to pick up the kiddos that first night, stuck his floppy-haired head out of his BMW like an overgrown puppy, and offered to meet everyone at the local DQ, his treat. The Corroded Coffin boys had begged off coming that first time–and the week after that, and the week after that–but, still. Standing under the hazy fast food fluorescent lights and with the promise of a chocolate malt ahead, life–for the moment, at least–was as good as Eddie could ask for, all things considered.
“Hey, hey, hey!” With three quick snaps of his fingers, Steve tried to corral the kids into some semblance of order, one hand already settled in its customary position on his hip. “One at a time, you guys. Try to cut, ah…”
“Brandi,” the brunette behind the counter supplied helpfully when she saw Steve squinting at her name tag, face blooming into a bright grin.
Eddie was pretty sure he recognized her from his second senior year math class, and there was a vague memory of seeing someone who sort of looked like her in the cafeteria tickling at the back of his mind, sitting a few tables from the jock zone amongst the lucky hopefuls looking to catch the attention of a baseball or basketball playing potential boyfriend. If so, that definitely explained the big moon eyes she was currently shooting Steve’s way.
But Steve only returned her smile with a harried one of his own, his attention still firmly focused on the demands of his many babysitting charges. Eddie tried to tamp down the sick twist of satisfaction he felt when Brandi deflated slightly.
“Right. Try to cut Brandi here some slack, alright? Believe me, slinging ice cream is plenty of work without having a bunch of little menaces shouting in your ear.”
As the group finally managed to file themselves into something that resembled a line–with plenty of jostling and grumbling along the way–Erica gave Steve’s polo a sharp tug and then jabbed two fingers in his direction.
“Free ice cream. For life,” she emphasized, the same way she did every week, like Steve needed the reminder.
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve waved a dismissive hand in her direction even as he pulled out his wallet, same as he did week in and week out, putting on a show like he didn’t already know he’d be footing the bill for most of the munchkins’ orders.
Robin had explained the situation to Eddie when he’d asked after their first DQ outing, with the same airy tone they all often used to describe the truly mind-boggling shit they had been through over the last few years.
“Oh! It’s a leftover debt, from when we infiltrated the secret Russian base under Starcourt. Free ice cream was Erica’s price for getting involved. Never underestimate her ability to drive a hard bargain.”
Eddie had nodded, trying not to let how gobsmacked he felt about the entire story show. “Yeah, I, uh…wasn’t planning to. Lady Applejack is a force to be reckoned with.”
“You have no idea,” Robin had agreed, looking almost strangely…proud about the fact.
That evening, when Eddie sidled up to join them, leaving Robin in position to guard the three booths sequestered off towards the back they had claimed as their own, he caught the tail end of the sheepies excitedly recounting tonight’s session for Steve.
“And D20 is…good, right?” Steve asked, still watching the register as Brandi passed a vanilla cone with a hefty serving of whipped cream and sprinkles off to El.
“Yes, Steve, it’s only the best roll you can possibly make in the entire game.”
The no duh tone of Dustin’s voice was enough to have Steve raising an eyebrow at him, completely unimpressed.
“Like sinking the winning shot after the final buzzer at the championship game kinda good,” Lucas explained, much more helpfully, his grin wide.
“Oh,” Steve nodded, and Eddie couldn't help but get distracted by the way his lips, pink and shining with a hint of chapstick, parted perfectly in understanding.
Eddie seized the opportunity to catch Steve off guard, hooking an arm around his shoulders and tugging him into his side. Delight bubbled in his chest at the way the gesture made Steve let out a loud, startled laugh.
“Should've figured that's all it'd take to rope you into playing sometime, Harrington,” Eddie shook his head solemnly. “Sports metaphors.”
“Always with the sports metaphors,” Dustin echoed.
Steve reached out and swatted the brim of his cap, the force of it just enough to send it slightly askew and trigger a string of cursing from Dustin.
“Hey, I never agreed to that,” he argued, ducking out from under Eddie’s arm in one seamless motion. Jock reflexes, Eddie had decided, were both a blessing and a curse.
He had learned that lesson firsthand in the past few weeks, as Eddie had grown more and more comfortable indulging in a little light rough housing with Steve, despite the fact that he knew there was no way in hell he had any better shot than their gangly freshmen did at not getting his ass handed to him. Eddie was stronger than he looked, sure, but he wasn’t exactly former basketball captain level athletic, not by a long shot.
But was it really losing when he got to be pressed up against the firm planes of Steve’s chest, wrapped up in his strong arms–even if it was in a death lock grip–or occasionally pinned to Eddie’s own bedroom floor by him? Eddie definitely didn’t think so, and part of him was also just happy his recovery was going well enough he could scuffle, again. On his good days, at least. Doing it with his hot friend–and crush–was just an added bonus.
“You know, it’s not my fault Lucas knows how to explain shit to me. I’ll stop talking in basketball when one of you two nerds actually manages to tell me what Mordor is.”
Dustin let out a huff. “If you just read the books–”
Steve cupped a hand around his ear, leaning down towards Dustin and hamming it up for all he was worth. “Huh? What was that? Cuz it didn’t sound like much of an explanation to me, Henderson.”
Eddie tugged a strand of hair across his mouth, trying to hide his grin. “Harrington, trust me when I say–you do not want to open that can of worms. Do you have any idea how long I can go on for once I get started? Hours, man. Days, probably.”
“Can’t be any worse than that time Robin tried to explain, uh…shit, what was it called? German New Wave? Or, no, maybe that was French Expressionism. I don’t know, the point is, it can’t be more boring than that was.”
“It's French New Wave!” Robin called from the back despite the distance, freakily intune with Steve as always. “Or German Expressionism. And sounds like you're due another lesson, Stevie-Evie. Don't worry, I've got a tried and true method to guarantee it all sticks this time.”
Steve groaned, dragging a hand over his face and into his hair–but his apparent grief at the thought of another Buckley-led film history lesson was quickly diverted when he realized it was his turn.
From there, placing the rest of their orders passed by with little fanfare–apart from the brief, minor hiccup that came when Steve tried to pay for Eddie’s treat on top of everybody else’s.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Eddie waved a finger at him, just barely managing to step around Steve and hand his fistful of dollars over to Brandi. “Your money’s no good here, my liege.”
The title was enough to produce a patent Harrington scowl, all drawn eyebrows and pouted lips.
When he opened his mouth to protest, Eddie cut him off again. “Seriously, Steve, I’ve got it. One shake isn’t gonna break the bank, you know?”
“I know that,” Steve huffed. “I just–would it seriously kill you to let me treat you once in a while?”
Steve had done more than enough, and Eddie thought he damn well knew that. Between literally saving Eddie’s life when he’d been about to bleed out in the Upside Down and then sticking around through all of his recovery in the weeks after, the amount he had done was approaching near superheroic levels.
“You know you don’t have to hover, right, Harrington?” Eddie had asked him one day towards the end of his stay in the hospital, gnawing anxiously at his bottom lip, as he watched Steve look up from the Sports Illustrated sprawled across his lap.
The truth was he hadn’t wanted to say anything, too afraid bringing it up would lead to Steve doing just as he was suggesting…finally leaving. But the anxiety humming in his ears that Steve was just here out of pity had finally become worse, forced the words from his mouth.
“You saved Dustin, man,” Steve had replied, expression earnest, “and helped distract the bats from me and Nance and Robin, too. I’m not going anywhere. So, you know…get used to it.”
He had punctuated the last statement by giving Eddie a light, friendly slap on his knee, and Eddie had to bite back the beaming, relieved grin that threatened to split his face.
Steve had stayed pretty much a permanent fixture in Eddie’s day-to-day life after that, proving time and again he was serious about being in it for the long haul. Even through all the embarrassing shit, like Eddie hobbling around on his cane like a baby deer on shaky newborn legs, or needing somebody to help him wash his hair. Not exactly the ideal position to be in with a hopeless high school crush that had come burning back to life with a vengeance, but Steve would hear none of it when Eddie tried to insist he didn’t need to go out of his way like this.
“What, you want Henderson in here instead?” Steve had asked with a snort. “You gotta be kidding, Munson. Like I said, better get used to being stuck with me.”
“Happy to be stuck together with you anytime, big boy,” Eddie had flirted, the shameless bravado in place to cover up the very real fluttering of his heart.
In other words…Eddie had already accrued more life debts to Steve Harrington than he could ever hope to repay. And while Steve might have insisted he was more than happy with nursemaid duty, Eddie really wasn’t looking to turn himself into a charity case. Not if he could help it.
So Eddie let his grin grow, obnoxious and wide enough to show off all his teeth.
“It might,” he quipped. “And how would you feel, Harrington, knowing that this was the thing that finally managed to do me in? I’m just trying to spare you the guilt, man, I know what a complex you’d get.”
“Whatever, Eds,” Steve scoffed, steering him towards the designated babysitter’s club booth with a nudge of his elbow, hands full of his and Robin’s matching strawberry sundaes.
Steve took his customary spot on Robin’s side of the booth, the pair of them, as always, practically glued at the hip. Their friendship, Eddie had learned, was a boundary free zone, one that frequently involved holding hands, devolving into childish slap fights with little warning, and falling asleep sprawled on top of each other while watching bad daytime soaps at the Harrington house. Only their vehement denial and the goo-goo eyes Eddie caught Robin making at the red-haired chick–Vickie, he now knew–from band convinced him Dustin’s loud, frequent, and insistent claims that they were dating were total bullshit.
As he was just about to slide into his own place across from them, a commotion at the table behind them called for Eddie’s attention.
“Eddie, El wants to hear you do the roar again!” Mike requested.
Eddie tilted his head to one side, stroking his chin, as though trying to recall what exactly Mike was speaking of. Biting his lip to keep from smiling, he gave Mike a shrug.
“No clue what you’re talking about, Little Wheel.”
A chorus of cries rang out from both tables the party had overtaken, shrieks of “Eddie!” and “C’mon, man!” reverberating again and again in his ears.
Spinning on his heel as though he was set to ignore them, Eddie answered Steve and Robin’s expectant expressions with a quick, subtle wink.
When he leapt up from the floor and into a crouch on the booth seating, Eddie felt a sharp tug at his sides, his scar tissue very eagerly making itself known. Gritting his teeth, he refused to let the hot flash of pain show on his face as he loomed over Will and El, hands curving into claws as he reached towards their table.
“Kas the Bloody-Handed demands vengeance!” he bellowed, letting his voice drop into a deep, growling register.
His performance was met with what might as well have been a standing ovation, in his book–a series of delighted shouts from the boys, eerily similar head shakes from Max and Erica while they both visibly fought back their smiles, and El letting out a peel of giggles as she hid her face in her brother’s side.
When Hellfire had started back up again, Eddie had considered starting over from scratch, maybe even trying this deep into the game to veer their campaign in a different direction. He didn’t want something that they all loved to become somehow…tainted, by reminders of everything that had happened.
“Nah, man, just leave it like it is,” Steve had suggested, one afternoon when Eddie’s fretting had finally bubbled over to the point he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “It's good for their…trauma processing? Or something. I don’t know, you’d have to ask Owens about it. The point is, they wouldn’t want you to change it. Not unless you want to.”
In the end, Eddie had heeded Steve’s advice, figuring he knew more about the way those little hellions ticked better than probably anybody else, at this point.
Moments like these made him glad he did, proof positive his instincts had been spot on.
Eddie dropped, satisfied, down into the booth, his foot knocking straight into the side of Steve’s under the table. A little spark of pleasure shot through him when Steve simply bumped his Nike sneaker against Eddie’s Reebok in answer and then left it there, pressed close together.
“No wonder you did drama,” Steve observed, twisting a bite around in his mouth as he sucked up the bright red streak of strawberry syrup. “You’re a total natural, man. Kinda, like…hypnotic.”
Eddie tried not to make it too obvious, how closely he was following the way Steve licked up every last morsel.
“Yeah, until he dropped out like a quitter.”
“What can I say, Buckley? Organized–well, anything really–just ain’t for me.”
“Says the guy who literally runs an afterschool club,” she pointed the end of her plastic spoon at him in accusation. “Sounds to me like you’re full of it, Eddie.”
“She’s got you there, man,” Steve agreed with a shrug, a drop from his sundae dribbling onto the table as he swirled it around yet again.
“Oh, napkins!”
Slapping a palm against her forehead, Robin clambered over Steve and out of the booth, not so much as hesitating to give him a chance to stand up.
“You know, if you wanna see more where that came from–my flare for theatrics, that is–you could always, I don’t know. Stick around when you drop off the kiddos next week?” As Eddie posed the question, he wondered if the lilt in his voice sounded too hopeful. “I won’t even make you play. You have my word as a dungeon master and a gentleman.”
“Yeah, uh…fat chance of that happening,” Steve murmured, voice low, almost like he didn’t want Eddie to actually hear him, “your friends fucking hate me, dude.”
“They don't hate you,” Eddie protested automatically, feeling the need to defend them even as his own heart sank in his chest, “they're just…a little skittish, after everything that went down with Jason. You–you get that, right?”
“Sure,” Steve shrugged, looking down as he stirred his spoon through his steadily melting soft serve. When he glanced up at Eddie again, a tenseness crept in around the edges of his smile that Eddie desperately wished he could help wipe away. “I get it.”
Robin returned to the table before either of them got a chance to say anything else, sliding over Steve’s lap with enough clumsy limbed flailing it prompted a, Sheesh, Rob. Watch the elbows, will you? out of Steve.
Seeing an opening, Eddie quickly changed the subject.
“So, speaking of the ins-and-outs of living in the institution that is our organized society–how is Family Video treating my two favorite, upstanding, and gainfully employed Hawkins citizens?”
Robin snorted. “It’s minimum wage, Eddie. How good could it possibly be?”
“Well, I mean–you could trade places with me if you wanted. Be gainfully unemployed with a side hustle that went up in smoke since that whole–you know, accused of being a ritual Satanic murderer thing put the local law enforcement on your tail.”
Both Steve’s eyebrows shot up at that. “The cop’s still giving you trouble?”
“Not in so many words, but, uh–let’s just say they’ve made it pretty clear I’m not exactly their favorite person, right now. So, yeah. Officer Callahan must have circled the trailer park like–three different times, last night.”
“But…you were exonerated,” Robin protested, the force of her distress clear from the way she slapped a palm down flat on top of the table. “That–that’s a total misappropriation of police funds, not to mention harassment of a private citizen.”
“You ever think that maybe they’re just keeping an eye on the place?” Steve suggested hopefully, “You know…after everything that happened.”
“Your adorably positive outlook has been noted, Stevie. Noted, but ultimately dismissed.”
“Want me to talk to Hop for you? Get him to tell them to stand down?”
“Nah, man,” Eddie gave a forceful shake of his head, hair whipping around him in a messy cloud, “I can handle it. I’ve got plenty of experience, evading the Hawkins Police force.”
Rubbing a finger over his sideburn, Steve tilted his head from side-to-side in consideration, before he casually added, “Guess we all do, now.”
“A band of fearsome outlaws, that’s us,” Robin agreed, her nose crinkling as she laughed, loud and bright.
“More like Robin Hood and his merry men.” At Robin’s pointed glance, Eddie was quick to amend, “…And women, of course.”
The conversation flowed along at a rapid fire pace from there, the three of them at first trying to assign different characters from the story to all the members of the party before devolving fast into a debate about which cinematic performance of the lead character was the best–and sexiest, though Eddie didn’t divulge that was most of the metric he was using for his answers–and thus which adaptation came out on top. Robin fell into the same camp as him–Errol Flynn all the way–while Steve was a firm defender of the Disney version because, That little fox guy is cute and charismatic, guys, you can’t even argue with me on this one.
When he had slurped up the last remnants of his malt, Eddie stretched his arms above his head, leaned back against the booth’s cracking red vinyl, and sighed.
“Fancy a smoke break?” he asked, pulling the pack from his pocket and waving it tantalizingly for Steve to see.
Steve laughed with a roll of his eyes.
“You know I quit, dude.”
“And so should you,” Robin added pointedly, an argument she’d made countless times since Eddie got out of the hospital, pretty much every single time she caught him lighting up.
“Cut me some slack, Buckley,” Eddie said, same as he always did. “I’ve been through a traumatic experience. Ciggies are good for the stress, since I can’t exactly smoke weed outside this fine, family friendly establishment.”
“Uh-huh,” Robin replied, deadpan and unconvinced as ever, “we’ve all got our fair share of U.D. related trauma, Eddie. That’s not an excuse to suck on those…little sticks made out of cancer.”
“Alright, well. Fancy a stand-outside-with-me-and-bullshit break, then?” Eddie directed at Steve.
Robin raised an eyebrow at him, and Eddie couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. It seemed…knowing in a way he was too afraid to totally unpack.
She saved him the trouble of having to do so by letting out a put upon sigh, dramatic enough for him or Steve either one when they got going, and a true reflection of the fact she had stuck it out through almost four years of high school theater.
“Stealing away my own best friend to go join your boys’ club, Eddie? Really? And right in front of me, too. You know, this is just like second grade, when Trevor Milligan convinced all the boys in our class girls had cooties, and Bobby B. wouldn’t race me on the monkey bars anymore.”
Laying a hand over his heart, Eddie had to fight down the grin that threatened to split across his face. “I solemnly vow to bring him back all in one piece, Buck. I know who's top dog around here.”
The nod she gave him was swift and authoritative. “And don’t you forget it.”
With a wink and a click of his tongue, he mock saluted her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She turned to Steve, giving his bicep several sharp pokes. “But just because I'm the girl doesn't mean I deserve to get saddled with child-rearing responsibilities, you know!”
“We're not children,” Red interjected with a dry sort of exasperation from the next booth over.
Her point was immediately undermined by Lucas, using the makeshift catapult he'd made from his spoon to fling a maraschino cherry at Dustin. The other boy let out an indignant squawk when it missed his mouth entirely and got caught right in his curly hair.
Even from behind her glasses, it was pretty obvious what sort of look Max was giving her boyfriend.
“Correction…I'm not a child.”
“Sorry.” Lucas's grin was sheepish.
“Rob,” Steve said flatly, ignoring the kids’ antics to instead pin her with his own look, like she was being ridiculous.
Which was…pretty fair, this time, in Eddie's opinion. He wasn't sure he'd ever met anyone with quite the same intense level of tired dad–mom–whatever energy as Steve had, and all before he'd even hit his early twenties. When it came to babysitting duties, he definitely wasn't a slacker.
“I'm just saying, as a feminist, I thought you should know,” Robin waved her spoon at them, managing to pull the move off without so much as a drip of her ice cream plopping onto the table.
“We agreed that you'd be the fun uncle,” Steve argued, the lack of protest from Robin proving that was, in fact, a conversation they'd already had, “so then be the fun uncle while Mom and Dad step outside.”
“Mom and Dad?” Robin echoed, eyebrow raising and face scrunching in transparent disbelief–and Eddie had to admit, he was caught on the exact same thing.
Steve only waved a hand at her, rolling his eyes.
“You know what I mean. Look, it’s only gonna be like fifteen minutes, tops. If you do it I’ll–” Steve spun his hand around in several aimless, pinwheel like motions before finally snapping his fingers in revelation, “I’ll let you put on whatever movie you want at work on Monday!”
Robin stuck her hand out to him. “Make it ten, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Tapping a finger on his top lip, Steve pursed his mouth in thought for a moment.
“...Twelve,” he bartered. “And you can make it a black and white one. With subtitles.”
Robin’s face lit up, teeth glimmering with the sheer force of her glee.
“Look at that. You really do know the way to a girl’s heart, Steve.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbled, giving her hand one firm, business-like shake.
Eddie was already up, having impatiently shimmied several paces away from the booth, by the time Steve stood and fell into step beside him.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Eddie couldn’t resist shouting over his shoulder, “Make sure they eat all their vegetables!”
Steve met Eddie’s shit-eating grin with one of his own before adding, “And no scary movies before bedtime!”
Seven individual hands all popped up, shooting them the bird as one.
By the time they stepped out onto the sidewalk, they were both stumbling into each other’s sides with laughter.
—
Once they were outside and had managed to pull themselves together, Eddie stuck one of the smokes in his mouth and went straight for his lighter, his craving growing palpable. But, as that meant he had to rummage around the tangle of other things jammed inside his pocket, just laying in wait to come spilling out–like a nearly empty pack of Big Red gum, a crumpled receipt, and the spare die Eddie kept on his person in case of D&D-related emergencies–he fumbled it, the BIC hitting the ground with a sad thump.
“Jesus H. Christ,” he complained out of reflex, both from general annoyance and just a tinge of embarrassment, feeling the burn of it with his klutziness deciding to come out around Steve in full force.
Nat 1 on charisma, Munson. Critical failure.
Steve waved a dismissive hand at him. “I got it, man, I got it.”
And before Eddie could protest, he was stooping down beside him to pick the lighter up off the asphalt of the Dairy Queen parking lot, giving it a toss into his hand like the total show off he was.
Eddie was about to make a crack about it, something along the lines of You just gotta demonstrate your athletic prowess in front of us lesser mortals, doncha, Harrington?–except, well. He didn’t get the chance.
Because, one second, Steve was popping up and waving the lighter cockily at him, grin bright on his face, and, the next…
The next, and totally without warning, he was leaning in close, cupping his hand to light the cigarette dangling from Eddie’s lips for him.
Eddie inhaled on instinct, taking a long drag as the cherry glowed to life, a stark red in the fading light of dusk. As for the sudden rush that went to his head–he had little doubt that it was just from the hit of nicotine alone.
And–maybe it was a trick of the low light. But for a long, breathless moment, Steve’s eyes seemed to linger on Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie’s heartbeat kicked up in answer, rabbiting wildly in his throat. The air between them grew thick, heavy-laden with tension that seemed to almost crackle like electricity.
Eddie took the cigarette from his lips slowly, dropping his hand to let it hang at his side. And, still, Steve’s gaze never wavered, eye line still leveled directly at his mouth. If one of them were to just finally cave into the building pressure, sway forward and close that distance between them, maybe they could…
But, then, from one blink to the next, the heated expression on Steve’s face cleared, replaced by a guileless, easy smile.
…Eddie tried to tamp down on the flare of disappointment he felt at the sight of it.
“You know, man–Robin’s totally right about those things.”
Steve dragged a finger across his throat, pretending to choke as he briefly mimed his own dramatic death scene. The Eddie of a year ago wouldn’t have believed it–but the Eddie of now knew better, had been exposed to Steve’s silly antics on more than one occasion. He could be just as big a goofball as Dustin, as any of the kids, as Eddie himself when he wanted to be.
“You really should cut back.”
It was all so…normal. Casual. A light chiding about bad habits in an airy tone, like…
Like everything before hadn’t happened at all.
Eddie stared at Steve for a long moment, trying to read the expression in his wide, hazel eyes. But…they were totally and completely inscrutable to him.
And, look. Eddie was queerer than a three dollar bill–had been since gawky adolescence hit him like a freight train, all too-long limbs and sudden, embarrassingly consistent morning wood. Dudes or chicks, it didn’t matter. Like Bowie, Eddie was an equal opportunist…for all the good it had ever done him, able to count the times he’d made a pass and hadn’t struck out on one hand. Being Hawkins local freak would do that to a guy, and that was before the murder charges and cult-leader accusations.
But the thought that Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington was anything other than stalwartly heterosexual in the most apple-pie, white-picket-fence, boy-next-store way imaginable? The idea should have been laughable. And a year ago, Eddie would have done just that, laughed it off with a no way, man rolling easily off his tongue.
But now…now he wasn’t so sure.
Because there was something electric about the growing familiarity that had popped up between him and Steve the closer they’d gotten since their fateful spring break excursion to the Upside Down. He felt it, when Steve slung his arm over the back of the couch when Eddie sat next to him during movie night, or laid a hand in the small of Eddie’s back, easy as anything, to keep him steady when the kids all jostled ahead of them to get through the door at the arcade.
Maybe it was all just some vestige from Steve’s high school glory days, leftover jock rituals Eddie knew nothing about. Maybe it was total wishful thinking on Eddie’s part, as his crush steadily grew into something gargantuan. Shit, that’s what he tried to tell himself most of the time, if only for his own sanity–but he was still reluctant to say it was all in his head. Especially when moments like this kept cropping up more and more.
…Eddie was too afraid to push it, though. Hardly over a month old, technically–even though some days it felt like a lifetime–the friendship between them was new. Not delicate, not hardly, but still not something Eddie was looking to scare off when it’d only just gotten started.
So as the uncertainty settled over him, Eddie finally ducked his head for an instant, gnawing at his bottom lip. Then he reached over and gave Steve’s temple a teasing tap.
“Sometimes, I just wonder what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours, Stevie.”
The flirtation was thick, sure, but it was easy enough to play it off the same way he always did–just some harmless teasing between two guys, nothing serious. Plus, Eddie figured Steve was more than used to his antics by now. Sometimes, his over-the-top personality really did pay off.
But behind those words was the truth of Eddie’s thoughts, swirling over and over again.
Fuck. If only I could get inside his head. Then, maybe I’d be able to figure out what the hell he’s thinking.
For a split second, he could have sworn Steve’s shoulders stiffened, posture going unexpectedly rigid. But then Steve laughed, brushing the swoop of his hair back, fingers dancing tantalizingly close to Eddie’s own, and Eddie was left to wonder if it was just more of his mind playing tricks on him.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I’m like an open book. Ask anybody around and they’ll tell you–you don’t have to put yourself out to get an answer. It’s pretty much all, like…hair care tips and sports stats, 24/7 up here.”
“Come on, Steve,” Eddie scoffed, “I don’t believe that shit for even a second.”
Steve only shook his head, smile still firmly in place.
“Not sure what to tell you, dude. It’s true. Besides,” the word came out lower, almost as if Steve was talking to himself, “between the two of us, pretty sure you’re more the man of mystery than I am, dude.”
At that, Eddie let out a startled bark of laughter.
“Me?! You cannot be serious with that one, Harrington, no way in hell. Have you seen me? If anybody’s the open book here, it’s me. I’m practically a screaming headline on the late night news. Every single thought and feeling I’ve ever had automatically comes flying,” Eddie pressed his hand against his lips and made a sound like an explosion, splaying his fingers out, “straight out of my mouth. Always has. Just ask my old man, he used to bitch about it all the time. ‘Quit that blubbering and toughen up, Eddie, or life will steamroll right over you.’”
Steve’s lips pursed, the same knowing but insulted look he always wore when the infamous Munson patriarch came up in conversation.
“Your dad sounds like a real jackass, Eds.”
Eddie could only hum his agreement.
Everybody in Hawkins knew Al Munson, low down no-account that he was. His reputation preceded him–and Eddie, more often than not. But Steve had more of the inside scoop than most, Eddie having opened up to both him and Robin about his home life.
Still, he wondered at the vehemence with which Steve defended him, any time the mention of his absentee patriarch came up. By contrast, Eddie didn’t know jackshit about the Harringtons apart from the fact that they were hotshots around town. Steve never mentioned them, not really, and Eddie had never run into them the times he’d been over to Steve’s place. Which was…pretty weird in and of itself, wasn’t it?
Yet another mysterious piece of the puzzle that was Steve Harrington.
“I don’t know, man,” Steve shrugged, voice gone quiet again, tugging Eddie out of his reverie. “I kinda think your book might be in Hobbit, or whatever it’s called from those books you guys love so much, because I don’t really see you that way at all.”
Reaching out, he suddenly caught a strand of Eddie’s hair between two fingers. Eddie sucked in a sharp breath at the gesture, face going hot.
“Besides, haven’t you ever heard of tall, dark, and mysterious? If the hair fits.”
Steve gave the curl a light tug before dropping it. Eddie immediately snatched it back up, tugging it like a curtain across his mouth, desperate to hide the faint color on his cheeks.
“Guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on this one, dude.”
Steve let out what sounded like an amused huff. “Looks like it.”
When Steve looked down at his watch, Eddie realized, in the time they’d been talking, that he’d smoked his cigarette down to a nub.
“We should probably head back inside,” Steve gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, “before all of Lucas’s toppings somehow end up in Dustin’s hair, and Robin decides to ground them all until they’re twenty-five.”
As he stubbed out the bud with his shoe, Eddie fiddled with his rings, trying to subtly shake off some of the tension that had seemed to build up in the air around their conversation. When he met Steve’s eyes again, he was all cheery smiles, hoping he didn’t look too manic as his cheeks stretched with the force of it.
“Well, now, we couldn’t have that,” Eddie agreed, even as he added, “–Thought she said she wasn’t parenting material, though? Pretty sure fun uncles don’t have to ground people.”
His own uncle was more like a father than anything else, and still he’d never really bothered to try grounding Eddie–his disappointed stare always did more to deter Eddie away from his own stupidity than anything else ever had.
“Sure, she says that, until somebody gets chocolate ice cream on her new favorite button down. Then it’s goddamn,” Steve let out one long, forlorn beep followed by two shorter ones–an unmistakable imitation of Pac-Man’s game over death knell, and proof of just how much time he spent at the arcade with the kids, “over for everybody involved, including me somehow.”
“I mean, you did call us Mom and Dad, man. Guess that makes us responsible whenever the kiddos misbehave.”
Steve sighed, long and loud and clearly just a little exaggerated for Eddie’s benefit, if the way Steve widened his eyes in mock fear was anything to go by.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. Those little shits can stir up all kinds of trouble in ten minutes flat. No telling what the damage is.”
So, with one last jocular pat to Eddie’s back, he began herding him back inside the shop.
And when Eddie’s own traitorous heart gave a twist at such a small, meaningless gesture? All he could do was send a silent curse up to the sky, and do his best to ignore it.
—
That night, Eddie fell through a tangle of twisting, nonsensical dreams.
At first, he was in the stolen RV, relieving a memory. The Upside Down crew–Nancy, Robin, Steve, Dustin–stood all around him, preparing for that fateful last trip to try and stop Vecna. After reciting their orders, his hand clapped down on Dustin’s head in reassurance, a last show of camaraderie before they headed off into battle.
But then, without warning, the ground seemed to shift right beneath his feet.
Coming out of the haze, he found himself staring at a refrigerator, standing in a kitchen he didn’t immediately recognize. On autopilot, with a feeling like his body was being tugged by invisible strings he couldn’t quite control, his hand swung down again, the motion identical as he gave Dustin a fond scuff over his cap. Except…Dustin was shorter, this time, and undeniably younger. And Eddie, well–the Members Only jacket hanging over his shoulders was definitely not his own, though he thought he had spotted one identical to it hanging in the back of Steve’s closet.
He barely had time to register those weird little details before the world was going topsy turvy yet again.
Eddie was on his back, a swirl of bats circling overhead like a storm against the violent red splash of Upside Down sky. As his sides screamed in agony, wooziness clenched down on his mind with a vice grip, not at all helped by the fact that the scene around him kept changing.
One second, he was shirtless, dampness and grime clinging to his chest hair, Nancy Wheeler’s mouth a grim line as she stared down at him with an oar in hand. Then he blinked, and Dustin’s face swam into view above him, fuzzy as Eddie’s own vision blurred around the edges.
Blink. Wheeler and Buckley, fighting off demobats like two warrior women worthy of only the grandest of campaigns.
Blink. Dustin, screaming his name so harshly, his throat had to be raw from it.
Blink. The outline of Eddie himself, shouting up at the sky, demanding they give him all they’d got despite the fucking bone-deep terror he knew he’d been feeling. The out-of-body sensation that slammed into him, existing somehow both inside and outside the moment all at once, was so jarring Eddie’s stomach lurched, like he was going to be sick.
Back and forth, again and again, like the world’s worst, most bizarre merry-go-round…until finally, Dustin solidified, Eddie’s own memory draping over him like a well-worn but ill-fitting shirt. He flinched a little as he felt dampness drip against his cheeks, and a long moment stretched on before Eddie fully realized that it wasn’t rain hitting him in the face, but instead the fat tears currently racing down the bridge of the other boy’s nose.
He knew this moment well, viscerally, a long, hellish stretch that had revisited him night after night the past month–and one he’d do almost anything to forget.
His final goodbyes exchanged, Eddie’s eyes slipped shut of their own accord. It wasn’t peaceful, exactly–some part of Eddie deep down still railed, pissed as hell at what was happening to him–but he was also so fucking tired, after days on the run. Worn out and fed up, and ready to just get some fucking rest.
So, when the blackness swallowed him, he couldn’t help but wonder if this time, it really would be for good.
–And then a faint, familiar voice rang out in the distance.
“Dustin?!” Eddie heard Steve scream, like a tether pulling him back into his own body. “Eddie?! You gotta be fucking kidding me, where the hell are you guys?!”
The heavy thud of footfalls drew closer, and Eddie practically felt the ground shake as another body collapsed beside Dustin.
The world flashed, spun again. Suddenly, Eddie was sliding across the rough terrain of the alternate world on his knees, the sound of Dustin’s soft cries making his heart ache…and his own lifeless body spread out on the ground in front of him.
Large hands fisted in the front of Eddie’s vest, tugging at him urgently.
“Munson! Munson!” Steve’s words spilled from Eddie’s mouth as his grip on the fabric tightened, giving him a hard shake. “Eddie, come on! I told you not to be a hero. Don’t even think about it, dude–you’re not dying on us now!”
Eddie remembered this, too. Steve’s steely, urgent tone, brooking no arguments, like he could actually will Eddie back to life if he wanted to. Except this time–this time Eddie actually felt the terror behind the words, the urgency making Steve’s voice tremble in his throat. Experienced, in real time, the relief hitting like a truck, flooding through his veins, when his own brown eyes slipped open.
“Did-Didn’t realize you were my commanding officer, Harrington,” the Eddie on the ground murmured–more like croaked, the sentence breaking unpleasantly in the middle.
“You’re damn right I am,” Steve answered, jaw clenching, and Eddie could feel his muscle twitching with it, “if that’s what it takes to get you to stick around, man, consider me a five star general.”
He’s alive, he’s alive, the Steve in his head sang, again and again, thank fuck, he’s alive.
Because, there and then, he…was Steve. The twin emotions of Steve’s own swelling hope that Eddie might make it coupled with Eddie’s own real shock from what Steve was feeling at the time warred inside him, threatening to overwhelm him.
Then, like the force of that emotion had thrown him, Eddie landed hard on his back again. Confusion hit him as he glanced down and realized that he was shirtless–Steve was entirely shirtless. Because this had been his memory, before, and now Eddie was back in it.
The revelation had barely settled before agony quickly drowned out anything else, the demo-bats starting to gnaw at his bare sides. One of their tails wrapped tightly around Eddie’s throat, and his hands shot up, uselessly trying to pry it off. He could feel that darkness creeping in again, the familiar sensation of being knocked unconscious rising up to meet him.
Fourth time’s a charm, I guess, the voice inside Eddie’s head was wry, and it still definitely wasn’t his own. You made a good run of it, Harrington, but looks like your luck finally ran out this time.
The resignation of it, the acceptance, was enough to shake Eddie to the bone.
No-no-no, no! Some desperate, deeply buried part of him screamed out. You–You’re the goddamn hero, Stevie. You don’t get to give up.
When the oar slammed down near his head this time, Wheeler calling out a quick Hey, there with Robin and Eddie himself at her sides…Eddie had never been so happy to see someone in his entire fucking life, freaky out-of-body experience be damned.
The vision, memory, whatever it was…it released Eddie, finally.
And then Steve was there, standing before him, clad in nothing but sleep shorts and his gray Hawkins Phys Ed shirt, his hair mussed. Darkness surrounded them on all sides, too fuzzy and dim for Eddie to make anything out apart from the figure facing him.
Steve’s lips moved, the shape of them making out what Eddie thought was his name. Dread dripped down his spine, however, as he realized that no sound–not so much as a peep–followed.
“Stevie?” he answered, the panicked shrillness evident in his own voice even as he couldn’t hear Steve’s own. “I can’t–shit, man, I can’t hear you.”
Steve’s face drew down into a frown, forehead wrinkled, concern and frustration warring on his face. He tried to speak again, but still, Eddie couldn’t hear a thing. Hand flying upwards, Steve gestured to his own ear, finger tapping it once.
Eddie shook his head. “Sorry, dude, I–I’ve got nothing.”
On instinct, he reached out a placating hand. Glancing down to see it extended towards him, Steve did the same. Eddie felt his chest clench a little, finding comfort in the thought that even in a moment like this, when they couldn’t hear what the other was saying, they still managed to broach some common ground.
Their fingertips brushed. A spark ran through Eddie at the touch, seeming almost to infect their surroundings as red lighting suddenly flashed all around them.
Between one blink to the next, Steve disappeared.
Before he had a chance to cry out, Eddie realized, horror steadily climbed up his throat, that the figure now staring back at him was…himself?
And not a memory version this time, either. No, this was a living, breathing double.
His doppelganger’s brow furrowed, head tilting to one side, a bit like a confused puppy.
It was like the sound had been turned on all at once, because when the other Eddie spoke, he could finally hear him.
“Eddie?” his mirror image asked, looking past Eddie, around him, anywhere but directly at him.
If he had ever made it to that shrink Owens recommended, he bet they would have had a field day unpacking whatever this was.
Hands Eddie hadn’t even realized had still been clasped parted, slipping away from each other.
And then, Eddie was sucked back into darkness, feeling adrift as any chance at seeing Steve, his doppelganger, anything and anyone vanished into the distance. He was lost, totally and utterly, and he felt it, every bit of it, the weight crushing in on him as the last dregs of the dream faded away.
—
The next morning, Eddie woke up in Steve Harrington’s bed.
@steddiebbang 2026 project announcement - team #004
Artist: @wolvesbane-butstranger
Beta: @sidekick-hero
🌊🌊🌊
With his musician dreams on the rocks, a penniless Eddie finds himself taking on work in the most unlikely of places - on board a superyacht.
He expects the captain to be a stuck up, arrogant asshole. Steve Harrington turns out to be many things - haunted, withdrawn, but perhaps the kindest man Eddie has ever met.
What he doesn't expect is for that captain to change the course of his entire life.
🌊🌊🌊
Snippet:
He's shirtless. Dozing in the morning light, eyes closed. Skin gold and radiant in the sun, spattered with moles. His waist lean, his shoulders broad, his chest covered in a layer of hair.
Against the railing, Eddie's hand squeezes. Hard.
There's only one person on board that he hasn't met yet.
Which means this man, the most attractive man Eddie has ever seen, the man that's got him frozen and sweating and listening to his own heartbeat thud in his ears, is his captain.
Steve.
Dumbly, he takes a few steps towards him.
And promptly kicks over the tray of dishes he'd deposited by his feet.
Glass clunks and something shatters, and Eddie curses, dropping to his knees and trying to brush it up. What a fucking great first impression, he curses in his head. That glass was probably worth more than a month's salary, you fucking idiot.
There's footsteps. Eddie feels a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. Great, he's probably coming over here to yell, to tell me I'm fired on day fucking two of this job, to tell me I'm a useless -
"Hey, careful, don't cut yourself on that."
Oh, his voice is soft.
Eddie pauses in his efforts to sweep up the glass in his hands. Swallows thickly, then looks up.
Fuck.
Close up, Steve is even hotter than Eddie had first thought.
Honey-brown eyes, thick tousled hair, jaw square and strong and - and he's squatting down in front of him, gently batting Eddie's hands away from the glass with his much larger ones. "This shit is sharp, we should get some gloves or something."
"Sorry," Eddie splutters. "I kicked it, sort of…forgot I put it there, I was looking at - at the view, at…" He flaps a hand towards the sea. "You can take it out of my wages to replace it, or whatever -"
Steve shakes his head. "No, that's ok. Don't worry, it was just an accident. You're Eddie, right? I'm sorry, I should've come and found you and introduced myself, I figured I'd let you settle in a little first. I'm Steve. Steve Harrington."
A little shakily, Eddie takes the hand offered to him.
It's warm, grip firm but gentle.
"Um….hi," Eddie croaks, kicks himself internally, remembers to snap his mouth closed again.
"Hi," Steve says with a soft chuckle.
Unbidden, Eddie's eyes flick to his.
Steve's eyes are kind, but despite the small smile tugging on his lips, Eddie can see the sadness there.
The captain lets go of his hand and pushes himself to his feet again. "There, think that's most of it. I'll get Lucas to bring the broom up here and make sure there's nothing left. I'll see you around, Eddie." With that, he turns back to the net at the bow, walking away from Eddie.
Eddie's only a man, and apparently a very weak one when it comes to Steve. He can't help but stare at the captain's ass as he walks away - it's not his fault it's hugged so well by his little blue shorts.
Steve's gait is slightly uneven, he notices. A little hitch in his step, like his right leg doesn't quite want to cooperate.
Finally, he drags his attention away. Grabs the rest of the dishes and makes a swift, ungraceful exit from the deck back into the stairwell.
I know I'm disappearing and reappearing left and right, but I still see all of your doings, and I want to take a quick second to thank you for supporting me! It means the whole fucking world, and not acknowledging you guys continously showering me with your love just feels so wrong. So I'm changing that and thanking you once again for showing up, because as much as I love creating for myself, I do find joy in seeing you coming together, expressing your opinions, because after all, sometimes a nudge is all I need to find that spark in my chest again.
I promise to be back with something new pretty soon, whether it be some silly fucking around or an actual piece of art. Can't hush this burning passion, baby!!
Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles & @corrodedcoffinfest.
gonna take that as a yes
Holiday Drabbles Prompt: Hot | CCF Bingo Card: 1970s | Prompt: Black Sabbath | Song: Hot Line | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Sexual Acts, Mild Come Play, Light Praise Kink | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Established (Loosely-Defined) Relationship, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Premature Ejaculation, Freak 4 Freak, Bitchy Steve, But Eddie Loves It
Eddie isn't sure if he's hearing the river flowing, or if it's just the blood rushing between his ears. But there's this steady hum, and he feels alive with it.
Steve had an idea, and when Steve has an idea, Eddie's all in. Always. Never been disappointed once.
And tonight's no different.
Eddie's leaning against the side of Steve's car, and Steve pins him in place with one hand splayed against his stomach. Eddie's tense, a livewire, and Steve's about to suck the few brain cells Eddie's ever had right out through his dick.
Steve Harrington sucks dick.
Steve Harrington sucks dick like he thinks he might win Olympic gold doing it.
And Eddie has no complaints, thank you very much.
This is an arrangement Eddie feels like he's coming out ahead on. He gets to fuck Steve Harrington.
Dreams come true, honestly.
He also gets to tamp down all the feelings he has for Steve, and that's less fun, but manageable. He can be cool. So cool.
"That's it, sweetheart," Eddie whispers, and Steve moans around his cock. Steve likes being called sweetheart, and Steve likes praise. Eddie's happy to give him both. He'd give him anything he wanted, honestly. All he needs to do is say the word.
Steve's mouth is hot and slick against his cock, using so much pressure Eddie's sure he's gonna come before they even get started.
"You could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch," Eddie blurts out, and Steve laughs, pulling off his cock.
"Well, that's an image," Steve says, bitchily. But the fact that his hand is still stroking Eddie's dick says a lot more than his words. Eddie knows Steve by now. And he's not mad. He's not even annoyed.
He's about to be, though.
Because Eddie is close. Too close. He can't help it if he has a hair-trigger around Steve. He's Steve Harrington. That's understandable. Unfortunately, Steve's mouth isn't on him right now, but he's gonna come anyway.
Eddie covers Steve's hand with his own and aims his cock towards Steve, coming in thick ropes all in Steve's chest hair.
"Ugh," Steve whines. "Gross."
"What are you complaining about? You're the one that pulled off."
"Yeah, because you made me!"
Eddie chuckles, tangling his hand in Steve's hair, tugging.
"It was hot though," Eddie states.
Steve scoffs.
"Oh, it wasn't?" Eddie asks, knowing damn good and well it was.
Steve pulls away, leaning back onto his haunches. He swipes his fingers through the mess Eddie made, then jams his hand down the front of his tight, tight jeans.
Eddie has no clue how he managed that. Honestly. But Eddie makes a sound of displeasure.
"What?" Steve asks, knowing exactly what as he works his cock with his hand, now wet with Eddie's come.
"You could at least let me see," Eddie wheedles, trying to change Steve's mind.
"Yeah, well, you could have come down my throat like a good boyfriend. Instead, you chose this. Live with it."
Eddie's brain misfires. The hamster tripped and fell on the wheel, and now he's tumbling along, out of control.
Well, that's what it feels like anyway.
He reaches forward and pulls Steve's hair again, but Steve uses his free hand to bat Eddie away from his head.
"Stop, I'm mad at you."
Eddie whines, and Steve looks at him like he's insane. Maybe he is.
Feral.
Low impulse control.
He shoves Steve backwards, and with his hand jammed down his jeans the way it is, Steve can't do a damn thing about it.
Eddie gets down, crawling towards him, pressing his mouth to the bulge in Steve's jeans. Mostly hand, he suspects. Steve's got big hands to match his big dick. Still, Eddie licks at him through the rough denim.
"You're a fucking freak," Steve says.
Eddie grips Steve's hips, pressing him into the grass. Yeah, he is.
A moan slides from his throat, and Steve keeps moving his hand in his jeans as much as he can, which honestly, isn't a lot. But Eddie keeps mouthing at him, desperate for it. For him.
Steve called him his boyfriend, and Eddie was under the impression Steve wanted casual. No strings attached. Eddie wants strings, Pinocchio. All the strings he can get. He wants to be so tangled in those puppet strings of Steve's that he'll never be free again.
"What the fuck has gotten into you?" Steve asks, but his free hand cradles the back of Eddie's head, fingers gentle in his hair.
Eddie pulls back. "You."
Steve laughs, beckoning Eddie closer. Eddie follows orders. He can follow orders so good.
He scoots up Steve's body, pressing his mouth to Steve's. Steve's hand still trapped between them.
Eddie wiggles, shifting his weight until he can get his hand on Steve's fly, working the button, then the zipper. He wants to get his hand on Steve. Needs to.
"Seriously? What's the matter with you?"
"Tonight, or in general?" Eddie asks, fingers finally wrapping around the warm, silky skin of Steve's dick, forcibly shoving Steve's hand aside.
Steve laughs, fingers carding through Eddie's tangled hair as best they can.
Eddie uses his free hand, swipes his fingers through the remaining mess on Steve's chest, and pushes them into Steve's mouth. Giving him what he wanted. Steve sucks, and Eddie finds his eyes, fist still pumping Steve's dick, "You really my boyfriend?"
Steve comes all over his underwear, jeans, and Eddie's fist.
Eddie's gonna take that as a yes.
"Also hot," Eddie declares, dragging his fingers from Steve's mouth, scraping bottom teeth.
"C'mere," Steve whispers, softer now. Eddie obliges.
Steve's hand cups the side of Eddie's neck, pulling him into a gentle kiss.
When they separate, Eddie presses his cheek against Steve's, and Steve's crushing him in a hug, arms locked around his back.
"Aren't we boyfriends?" Steve asks, voice far too small.
Eddie's pretty sure he's been dumb about what they are to each other for a while.
"Of course we are, sweetheart."
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and @steddieholidaydrabbles to follow along with the fun! 🦇
take me to the river, baby, drink my wine,
when i'm going down won't you throw me a line?
- Hot Line, Black Sabbath
Made a thousand people love me, now I'm all alone.
Eddie's hair is wet from the shower. He has glasses on because it's too late for his eyes.
The hotel room is sterile; everything is white and placid, innocuous in that way that's supposed to cause ease. It makes Eddie's throat close over. Automatically, he hunts down the imperfections. An old trick. Not his. But still. The base of the lamp is rusty. The abstract print of a water scene has been torn and badly repaired. Under the foot of the couch, a square of the carpet is a different colour. He takes a deep breath. He's calmer.
This is always what happens after a really good show. It's probably just adrenaline, but it sucks. He hates this part of performing. Of being on tour. He'd normally just call Steve, who'd always pick up, no matter how late it was. Natter until they both fell asleep.
But he can't call Steve, because he and Steve are not he and Steve. Not anymore. And he's got to figure out how to handle shit alone. So he puts on the soft pajamas he always buys in sets of threes and attempts to go to sleep.
His phone ringing jolts him from a weird dream about lobsters and he answers it blearily.
"Eddie? Eds, I'm downstairs and security won't let me up."
It takes him a minute to process the words. He pulls the phone away from his ear. "Steve?" he mutters.
"Can I come up?"
"Yeah."
'Cause I'm stupid and I'm damaged, and you're a disaster
When you walk into the room, oh, none of it matters
Steve doesn't look like he's been driving for ten hours. His hair is perfectly gelled, his shirt uncreased. His jeans are tight and must have gotten uncomfortable somewhere around Des Moines, but it's definitely him. Standing in Eddie's hotel room, arms folded, refusing to meet his eye.
"You're in my room," Eddie says pointlessly. "You broke up with me, and you're standing in my room. In Omaha."
"Yes."
"Steve."
"Listen, just. Let me talk, okay? Just this once?"
Eddie scoffs. Rich, all things considered. He gestures, and he knows he's mean in his posture, in the sound he makes, because Steve flinches.
"I want to say I'm sorry, but that's probably the wrong thing to say because I meant it all. In that moment, I meant it. You're selfish, and you're too loud, and sometimes you forget that the world doesn't revolve around you, and you make me so fucking angry that I could spit."
"Glad you spent ten hours' worth of gas to remind me you hate me."
"That's exactly the fucking problem, Munson," Steve sighs. "If I hated you, I wouldn't have gotten in the car this morning because a robin landed on my windowsill and I couldn't text you the photo."
"You're just used to being able to—that doesn't mean anything, Steve! I'm not leaving the band. So I'm still going to leave every other month. I'm still going to be the loud, annoying boy you fell for in high school. We don't owe each other anything."
Steve steps forward. His face is desperate; desperate to touch, to be understood, to undo the previous three months. And Eddie knows that's what his face was saying because he knew Steve's face better than his own. Which was entirely the problem.
"You can't," Eddie says. "I can't."
"Eddie, I am sorry. I-I want to go back.”
Steve’s voice cracks on the last word. Tiny thing. Barely there. But Eddie hears it anyway.
Go back.
Like they could rewind the tape and smooth out all the stretched places.
Eddie laughs once, sharp and miserable. “You said you were relieved when I left.”
Steve swallows. “I was.”
That hurts worse than yelling would have.
The room hums with the air conditioner. Somewhere down the hall, ice crashes into a bucket. Eddie can feel his pulse behind his eyes, hot and ugly.
Steve drags a hand through his perfect hair, finally ruining it. “It was quiet,” he says. “You were gone and it was quiet and I could think for the first time in months, and I thought maybe that meant something was wrong with us.”
Eddie stares at the carpet. The mismatched square under the couch.
“And then,” Steve continues carefully, “it stayed quiet.”
Eddie presses his lips together.
“And I started talking out loud because I kept thinking of things to tell you.” Steve gives this awful little laugh. “Like a fucking psycho. A dog stole somebody’s sandwich outside Family Video, and I turned around to make sure you saw it. I bought the wrong cereal because I couldn’t remember which one you hate. Robin asked me if I wanted to go to a movie, and I almost said I had to check with you first.”
“Steve—”
“And every night I kept reaching across the bed.” His voice drops lower. “Every night.”
Eddie closes his eyes.
I'm not better than this, show me what I'm worth.
Because this is the problem. Steve always waits too long to say the real thing, and Eddie always waits around long enough to hear it.
“You said I make you angry,” Eddie says quietly.
“You do.”
“Great.”
“You make me crazy, Eddie.” Steve steps closer again, slower this time, like approaching something wounded. “You leave cabinets open. You forget appointments. You derail every serious conversation with a joke because you hate feeling cornered. You collect people like strays and then act surprised when they need things from you.”
Eddie’s throat tightens.
“And you walk into a room,” Steve says, looking at him now, really looking at him, “and suddenly I can breathe properly again.”
Eddie turns away fast, rubbing at his face. “Don’t.”
“I drove ten hours.”
“That was stupid.”
“I know.”
“You can’t just show up because you miss me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I missed you too!” Eddie laughs helplessly and covers his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You think this has been easy for me? Every city is another thing you’d like. Every diner has pie you’d claim was life-changing. I keep reaching for my phone before I remember you don’t belong to me anymore.”
Steve’s expression folds in on itself.
“I didn’t stop loving you, but I think me loving you is bad for you,” Eddie says.
That one hits Steve clean across the face. His mouth opens. Closes. And Eddie hates himself immediately because there it is. The thing underneath all of it. Steve asking for steadiness, for responsibility, for someone who stayed. Eddie asking for room to still be himself inside the relationship. Both of them clawing at each other hard enough to bleed.
Steve sinks down onto the edge of the bed like his knees gave out.
“I didn’t know you felt like that,” he says softly.
“You never asked.”
“I tried.”
“You managed me.”
Steve flinches again. Finally, he says, “I don’t know how to do this right.”
Eddie huffs a tired laugh. “No kidding.”
“I just know I got halfway to Iowa before I realized I was rehearsing stories for you again.” Steve looks up at him, eyes red-rimmed now. “And I thought maybe if I still wanted to tell you everything, there had to be something worth saving.”
Eddie leans back against the wall because suddenly standing feels difficult.
He looks at Steve. He is exhausted beneath the neatness, held together by pure stubbornness. The man who drove ten hours because of a robin on a windowsill.
Made a thousand people love me, now I'm all alone.
Except not entirely.
Not yet.
“You can stay tonight,” Eddie says at last.
Hope flashes across Steve’s face so fast it almost hurts to see.
Eddie points immediately. “That is not forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“That’s not getting back together.”
Steve nods once. “Okay.”
“And if you steal the blankets, I’m throwing you out into the night.”
A tiny smile tugs at Steve’s mouth. Fragile. Familiar.
“I’d like to see you try, dumbass.”
“See?” Eddie mutters, curling into the bed with a small smile and a bubble of hope. “Already ruining my life again.”
Rating: E | Word Count: 7350 | Tags: Motel, a smidgen of hate sex (but not really, they're just idiots in love), verse (in theory), Eddie is a little shit, Steve doesn't know if he wants to strangle Eddie or make out with him
@steddiesmuttyseptember: Week 1: Motel (and slightly inspired by the hate sex and verse prompt)
Eddie is lying on the bed with his shoes on, and Steve wants to scream.
“I don’t know why you care,” Eddie says, flicking the remote in the air. He’s watching some kind of episodic true crime investigation show on the shitty TV, munching on chips. “It’s not like we have to share the bed.”
“It’s unhygienic,” Steve grumbles, taking off his watch and placing it on the bedside table. “You’re going to sleep in all the germs you’ve been stepping in all day. Dog poop, gums, urine, whatever other disgusting stuff people drop to the ground.”
“Uh-huh,” Eddie hums unimpressed. He’s been doing this a lot. That condescending way of replying to Steve’s very simple requests that makes his teeth ache with the urge to dig them into Eddie's skin just to have some kind of outlet for his anger. Like when Eddie wiped his greasy fingers on Steve’s upholstery after eating fries, or lit a cigarette inside the car without even checking if Steve was okay with it.
Steve knew when Dustin asked him to take Eddie along with him so they could visit him on campus for the long weekend, he should’ve insisted on staying in separate rooms for the one night they had to sleep in a motel. But Eddie had been all “Let’s save those bucks,” yadda yadda, and now Steve doesn't have a respite from the most annoying person on the planet for even one freaking night.
He doesn't want to let it bother him, but just looking at Eddie’s boots on the white sheets sets his blood on fire. It’s wrong, so wrong. Pity, he loves Dustin, or he might’ve abandoned Eddie on the side of the road about three hundred miles ago (not really, because those puppy eyes would be too hard to look at in the rear view mirror, but still).
Steve tries a different tactic and takes a deep breath.
“Can’t you just take them off for my sake?” He puts on his own best puppy eyes. “Please?”
Eddie hums as if thinking about it, tapping his chin, then crunches on another chip. Salt and vinegar. The disgusting kind.
“No.”
“Now listen here, you brat,” Steve spits, hands on his hip. He's not sure what he's trying to win here, but the shoes must come off, or he's going to lose his mind. “All day you’ve been driving me insane with your non-stop commentary on my music, the way I drive, how my freaking hair looks. And I’ve let you, haven’t I? Haven’t complained one bit. So it shouldn’t be too much to ask for you to not put your dirty shoes on the clean bed!”
Eddie grins that mischievous little grin of his, and Steve’s stomach swoops at the sight. In anger. Of course.
“Again,” Eddie says and points between his bed and Steve’s, “we have two beds. Not your problem.”
“Take off your shoes or I'll do it for you,” Steve snaps because if they don’t come off in the next minute, his head will explode.
Eddie laughs. “Oh, really? Big bad Stevie will come and tug off my shoes for me?”
It’s the last drop in the bucket. Steve stomps forward, and that’s the first time Eddie loses some of his cool. His big eyes grow wide, comically round on his face. The moment Steve grabs for his ankle, Eddie starts to resist, pulling his foot out of Steve’s grasp. But Steve only holds on tighter, fingers biting into the leather of the boot, and growls, “Stop.”
Eddie stops resisting, but he’s laughing nervously now, writhing on the sheets, while Steve tugs his foot higher, searching for a zipper on his boot.
“Wait,” Eddie chokes, then laughs again. “You can’t—”
“Watch me,” Steve snaps back, all bitchy because he’s about had it with Eddie’s attitude, and he deserves a stern talking to. Then, finding no zipper on his boot, he starts unlacing it with one hand, the fingers of his other hand still clamped tight around the ankle.
“Jesus, Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters and starts struggling again until Steve has no other option but to climb onto the bed and sit sideways to get a better grip. He tugs Eddie’s leg under his armpit to hold on tight before attacking those laces again.
“You’re insane, Harrington!”
“And you’re a fucking brat!” Steve spits back. “Could’ve done this yourself and saved both of us the trouble.”
Steve finally gets the laces loose enough to bully off the first shoe, throws it to the ground like the offending piece of footwear it is. Something about that gets Eddie all panicked. He pulls the leg from Steve’s grasp, scrambles up higher on the headboard, and holds out both hands in defense. He’s laughing again, but it’s all high and frantic, like Steve is about to attack him with tickles.
Which… maybe he should. Tickle Eddie until he can’t breathe anymore. Until all that brattiness is tickled out of him.
“Next shoe.” Steve crawls forward on his knees and grabs Eddie's leg, which he has pulled up against his front body.
“Steve, you maniac,” Eddie cackles, head falling back into his neck, like all of this is too much for him, but in a way that is highly amusing and highly panic-inducing at the same time.
Steve tugs hard enough on his ankle that Eddie slides away from the headboard and falls back onto his pillow with a surprised grunt.
The laces of the second boot are even more stubborn, tied with a double-knot that Steve struggles to loosen with his short nails. It doesn’t help that Eddie starts struggling for real this time, keeps writhing and pulling his leg away, starts thumping a fist against Steve’s back, all while laughing so much that he sounds like he’s seconds away from an asthma attack. When he has the time again, Steve really wants to lecture him about smoking.
“Hold still!” Steve snaps, frustrated. Eddie does the opposite and starts kicking his leg. Years of wrestling with his friends have given Steve some ideas on how to pin somebody down, so his body acts almost on instinct when he swings his leg over both of Eddie’s, then sinks down on him, clamping Eddie’s legs together with both of his.
“Holy–” Eddie gasps, kicks his captured legs even harder. “Holy shit, Steve, wait–”
Steve ignores Eddie’s pitiful attempts at tugging on the back of Steve’s shirt and pins Eddie’s shin down into the sheets with one hand, settling harder against Eddie’s upper thighs and lap. Something about that calms Eddie. Although 'calm' may not be the right word.
Stills him.
Steve doesn’t care what has gotten Eddie to finally stop resisting, he’s too busy trying to figure out how to get that freaking knot open.
“Do you ever take off your shoes? Who would wear something that takes hours to untie?”
There’s no answer from behind him, so Steve settles in closer to focus on the upside-down boot, sinks his body down against Eddie’s, knobbly knees poking into Steve’s chest. Only there’s—
“Steve,” Eddie gasps, and then they’re both frozen. Because, because, because…
Eddie is hard.
And Steve can feel him because he’s fucking pressed the whole entirety of his ass against where Eddie’s filling out and twitching—
That’s it, that’s all the thoughts he has left before his brain shortcuts.
“Oh, god, oh fuck, I’m sorry,” Eddie groans, but even though he sounds mortified, his hands are pulling on the back of Steve’s shirt like he wants to drag him closer.
“It’s–” Fine, Steve doesn’t manage to say. He’s not sure if it is fine. He should probably get up. Make some kind of awkward joke about the situation, or even better, pretend this never happened.
But he’s also a man on a mission, and the shoe is still on Eddie’s foot.
So, instead of doing any of the sensible things, he attacks the knot with renewed vigor, manages to get it open eventually, and continues on with loosening the laces.
Eddie is making a sound behind him that Steve interprets as confusion and acute arousal. A sound that makes Steve nearly moan in return.
There’s something about this, some part of him that he’s never wanted to analyze too closely before. Not the part about him not minding feeling a hard dick pressed against his butt, he’s got that figured out years ago, but the part about it being Eddie Munson’s hard dick.
Because, for all his annoying habits and bratty behavior, Eddie is also really fucking hot. In that anarchic fuck-conformity kind of way that Steve has never thought he would be into, but apparently, based on his body’s reaction to this whole situation here, and the blood that is flowing fast and hard into his own dick, he very much is.
If he’s completely honest with himself, and there’s not really any reason not to be, this is not the first time he's thought that Eddie is attractive. For a metalhead. He’s got these huge fuck-me eyes and dimples when he smiles, after all. If only he weren’t such a little shithead all the time.
And so, instead of going by his first instinct to scurry away and pretend this never happened, he settles in and pushes his hips down. Eddie’s hands clamp down on him, ringed fingers pressed next to his hipbones through his jeans so hard Steve thinks they might leave an imprint.
“Steve,” he growls, sounds close to losing it. “What. The. Fuck.”
Steve pulls off Eddie’s boot instead of providing an answer and throws it over the edge of the bed with the first one. The thump is final and deafening.
Not having any excuse for the position he’s in any longer, Steve hesitates. Wonders if he took this too far, if Eddie’s not just freaking out because Steve made him hard, but because he never wanted to get hard under these circumstances—under Steve.
Eddie’s hands disappear from Steve’s hips, and Steve gets the compulsive urge to look at Eddie. He lifts himself up enough to be able to turn around, hovers over Eddie’s lap this time, knees digging deep into the mattress beside Eddie’s hips.
But Eddie isn’t looking at him. Eddie is hiding his face below both of his arms, only the flushed lower half of his face on display.
“Eddie?”
Eddie shakes his head, keeps his arms where they are.
“You want—” Steve considers how to ask his many questions, his stomach churning nervously at the idea that Eddie might reject him. “Should I get off?”
That finally gets Eddie to lift his arms long enough that Steve can catch a glimpse of the rest of his face. Those wide, frightened eyes, the cute blush in his cheeks. Then he’s hiding again. As if he just had to convince himself that it’s really Steve on top of him, really Steve asking that question. He shakes his head again, and Steve lowers himself onto his lap.
“Steve,” Eddie whines, actually full-on whines. “Is this punishment? Because if it is, you should know—”
“It’s whatever you want this to be,” Steve interrupts him. “What do you want this to be?”
Eddie swallows heavily, and Steve tracks the movement with his eyes, still wanting to dig his teeth into Eddie, but for different reasons now.
“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”
“You’re dreaming of me often?”
“Fuck, you’ve got no idea, Steve.”
Steve’s chest sparkles.
But then Eddie continues, “I know you hate me—”
“I don’t hate you,” Steve cuts in. “You’re a bratty little shit, but I guess that’s part of your charm.”
“Only because it’s so easy to rile you up,” Eddie groans. “You’ve got no idea how cute you look with your hands on your hips and that exasperated look—” Eddie cuts himself off and takes a startled breath. “Oh, fuck, never mind. Ignore me. I’m clearly losing my mind.”
But for Steve, this is as good as any confession he’s going to get out of Eddie.
“Hey,” he says, all stern and fake-annoyed. “You shouldn’t sleep in your jewelry. Take your rings off.”
Eddie hesitates, and Steve holds himself very still. If Eddie wants to end this here, then Steve will leave him be. Never speak of this again. They can pretend to be reluctant friends for the rest of the weekend, going back to being nothing but casual acquaintances in Hawkins. Steve only hopes that Eddie will continue to pick up a new movie from Family Video, just as he has before. Bickering with him is kind of the whole highlight of Steve’s week.
Yeah, maybe he should get that in writing. I, Eddie Munson, will visit Family Video every Thursday night for as long as I shall live.
Not that Steve’s planning to work there for the rest of his life. He’s actually been taking night classes for a while, working on changing his career to something in a more social sector eventually. But it’s about the principle of things. About wanting Eddie to be part of his life, no matter how infuriating he is. For the lack of a better thought-out metaphor (because Steve’s never been good at poetry and shit), Eddie’s like the hot sauce on the otherwise incredibly bland meal that has become his life ever since everybody’s moved out of Hawkins.
So, Steve can’t fuck this up. He needs Eddie to want this as much as him.
“Eddie?”
Finally, after what feels like a freaking eternity, Eddie offers one of his hands to Steve.
“You want me to do it for you?” Steve asks, catches his hand in his.
Eddie nods, bites down on his lower lip. Steve sinks down on Eddie’s lap until he can feel Eddie press against him again, even through both layers of jeans. The movement also seems to punch all the air out of Eddie’s lungs, his eyes growing even bigger before he hides them under his other arm again. Like he still can’t believe this is happening. Needs to hide how much he wants this to happen.
Steve twists the smallest, least offending ring around Eddie’s ring finger, a simple silver band. It comes off easily enough, but Steve still takes his time, thinks there’s something about it, a reverse of something he would want to do to Eddie years from now on, then his brain whites out like a TV during a thunderstorm.
Only static.
“Eddie,” Steve whispers, doesn’t know what he wants to say, only knows that the pressure behind his ribcage is demanding he does say something while he tugs down the second ring from the middle finger. Eddie moves his arm enough that one eye peeks out from beneath it, so many questions written in that one cautious glance.
“Is that really it? You annoy me because you like how I look when I get pissed off?”
Steve curls his fist around the recently freed rings and tugs on Eddie’s arm with his other hand, pulling it down until he can slide off one of the more obscene rings. The one with the skulls first. Eddie switches arms and hides again, chews on his lower lip.
“You’re not gonna give me an answer, Munson?” Steve asks, tugs a little rougher on the next ring when it gets stuck around the knuckle.
Eddie sighs, presses his arm tighter against his eyes. “I’m not always good at…” He hums. “Engaging. I don’t mean to say half the shit I say when I see you. It’s just like I said, easier to rile you up than to have a normal conversation.”
“And… you want to have normal conversations with me?”
“Well, maybe not normal conversations.”
“So abnormal conversations?”
“No, fuck, just conversations, okay? I want to talk to you.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Well, I’m trying, aren’t I? Nobody watches the same stupid movies as much as I do, right? You must see that in your little computer, see how many times I’ve rented out The Thing in the last year alone because I already watched everything else you’ve got in the horror section.”
Steve’s entire body starts humming at that. But it’s not enough; he needs more concrete proof.
“So, you rent out The Thing because you want to talk to me. And you want to talk to me because…”
“Because.”
“Because?”
Eddie flaps his arm to the bed hard enough that the mattress bounces. “Because I’m really into you, Steve, and apparently that makes me incapable of talking to you without putting my foot in my mouth. So, I try again and again, hoping for a better outcome, alright?”
Steve’s just about to pull off the last ring when the confession hits him square on the head, and his brain loses all ability to think again. He sits there with the weight of all of Eddie’s silver rings in his palms, the weight of his words on his chest. Gapes. Until Eddie cringes away and hides his face beneath his arms again.
“Dear universe,” he mutters, “if you could just drop a meteor on me right the fuck now…”
“That would kill me, too,” Steve says stupidly.
Eddie sets his jaw in return, turns even redder in the face under the flickering light of the TV and the shallow glimmer of the lamp from Steve’s bedside table.
“And then I would have to hunt you down in the afterlife. Demand you just have one normal conversation with me without trying to piss me off, even if it takes us all of eternity to get there.”
“Steve.”
Steve wants to say ‘Eddie’ and bitch back at him for being such an idiot, but he can sense the distress in Eddie, and it’s not the cute kind.
So, Steve does the one thing he can do better than talking. Because he’s also not the best at conversations, but there’s one language that he speaks almost fluently. And so he leans forward, one hand digging deep into the pillow below Eddie’s head, the other carefully releasing the collection of warm metal from his hand until they spill onto the bedside table.
He can feel Eddie’s warm and misty breath against the little triangle between his collarbones as he makes sure the rings don’t roll off the table, and feels him twitch at the sound of metal on wood. When Steve is satisfied that all of Eddie’s rings are safe, he leans back, brackets Eddie’s head with both of his palms.
Despite all the anxious energy he’s emitting and the tension in his body, Eddie’s also still hard against Steve. Which Steve decides to take as a compliment. He doesn’t ask Eddie to look at him, doesn’t pry the arms away from his forehead. Instead, he turns his head enough that he can get closer to Eddie’s mouth, close enough that their lips brush. Feels Eddie take a shaky breath.
Steve’s forehead is uncomfortably squashed against Eddie’s forearm, but it gets the message across when Steve pushes in that last inch and lingers there. Perhaps the most awkward kiss of his life. Perhaps the best. Eddie’s shaking below him, shaking, like he’s a loose threat unraveling on a roughly knit sweater (and ha! Steve can do metaphors after all if he gets inspired).
And then Eddie kisses back. Hesitantly at first, and honestly, there’s not much room to do anything else in this position, but there’s finally some pressure against Steve’s lips, and the simple act of reciprocation is more than just a flutter in his chest. It’s a big fucking bang.
It makes him greedy. Greedier than the situation might warrant, and he flicks his tongue out, just once, just to taste Eddie’s lips, before getting annoyed by the arm in his way and shoving against it. He wants to deepen the kiss, wants to see Eddie’s expression afterwards, doesn’t want to play this weird version of peek-a-boo any longer.
So, he drags the arm up and away, squishes it between the crown of Eddie’s head and the headboard before weaving his fingers through Eddie’s. Eddie’s hand is cold, and the sensation of those long, ringless fingers against his own is enough distraction that Steve needs to dislodge their kiss.
Eddie has lifted his other arm away on his own volition, hand hovering next to Steve’s face like he wants to pull him in again, and Steve can finally look at him, see the surprise in his eyes, the yearning.
And, God, Steve’s never been able to resist a good pining about his person. Perhaps that makes him arrogant or narcistic (or whatever that word is that Robin uses when Steve’s taking too much time fixing his hair in the mirror), but yes, he wants to be wanted. So, freaking what? Sue him.
It helps, of course, that being wanted by one Eddie Munson seems as implausible as it is flattering. Who would’ve thought that he could turn a metalhead’s head? That anti-establishment Munson is into jocks and polo shirts, after all? The thought almost makes Steve snicker.
He doesn’t laugh because Eddie still looks fucking spooked underneath all that want, looks seconds away from either punching Steve in the face or bolting. Steve squeezes his fingers tighter around Eddie’s, touches nose against nose, hoping it can convey what he doesn’t know how to put into words.
“If this is a practical joke on my behalf, I need you to stop right the fuck now, Harrington.” The words come out all rough and threatening, but the aggression in them belies a simple truth: Eddie’s freaking out.
“What kind of stupid joke would that be?” Steve asks with a frown, can’t help but wonder if Eddie’s been on the receiving end of such cruelty before.
“So, not a joke,” Eddie muses, nods to himself. “Then you’re curious? Wanna see what all the fuss about gay sex is about?”
“Are we doing that tonight?” Steve asks, knowing his face is lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Gay sex?”
Eddie thumps his head back with a groan, the pillow below him too soft for what was probably intended for dramatic effect. “Steve, can you just spell the fuck out what’s actually going on right now? Ever since you’ve climbed on my bed with me, I think I’ve been losing half my brain cells. I don’t get what is happening, I don’t understand—”
“I like that you like me.”
And well, that’s perhaps not what he wanted to get across, and based on Eddie’s frown, it’s not conceived the way it was meant, either.
“I like that you like me, because, well, I suppose anybody would if the person they’ve been crushing on for years, finally decided to stop being a dick about it.”
Eddie barks a laugh as if he’s never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. “You’ve been crushing on me? For years?”
“Well.” Steve shrugs. “I don’t think I knew that’s what it was, but— I would check the clock. Every Thursday after three pm, every five minutes. Hell, that’s a lie. Probably every thirty seconds. Maybe more. I would check the clock to see how long I’d have to wait for you to show up.”
Eddie’s still looking incredulous, but Steve doesn’t let that deter him.
“And I told myself it’s because I was bracing myself. Because I knew you would say something that would agitate me. And I was preparing myself, mentally, to beat you this time. To come up with something to say in return, even if I knew I could never be as witty or clever as you. But I wanted to– to make you laugh.”
Eddie shakes his head and says, “Harrington,” in a voice that sounds all disappointed and confused, so Steve doubles down.
“So, yes, I thought I was counting down the minutes because I was already dreading the moment you stepped through the door, but the few Thursdays you didn’t come, well, it doesn’t make any sense, does it? If I hated seeing you so much, why did I get that sinking feeling in my stomach when you didn’t show up? Why was I grumpy for days afterwards, to the point that Robin didn’t want to talk to me on the phone anymore? Why did I get so anxious you might not turn up the week after either?”
That finally gets Eddie to soften, those brown eyes large enough they overtake almost his entire face while they blink up at Steve. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen eyes as fascinating in his life. Says so, rubs his thumb along Eddie’s hand where their fingers are still tangled above his head.
“Did I spell that out well enough? I know I’m not the best at explaining concepts, but— Do you need something else as proof?”
“I don’t need proof, Steve,” Eddie says quietly, sounds disappointed again, but this time in himself. “Just— Come here.” He lifts his chin, and that’s all the invitation that Steve needs to kiss him again.
Steve knows how to kiss. Wishes college applications had taken that into account instead of all the other useless skills like math or writing essays. He knows that a kiss should start slow, build tension, tease what’s to come. Steve’s never kissed a man sober, though. All his previous attempts have taken place at that club Robin drags him to whenever he visits her. Under strobe lights, in the crush of other bodies, with too much vodka in his system. Not much anticipation to be built under those circumstances.
So, perhaps Steve doesn’t know how to kiss a man when it means something. And that’s why he’s stuck between two competing impulses: to take it slow, to brush back Eddie’s hair behind his ear and not give him more tongue than he’s ready for, or to do the exact opposite and just take everything he wants from him until they’re both scrubbed raw from stubble burn and can barely breathe anymore.
Luckily, Eddie doesn’t seem to have any of such concerns, because he leans into the confusingly light pressure of their lips with a groan, tilts his head and opens his lips until Steve follows his guidance and oh, fuck the first lick of Eddie’s warm, smooth tongue into his mouth lights up every cell in Steve’s body, fingers tightening around Eddie’s.
Eddie still tastes like those chips, which should be disgusting, but somehow isn’t because that’s just Eddie never making things easy for Steve. There are many things that should repel Steve on paper, based on who he was and who some people still think he is. Eddie’s taste in music, those tattoos, that frizzy hair, all the nerdy nonsense that spills from his lips, the constant smoking.
Things that should repel him, like a magnet with the opposite pole. Or the same? Whatever, Steve doesn’t want to think about science class. What he means to think about, while sliding his tongue deep against Eddie’s, is that all his preferences have been turned on their head, and everything that used to feel like the opposite of him is now attracting him somehow.
Like the acidic taste of salt on Eddie’s tongue, the feeling of his callouses where he rubs his fingers into the back of Steve’s hand, the rough tug on Steve’s hair (which Steve’s very particular about being touched in general) when Eddie wants him to change the angle.
And, yes, alright, maybe there is a middle ground in kissing, because even though they’re kissing each other deep enough, he can feel Eddie’s stubble against his own, there’s also a languidness about it, their tongues sliding together slowly, the rub of it almost… gentle.
There’s something else to be said about this way of kissing, so close and hot that really gets to Steve, that has his knees buckle, that sparks along his spine like electric shocks.
Somehow, distantly, like he's not even in the same room, he hears the little sounds he makes beneath the muted chatter of their TV. Unthinking rumbles and desperate drags of air through his nose that Eddie echoes with his own gruff hums and heavy breathing, and yeah, that’s just… yeah.
And when Steve stretches out, so that he can fit his body along Eddie’s, that’s very close to fuck yeah. They’re the same height, so their chests are in perfect alignment, hips against hips, their cocks pressed alongside each other through their jeans. Steve’s never been harder in his life, straining against his zipper in a way that hurts, wonders if this is the hardest he can get Eddie to be, too.
Eddie’s legs fall open around him, letting Steve settle between them. The wet meeting of their mouths grows louder in his ears, is almost as deafening now as his own heartbeat, and he feels himself melt into the sensation, melt into Eddie, as if all his bones have liquified.
“Yeah,” Eddie gasps the first time they separate for a desperate drag of air into lungs, echoing Steve’s thoughts. “Fuck, Steve, yeah. Just like that.”
And then they’re kissing again, Eddie tugging his hand out of Steve’s grasp to cradle his head in both of his palms, the skin against Steve’s overheated cheeks cool and soothing. Steve’s mouth feels slick, his lips are throbbing, his tongue so deep in Eddie’s mouth that he remembers that stupid warning Tommy had given him years ago, before he kissed Claudia Dunster for the first time.
Never use too much tongue. They hate that. Instant turnoff.
Steve knows how to tease, and maybe one day he can use those skills on Eddie, but tonight he wants this, wants too much tongue and too much Eddie, wants him so deep and whole and differently than he’s ever wanted anybody before. Nothing turnoff about this, Steve thinks manically, sinks against Eddie with a heavy, unhurried roll of his hips, the kind of movement he normally reserves for being balls-deep into someone.
The reaction he gets is instant. Eddie’s fingers dig hard into his skull, a pained noise escaping him and rumbling against Steve’s tongue and mouth, one of his legs curling around one of Steve’s, Eddie’s heel tugging around his shin, keeping him close, pressing himself closer.
Steve settles into a flow, circling his hips against Eddie’s, much less pressure than on the first roll, but continuous, mimicking what he’d love to do to Eddie after pushing inside him the first time. Something about that must really get Eddie going because next thing Steve knows, both of his hands land on Steve’s ass, palming him through his jeans, fingers digging deep.
Steve probably shouldn’t be surprised that Eddie catches his rhythm instantly, considering he’s a musician. He guides Steve against him harder, but at the same pace, massaging his fingers deep into his flesh until it’s Steve who has to break the kiss to gasp for air.
Nobody has ever grabbed Steve there with such bruising force, like they’re going crazy with how much they want him. Even those few make-out attempts at the club have mostly stayed above Steve’s waist (and never lasted more than a few minutes). Not that he ever wanted any of these men to touch him like this or take him home, because—
Oh.
“Oh?” Eddie asks, pupils all blown up, his hands slipping a bit lower, squeezing Steve’s ass hard through his jeans. Steve’s hips stutter as realization floods him.
I think I wanted you much more and for much longer than I even realized, he thinks, but doesn’t say. He’s been told too many times to count that he’s clingy, doesn’t want to overwhelm Eddie with his urge to make romantic declarations.
“Oh, fuck, Eddie,” he says instead and collapses against him, head tucked into his shoulder until he can smell Eddie’s body wash, the hint of nicotine still clinging to his clothes.
“Yeah?” Eddie breathes, drags Steve forward and back against him to his own rhythm now until it’s bordering on too much, the chafing from their jeans surely something they’ll regret tomorrow. “You like that, baby?”
Steve nods because all words have flown from his head at the pet name. He lets Eddie manhandle him into a heavy grind, pleasure surging through him until he feels blind and mute with it, until he’s concerned for one frantic moment that he might spill in his pants like a teenager.
And then Eddie shifts his right hand and slips it even lower, his middle finger pushing between his cheeks and digging deep into Steve through his pants right where—
Steve lets out a garbled sound as the pressure registers in his mind, his hips bucking hard against Eddie’s, teeth sinking into Eddie’s shoulder through his Black Sabbath shirt.
“Yeah?” Eddie asks again, eager.
“Yeah,” Steve gasps muffled against the fabric, because that’s the only word still in his head. Everything Eddie does to him is a yeah. Even those things, he’s never done before. The places he’s never been touched in.
“Have you ever—” Eddie pants, doesn’t finish the question, but Steve can still hear it and shakes his head. “Would you want to? Not tonight, obviously, but… one day?”
“Yeah,” Steve replies, and takes it upon himself to thrust against Eddie again. “Anything, Ed, anything you want.”
Eddie laughs, sounds delirious. A moment later, he’s pushing Steve’s hips up with one hand, the other finding the button of his jeans and flicking it open with expert precision. Steve wakes from his daze when his zipper is being pulled down and scrambles into a one-armed plank to do the same with Eddie’s jeans with his free hand, unbuttons him as quickly as he can, then drags the zipper down. They pull on each other's pants and kick them down their legs until eventually they land on a heap on the floor together with Eddie’s shoes.
Steve barely has time to register how their underwear is almost a representation of themselves—Eddie in black boxers with little skulls printed on them and Steve in his navy briefs—before they move to slot together again as they have before: Mouth against panting mouth, chest against heaving chest, their cocks pressed against each other, Eddie’s legs framing Steve’s hips.
Without the chafing pressure of jeans and zippers and buttons, the grind of skin, thin hairs, and cotton is almost soft in comparison, the shapes of their cocks much more pronounced. This way, Steve can also feel the wet spot on Eddie’s boxers soaking into his briefs, and Steve doesn’t know why, but that might just be the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him—knowing that Eddie wants him this much, knowing that he did that to Eddie with nothing more than a little dry-humping.
Any arrogance is lost the moment Eddie’s hand returns to Steve’s ass, sliding low before cupping him through his briefs the way Steve has done to girls before, fingers curled tight against his taint. Steve groans into the kiss, sensations sparking all along his spine, the pressure in his groin bordering on too intense for him to endure.
He pulls away, stares at Eddie with wide eyes, and sees the edge of a teasing smirk on his face. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Steve. Keeping his eyes trained on Steve’s, Eddie tilts his head a little to the side, his smile growing, the fingers sliding higher, higher until he’s pressing against Steve’s rim again, presses one of them deeper, just a teasing first dip inside through his underwear, enough for Steve’s eyes to close and brows to furrow, for a loud moan to vibrate in the space between them.
“Oh, baby,” Eddie croons, voice thick with arousal. “You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you?”
Steve’s arms give in, and he lands face-first in the pillow beside Eddie’s head. He tilts his head to the side until he’s buried it into Eddie’s hair, breathing heavily against his ear, knowing that Eddie will hear even the smallest reaction to his touch this way.
Steve’s never thought about being fucked before; all his fantasies about a faceless, but lean and pale man with a teasing smirk (yes, the truth is not lost on him now), had been about being the one doing the fucking. But he can’t deny the allure of being the one on the receiving end, of how unbelievably horny the pressure of Eddie’s fingers makes him, horny enough he’s thrusting forward against Eddie’s cock and back against his finger as if on autopilot, any rhythm or attempt at deliberation lost.
Steve wants. Wants to feel, wants to give up, give in, wants to be Steve without expectations, Steve without borders. He’s not sure he’s ever allowed himself the total loss of control, and isn’t that ironic? That the man who can get Steve’s blood boiling with a few words can also make him feel so… safe?
Eddie’s fingers are rubbing against him harder now, the second palm coming down to Steve’s ass again as well, cupping him, thumb digging into Steve’s flexing muscle, calming his frantic thrusts, and guiding him into something more intentional. Steve moans, feels crazy with how turned on he is. He wants to rub against Eddie like a cat, crawl into his skin, bury himself deep, so deep that Eddie will never get him out again.
Steve settles for burying deeper into Eddie’s hair, lips pressed against the shell of his ear as he presses out through clenched teeth and burning lungs, “Would you let me fuck you, too?”
“Oh, fuck, yeah, of course, Stevie,” Eddie groans, the hand on his ass gripping hard enough that Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he found purple imprints there tomorrow morning. “But only after I’ve shown you how to make it really good.”
He presses his finger deeper against Steve again, the tip of it dipping inside. Precum spurts from Steve’s cock in return, his wet spot much more pronounced now than Eddie’s.
“God, I want that,” Steve slurs. “Show me now?”
“We can’t,” Eddie bemoans, sounding just as regretful as Steve feels. “Not without lube and condoms.”
Steve groans, hating himself a little for not thinking to pack either.
“But I could tell you in theory, tell you what I’d do to you,” Eddie adds, sounding just as breathless as Steve feels. His hand on Steve’s ass is rocking him forward against his cock and backwards against his fingers in rapid little bursts that have stars explode behind Steve’s eyelids.
He nods frantically. “Tell me.”
“Jesus, Steve,” Eddie moans, nuzzling against Steve’s temple. “Okay, baby, let me–” He doesn't finish the sentence but digs in a finger until he's pressing inside Steve again, curls it just so until Steve wants to claw on his own skin before the pleasure comes bursting out of him.
“First, I’d have to open you up, get you all wet and ready for me. I would take my time with you, make you writhe on my fingers, find that spot inside you that will make you go wild, wait until you’d start begging me for more.”
“Fuck,” Steve hisses in response. He’s close now, feels the pressure in his lower back, like an ache behind his teeth, balls drawing tighter where they rub against Eddie’s.
“I’d put you on your knees, arms above your head, front pressed to the mattress. Fuck, Steve, you’d look so good all stretched out before me, all bronze skin and scars and moles, so fucking pretty for me when I finally push inside of you.”
“Eddie, Jesus,” Steve whines against his ear, toes curling, “I can’t– I’m so close.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, sounds gone, too. “Yeah, fuck, c’mon.”
Eddie stops talking, rocks Steve harder against him, thrusts the pads of his fingers against Steve’s rim, pushing inside again and again as deep as he can go through Steve's briefs. They’re both panting and trading moans back and forth, and Steve’s glad the TV is still on, hopes it’s enough to drown them out. Eddie meets Steve’s rolling hips with his own, throws his head back into the pillow, and groans, long and guttural.
“I’m going to— Ed, I’m—”
“Fuck, Steve, me too. So close. You’re so fucking hot, baby. So good. I can’t believe I’m allowed to have you like this.”
And that’s it, that’s all Steve can take. Steve yanks the collar of Eddie’s shirt out of the way and latches his mouth on the skin of his shoulder, the taste of salt and soap exploding on his tongue just as his brain whites out. The pleasure wrecks through him like he’s being hit by a truck, sharp and blinding, spills out of him in long ropes, and near unending muffled moans, makes a wet mess of his briefs and Eddie's shoulder where he's got his mouth pressed, teeth sinking into skin.
Steve's still riding the tail end of that insane orgasm when he comes back to his body and realizes that Eddie's gripping both of his thighs right below his ass, dragging Steve forward while rutting against him so hard and quick the bed starts squeaking.
Pushing himself up on his elbow, Steve watches Eddie in those last throes of passion, his head tipped back, nose scrunched up, panting mouth open and shaped like an ‘O’ as if he still can’t believe this is happening. And damn if that doesn’t make Steve swoon a little.
Steve tilts his hips down with a hiss, ignoring the sting of his oversensitive cock for the sake of watching Eddie’s face scrunch up in pleasure, then leans up higher and catches his gaping mouth with his, swallows that last punched out grunt from Eddie’s lips, licks inside his mouth, and feels the vibration of his moans when his thighs come up to curl around Steve’s lower back and even more wetness spills between them.
They keep kissing afterwards, ignoring the chatter of the true crime show for the most part, their hands tangled in each other's hair and sliding underneath the shirts they’re still wearing, until the narrator's voice booms, “In the end, it was his shoes that gave him away.”
Steve collapses against Eddie in a giggle fit, ignoring Eddie’s peeved protests.
They’re only two hours away from Dustin’s campus now, driving along a country road. Steve’s got one hand curled around Eddie’s thigh, rubbing his thumb into Eddie’s jeans.
Eddie’s elbow is resting on the edge of the rolled-down window, sleeves pulled up, bat tattoos on display, silver rings glimmering in the low sunlight. He’s put his hair into a messy bun after the shower they took together last night. A few errant strands and tiny ringlets have escaped his hair tie, whipping across his face.
It’s hard not to glance at Eddie when he looks like that. Happy and wild and beautiful. It’s why Steve looks over again now, only to find one of his boots propped up against the glove box.
“Eddie! Take your fucking shoe down!”
Eddie grins. That impish grin that Steve knows so well, it really shouldn’t make his stomach swoop the way it does. Again.
“Eddie,” Steve warns, pressing his thumb deeper into his thigh. “Don’t make me do it for you.”
“Yeah?” Eddie laughs. “Big bad Stevie is gonna come over here and push my foot down?”
Steve looks between Eddie and the road, thinks he’s going to have a stroke. Or a boner. It’s a coin toss at this point.
Making sure there are no cars behind him, Steve swerves the car onto the shoulder and hits the brakes.
As soon as the car has stopped, Steve leans over, curls both of his palms in the collar of Eddie’s shirt, and drags him over the middle console until his foot falls from the glove box.
Eddie is still grinning, but his eyes are wide in shock before Steve leans in and kisses the last bit of brattiness out of him.
