Prompt: 90s et Eddie Munson | Rating: T | WC: 1239 | Relationships : Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin&Eddie Munson Tags: Rock star Eddie Munson, interview, coming out
Summary:
After five albums and two tours, Corroded Coffin has made it. They're famous, they're beloved, and everyone want to interview the new metal phenomenon.
But now a groupie is telling everyone she's pregnant with Eddie's child.
You can't blame the guy for losing it on live TV.
The interview had barely started, and Eddie was already losing it. Corroded Coffin had made it; they were releasing album after album and everyone in the metal scene fucking loved their music. They should be talking about songwriting, their inspirations, the difficulties they had with some songs, their last album or if they were planning to go on tour soon. But no. Eddie had been on the cover of so many tabloids these last months, and, of course, that dumb excuse of a reporter had to bypass their manager’s demands and talk about the Rumor.*
“Now, we all heard the story, Eddie.” The interviewer had a smarmy smile plastered on his face, and the way he looked at Eddie was almost predatory. “So tell me, when did you first cross paths with Jessica Marsh? It must have been at a meet-and-greet, no?”
The question brought a wave of anger amongst the members of the band.
“Listen,” Eddie hissed, “for the last time, I don’t know that girl, okay? If we did meet at some point, I have no memory of it, and her whole story is just a bunch of lies.”
“That’s understandable. You must see a lot of different people when you tour, and you’re bound to forget a few faces, even those you got really acquainted with, am I right?”
Gareth intervened. “Dude, you’re pushing it. Can we get back to the album?”
“Of course we’re gonna talk about the album, don’t worry, we are all very excited about the new music Corroded Coffin is going to offer us. With a name like Thou shalt not kill, I can already say it’s going to offend a good number of people!”
“We don’t really care if we offend people or not,” Jeff answered. “Thou shalt not kill is an accusation, a way of fighting back against all the people who had tried to take us down, to silence us. To make us disappear. We open up a lot about our teenage years in a small-minded town in the middle of nowhere, and everything we had to go through growing up. This is not a nice album, because our lives weren’t nice back then, and if people are offended, I’m telling you, they are part of the problem.”
“Well, your new album sounds even more interesting! I think we all agree here that your fans are going to love learning more about your past, and how you ended up where you are.” The interviewer stopped for a second, a predatory glint in his eyes. “But I have to wonder, Eddie, you are the one doing most of the writing, right? Surely the news of your impending fatherhood must have had an influence on your creative mind?”
“Fuck, what do you want me to do?” Eddie stood up, arms flying in the air. “Should I scream it, sing it, sign it? Do you want me to draw a goddamn diagram? What will make you understand? I did not sleep with that Jessica girl, and she’s definitely not pregnant with my child.” He plopped down on his seat, seemingly exhausted by the accusation and his own answer. “I’m not the father, period.”
It was not enough to stop the man in front of him.
“Surely, with all the groupies throwing themselves at you, you could have slept with her and forgotten about it.”
Eddie buried his face in his hands and took a few deep breaths. Then, he hit the table three times with his open palm. “Rob Halford.”
Jeff immediately threw himself backward on his chair. “Fucking finally!” He almost screamed before knocking on the table in response.
Gareth pumped his fist, Freak nodded, and both did the same knock.
The interviewer looked at them with a questioning look.
“What is happening?” he asked. “Are you having a little discussion in code? Do you have secret Corroded Coffin informations the fans should know about? A collaboration with Rob Halford, maybe?”
“Funny how you’re coming back to relevant topics now,” Eddie replied, disdain clear on his face. “No, we don’t have a collaboration planned with him, even if it would be fucking metal to work with the man. But if you want to gossip instead of talking about your music, yeah, I have something to say. Nothing everyone is entitled to know, because that’s my personal life, but clearly no one is going to drop this stupid rumor, and I’m tired of it. Do you want to know why Miss Marsh’s accusations are ridiculous?”
“Oh yeah, please, tell us everything!”
“People keep saying I’m lying about not sleeping with that girl, either because I don’t want to take responsibility for my actions or because I fucked so many groupies I don’t even remember it.” Eddie leaned over the table, his eyes staring holes in the man interviewing them. “But you know what the truth is? I never slept with any of these girls who are throwing themselves at me at the end of every concert.”
“That’s not what I heard!”
“Yeah, well, reputations don’t always portray reality. I don’t sleep with groupies, I don’t sleep with journalists who want to gain information, I don’t sleep with hotel employees, waiters, bartenders, flight attendants or random people I meet on tour or at the grocery store. Do I have a healthy and fulfilling sex life? Yes. Do I have a list of hookups longer than the Lord of the Ring trilogy? No. I’ve been consistently fucking the same person, thank you very much.”
“You mean the famously single Eddie Munson is finally taken? Perish the thought! Your poor fans are gonna be devastated! How long has it been going on? Longer than six months? Which is, for the reminder, dear spectators, when Jessica Marsh says she has slept with our darling Eddie and fell pregnant.”
“It’s been years man. And no, I never cheated. In fact, I’m still dating the person I lost my virginity with, and I’m never planning on seeing anyone else. And last I checked, which was…” Eddie briefly looked at his watch, “Forty-eight minutes ago, my man does not have the necessary equipment to fall pregnant.”
The journalist choked on his spit. “Excuse me? Your man?”
“Yes, my man. Cause I’m a goddam fag.” Eddie’s smile was all teeth. “You don’t like it? Deal with it, I don’t give a shit. Steve and I, we’ve been together since ’86. He gave me the inspiration for a lot of song lyrics, but most of the time I had to change the pronouns so my label would accept them.” His violent smile disappeared, leaving only tiredness behind. “Most of them still only exist on paper because being gay is apparently a crime in the music industry and my producer would not let me make a whole album about Stevie.”
Eddie buried his face in his hand and took a deep breath.
“Well,” the journalist said, “that’s not quite what we were all expecting from this interview.” He cleared his throat. “So, about that new album of yours…”
Freak’s laugh interrupted him.
“Man, you really think we’re gonna answer your questions after all that bullshit. Nah, this interview is over.” He jumped to his feet, followed by two of his bandmates. “We’re leaving.”
Gareth tugged on Eddie’s arm until he stood up with them.
The last image the journalist got of Corroded Coffin was Freak’s raised middle finger as they walked out.
Only one bingo prompt per work can be used. EDIT: Two prompts can be used, but it doubles the wordcount to 666. (Adding prompts from other events is allowed.)
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ASK | COLLECTION | ARCHIVE | STOBIN AT WORK | STEVIE WEEK
Prompt: Crop Top | Rating: T | WC: 1583 | Relationships : Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington&Robin Buckley
Summary:
Robin gives Steve a makeover.
Eddie is going to regret his mean comment about Steve's clothes.
It starts with a comment. A mean one, perhaps.
Okay, scratch that. Eddie had definitely been too mean this time.
For his defense, his whole thing is going against the grain. Fuck conformity, right? And Steve is his friend, but no one can deny that the guy’s wardrobe is the quintessence of conformity. He wears jock clothes, all the time.
But still. Eddie’s comment was mean.
And now he’s stuck in hell.
He really walked right into that one.
------
“Robin, what do you think about the way I dress?” She looks up, startled.
“What?”
“My clothes. Is there something wrong with them?”
She considers it. Steve is wearing typical boy jeans, with a typical boy polo-ish shirt. She looks down. His shoes are boy shoes.
“You dress like a guy, Dingus.”
He winces.
“Okay, but do I dress like a guy who dresses well? Or more like an asshole?”
“Where does it ever come from?” Steve is Steve. He can spend more than twenty minutes doing his hair in the morning, she saw it. He is a bit like a preening peacock, her boy. He can be insecure about some things, like his romantic life, but she has never seen him be worried about his clothes. He was the high school king, he knows how to dress. Something is up.
“Did someone told you your clothes weren’t nice?”
Steve hesitates. Bingo.
“Steven, who was it?” She tries to do her best Nancy imitation, but she can tell by the closed look on her best friend’s face that it’s not working that well.
“No one. It’s nothing! I just wanted your opinion, that’s all.”
She drops the magazine she was reading on the table and turns toward her boy.
“Listen, babe, there’s definitely something going on. I’m not asking for a name,” she’s going to get it anyway, whoever made Steve feel insecure is going to DIE, “but if you want my help, I need to know what the problem really is.”
Steve drums his fingers against the table. She waits.
“Eddie doesn’t like my clothes,” oh that bitch “apparently I dress, like, full jock. So, like an asshole I guess?” He looks small, for once. It’s not something she can tolerate.
Munson is an idiot, but she can’t exactly murder her best friend’s crush and bury his body in the woods. She doesn’t have the upper body strength needed to dig a hole big enough for his sad ass, and Steve would probably cry if the guy died, instead of helping her with the body. And they worked hard to save him from Vecna and like, half of Hawkins, so that would be a waste.
And damn it, she likes him when he doesn’t put his foot in his mouth. With a bit of effort, he could be a good boyfriend for Steve. But before that, he must suffer for his crimes against her best friend.
“Eddie is a dumbass who preaches about nonconformity but shit on everyone who has different tastes than him. Don’t take his stupid criticism to heart.”
Steve is silent for a moment. When he finally talks again, his tone is dull.
“I know, but he’s not totally wrong. I still dress like King Steve.”
Hum. Eddie may have hit something important here.
“Forget about Eddie for a second. Do you like your style?”
Steve looks down, biting his lip.
“Yes? Sort of? But I feel a bit boring sometimes.” He looks up. “Remember when we went to that gay bar in Indianapolis?”
Like she would ever forget about Steve flirting with lesbians for her. It had been so weird.
Strangely effective, though.
“Yes, Dingus, I remember the gay bar.”
“Everyone was so cool, I felt a bit underdressed.” He sounds small, again. She can’t stand it. “Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in the body of Steve From Before. The Asshole. So when Eddie told me I dressed like a jock…”
Robin feels her throat tighten. She had no idea Steve was hurting this way. She has to do something, and quick.
“Do you want my help? We can play around with clothes. See what you like.”
“Like a makeover?” Steve smile is faint, but there. It’s the important part.
“Yep.” She leans toward him. “A total reverse breakfast club.”
Steve whines and bury his face in his hands. “They did Allison so dirty.”
“I’ll reverse Allison you, babe.”
Steve’s smile is like a ray of sunshine.
“Let’s do it.”
Steve looks at the scissors in Robin’s hand with trepidation.
“You’re sure about that?”
“Be honest. Are you going to wear that tee-shirt ever again?”
The fabric in his hands is both stained and ripped. The bottom of the tee-shirt has fallen victim of Steve’s drunk shenanigans after a winning game. It had been fun at the time, but there had been no way of salvaging his clothes afterwards. He had thrown his shorts in the trash, but the tee-shirt had still s somehow ended up in the back of his closet.
"...No.”
“Then we can cut it!” Robin crows, triomphant. « We’re keeping the sporty look, because that’s very you, mister let’s run at 6 a.m., but we make it different. More fun. A bit slutty, too, if you want. »
Steve blinks. There’s something interesting here. If he can make something wearable to a gay bar…
It’s a thought. Maybe next time they drive to Indianapolis, he will not feel so out of place, like he doesn’t belong. Maybe a cute boy will look at him and not just see a stupid jock. He could kiss a boy who’s not dating a girl or is one bad morning away from breaking his face.
Maybe Eddie would change his mind about him. Who knows.
“Alright. Let’s do it.”
He grabs the scissors.
“Wait, wait, wait!”
Steve freezes.
“Put it on first, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
Ten minutes later, Steve is wearing jean shorts Robin procured from whoever knows, and a newly cropped tee-shirt. He… doesn’t dislike the way he looks. It’s fun. A bit sporty, a bit slutty.
“What’s the verdict?” asks Robin, sprawled on his bed.
“Yeah. I think I look okay. I sort of dig it.” He hesitates. “I’m just… not quite sure it’s the best top ever.”
“But you like the length?”
“Yeah, definitely. It’s flattering. I wouldn’t wear it all the time, but on occasion, when it’s hot outside, it could be fun.”
Robin clasps her hands together.
“Perfect! Now that we have something cute for the summer, let’s find a good club look! Something a bit more in-your-face.”
Steve blinks. Stare at his bare stomach. At the shorts. He is already very much exposed. What does she want him to wear, mesh? Nothing?
“What?”
She’s already on her feet, rummaging in the pile of clothes on the bed to unearth her bag.
“We’re going shopping, Dingus! I know a couple of good thrift stores not too far from Hawkins, and you need clothes with more humph. I can’t do miracles, and sports uniforms and polo can only get us so far.”
Oh no.
What did he get himself into?
----
As stated previously, Eddie is in hell.
Maybe his mean comment was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He did a number of questionable things in his life, and now he has to pay the price for it.
“Do you want something to drink, Eddie?”
In front of him, his skin gleaming with sweat in the sweltering sun, stands Steve Harrington. Wearing tiny shorts.
And a fucking crop top.
It’s yellow. The exact color of his sweatshirt, the one he had thrown at his face just before diving into Lover’s Lake. Eddie feels like it needs saying. Steve Harrington is wearing a lovely little crop top that puts his whole toned stomach on display.
“Eddie?” Steve is frowning, like his exposed skin is not currently wreaking havoc on an innocent guy’s mind. Eddie’s brain is about to leak out of his ears. “Did you hear me? I asked you a question.”
He wants to answer, he does, but his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. He can’t talk, at all. Which may be for the best, because “the sweat of your toned stomach” is maybe not the answer Steve is waiting for.
“Mmmmrrrr.”
Steve blinks and walks toward him.
Jesus H. Christ.
A huge hand is put on his brow, and for a second, he truly believes he is dead. Steve Harrington is leaning over him, half-naked, touching him.
This is insane.
“I don’t think you have a fever. Did you stay in the sun for too long, Eddie? You look a bit unwell.”
Finally, finally, Eddie finds the strength to talk.
“Never been better, my liege. Anything from your royal stores would be greatly appreciated, but if I could have a beer, I would be grateful.”
Steve snorts and takes a step back. It would be a tragedy, except it puts him back in the sun, and the light reflects on his sweaty, toned abs.
Eddie is in heaven.
Eddie is in hell.
“Okay, if you can be dramatic, you’re fine. I’ll get your beer.”
He turns around, and now, Eddie has not only a glorious view of his fantastic ass, but he can also see his lower back, and, oh.
He has dimples.
Steve Harrington has two little dimples on his back.
Prompt: Tattoo | Rating: Gen | WC: 1230 | Relationships : Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Summary:
Steve wants to marry Eddie and wear a wedding ring to show the whole world they belong to each other, homophobic laws be damned. But Steve is a nurse, and hospital rules are hospital rules.
It’s not that Steve dislikes jewelry. Honestly, it’s kind of the opposite.
Take Eddie’s rings, for example.
His boyfriend has a few of them, all bulky and impossible to ignore, and he barely takes them off to shower. They are always on his hands, even when he plays guitar, even when he sleeps. And he is so full of life, his man, always waving his hands around, rings catching the light with each movement, gleaming.
The way he touches him is no better, warm hands and soft metal sliding across his skin, gripping, grabbing. Loving.
Steve likes rings. Especially Eddie's.
He’s just not allowed to wear jewelry at the hospital.
Becoming a nurse had not been easy, but after the whole mess that happened with the Upside-Down, after breaking Eddie’s ribs, each snap resonating like thunder in his arms when he was trying to breathe life back to Eddie’s lungs, after everything the nurses at Hawkins Memorial had down for them, strong and caring when the whole town had wanted to crucify Eddie… Steve had known.
He loves his job. He has finally found his place in the world, one where he can help people in need. No day is really easy, but the rewards are worth the long shifts and the random hours. Being a nurse makes him feel useful in a way he had been craving for years.
He just wishes he could wear a ring.
Some of his coworkers are married, and they either keep their wedding band on a chain around their neck or take it off before their shift and store it in their locker.
He could do the locker thing, realistically.
But he can’t get out of his head the absolute panic in his coworker Mary’s eyes, the high pitch of her voice, her harsh breathing and her shaking hands when they had ended their shift at the same time and her ring wasn’t in her locker.
She had found it, eventually, because, of course, she had left it at home and had forgotten all about it in the frenzy of hospital life, but the fear had lingered. She had stopped wearing her ring, keeping it in a jewelry box on her bedside table. Just in case.
And the thing is. Steve and Eddie can’t get married. Not legally at last. They have been talks of backyard wedding, one day, maybe, but the ring… The ring is a problem.
It eats at Steve. Days and nights.
He can’t imagine getting married and only having a ring to prove his devotion to his husband. Not when he can’t wear it all the time and could lose it at any given moment. All his wedding dreams end with his ring disappearing and Eddie looking at him through tears, asking if he doesn’t love him anymore.
When he finally opens up to Robin, she’s kind about his fears. Understanding in a way that speaks about years and years of feeling out of the norm. Different. Kept from enjoying so many things that other people take from granted.
“It’s okay to feel like that, Steve. It’s scary to realize your love is not something people are going to accept, especially when another typical married couple thing is out of your reach.” She squeezes his arm. “You have coworkers who wear their wedding ring around their neck, right? Maybe you should do that when you finally take that step with Eddie.”
Steve swallows, his throat tight, fighting through the burn in his eyes.
“Northwestern Memorial has a very strict policy about jewelry. The only pieces nurses are allowed to wear are wedding bands on necklaces. And you have to provide a wedding certificate for that.”
“So, they wouldn’t…”
Steve loses the fight against tears.
“No, they would never let me wear any ring given by Eddie.”
“Oh, babe…” Robin arms wrap around him as he sobs.
“Say, Stevie…” Her voice is wavering. She seems so unsure of herself, in a way that differs from her usual anxiety-fueled ramblings. “I could maybe marry you? Legally, I mean. Then you would marry Eddie, and you’ll be able to wear your wedding band around your neck.”
Steve’s burrow deeper into Robin’s embrace. He can’t deal with not being held right now.
“Thank you, Rob. But it wouldn’t be the same.”
They hug for a while, before Robin manages to make him laugh with a crazy anecdote about her least favorite coworker. They end up playing a drinking game in front of Star Wars, and Eddie is woken up at 2 a.m. by his very drunk boyfriend sliding in his bed.
“Hey, Eddie, Eddie?”
“Wot?”
“You know I love you, right?”
“Mmmrrr.”
“I love you a lot, Eddie, like… like an insane amount. Scientists cannot quantify how much I love you, and…”
He is stopped by a kiss.
“Love you too, sweetheart,” Eddie tiredly wraps himself all around his boyfriend, octopus-style. “But please, go to sleep.”
_______________________
They’re celebrating Nancy’s promotion in a gay bar when Steve has a revelation.
The girls want more drinks, and Steve grumbles but leave the warmth of Eddie’s arms to bring them cocktails.
“And a beer for your humble servant, please, my liege!”
And a beer for Eddie, apparently.
The bartender is only vaguely familiar, and he is pretty sure the guy wasn’t there two months ago. Steve flags the man down, and watches with a smile as he shakes Nancy’s elaborate cocktail. He is putting on a show, but Steve can tell it’s not really meant for him, not with the wedding band glistening on his left hand and the wink he throws at the new waiter.
The wave of jealousy hits him unexpectedly. It must be nice to wear proof of your marriage in front of everyone like that, and to be able to flirt with your husband at your own place of work without having to watch your back. Maybe he should hang up his scrubs and go into bartending.
Steve shakes his head. He loves his job. He is being ridicul…
He frowns.
What’s that just underneath the guy’s wedding band?
The bartender winks at him this time, playing with the ring.
“Had this one for almost two years now.” He points at the waiter. “It goes with that one.”
“What’s that?”
“Hum?” The bartender blink, then smiles again. “Oh! Look.”
He leans over the bar and shows Steve his hand, palm up. He pushes the ring out of the way, and just underneath, the initials S.W. are written in black ink.
“Scott Williams. That’s my man.”
“It’s a tattoo.” Steve says numbly.
“It sure is, darling.”
“I can get a tattoo.” Steve cannot breathe. He can have that. He can etch Eddie’s name into his skin, keep him there forever.
“Hey, don’t forget your drinks!”
Steve turns back to the bar, disoriented, and grab the tray the bartender is nice enough to give him.
“You okay, man?” He asks, visibly worried.
“Never been better.”
He walks past the crowd without seeing it and reach their group. Robin’s head shot up at his arrival.
“You’re alright, Dingus?” She frowns. “You look a bit shell shocked over there.”
She yelps when Steve put down the tray heavily on the table, drinks splashing.
“Hey, what are you…”
Steve climbs on his boyfriend’s lap.
“Eddie,” he cradles his face with both hands, reverent. “Will you marry me?”
Prompt: HRT | Rating: T | WC: 1184 | Relationships :Wayne Munson&Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson. Warning: Implied/Referenced child abuse
Summary:
Eddie meet his uncle Wayne in a hospital room.
From that point, his life improves significantly.
It’s not something he would ever say publicly, but Eddie was so glad his father had broken both his leg and arm when he had pushed him down the stairs. The fact that he had done so while totally drunk in the middle of the day, in full view of three neighbors and the very same cops who were coming to arrest him may have been part of the reason he was so happy about it.
It had hurt. It still did, even with the meds he was under. His body felt like a giant bruise, and he had nearly fainted when he had seen his arm bent in a really, really abnormal way. Said arm was now in a cast, along with his leg, and it sucked. At least his right side had taken the brunt of the fall, and he was still able to write and eat almost normally.
He didn’t know where he was going to end up now that his dad had been locked up, but after two days spent at the hospital, a social worker showed up with a vaguely familiar man she introduced to him as Wayne Munson. His uncle. Or “that fucking fairy,” according to his father.
Eddie was hurt, high on painkillers, and in presence of an authentic degenerate. The kind of person who was different from everyone Eddie had ever met and was proud of it, enough to get in trouble with the pigs for being involved in a riot. That was insane.
As soon as the social worker left them alone, Eddie started to vomit all his problem for Wayne to hear. The man listened in silence, barely nodding a few times to encourage him to talk. When Eddie finally ran out of secrets to tell, Wayne only said one thing.
“So, you’re a boy, right?”
And that was the end of it.
A couple of days later he found himself in small-town Hawkins, while his father was probably in the clink for good, this time. He was now the proud owner of the only bedroom in his uncle’s trailer, because according to Wayne, teenage boys needed their own space.
Three days after his arrival, Wayne sat him on a chair and carefully buzzed his hair. Eddie watched each lock fall to the ground, feeling strangely bereft. Afterwards, he kept running his hand against his bare scalp, fighting against the burn in his eyes.
Wayne put a hand on his shoulder, firm but kind. “It’s safer like that, son. You’ll be able to regrow it soon enough.”
He left the next day, having arranged for a woman living two trailers from them to watch over Eddie for the weekend.
“Don’t tell anyone you were not born a boy, you hear me?” Wayne told him just before the neighbor arrived. “I can help you be yourself, but you have to be careful if we want it to work.”
“Never?”
“As long as you’re still a kid. Keep it under wraps at least until you can vote.”
The neighbor was blind as a bat, made the best casserole in the state, and called him Edward in such a nice tone that by the time Wayne came back, he had decided that he liked that very, very much.
He was still going to go by Eddie, though.
It turned out Wayne had a lot of friends, and all of them were the wrong sort. Not the kind that ended up in jail for grand theft auto and assault, like his dad, but the kind dear ol’ Al Munson would have called “a bunch of degenerates that should be hanged.”
Wayne came back with a stack of falsified papers, a box, zines, and a whole spiel for him.
By the end of the week, he had been enrolled in the local middle school for the next year as “Edward Munson” and was starting to wince less and less each time his uncle stuck a syringe in his thigh.
Eddie spent the last of the spring and most of the summer holed up in the trailer, writing page after page in a notebook and devouring each book Wayne brought him from the local library. By the time school started again, his arm and leg were healed, the duvet on his upper lip had slightly darkened, and his voice was cracking.
Ten years after his first trip to the ER, Eddie had been left in the tender care of nurses way more times than most people, and he had almost always gotten along with them.
That one, though, was his favorite.
“Hiya, nurse Harrington. Nice scrubs.”
Steve dropped his key in a bowl and turned around to face his boyfriend.
“Hi, babe.”
Eddie stretched his neck, and Steve gave him a quick kiss when he passed by the couch in the way to the bedroom. Fifteen minutes later he was back, wearing his pajamas, his hair damp and in disarray.
“Rough day?”
Steve slumped on the couch and curled up against Eddie. “Could have been easier,” he mumbled.
“I made lasagna.”
His head shot up.
“You did?”
“Yep. Followed your recipe to the letter. It’s in the oven.”
He got a kiss for his trouble. Then another.
By the time his watch biped, they had been making out for nearly ten minutes.
Steve pushed his boyfriend back a bit.
“Is that for you shot or for the lasagna?”
“For my shot.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Eddie smiled dopily and leaned back on the couch. Soon Steve was back with a syringe and a wipe.
“Take your pants off, will you?”
“My, my, nurse Harrington, you’re taking some liberties.” He shuffled out of his jeans, throwing them to the other side of the room. “Aaaall ready for you, my good sir.”
Steve laughed and sat down beside his boyfriend. Eddie immediately put his legs on his lap and lied back.
“Stick me with the boy juice, sweetheart.”
The only answer he got was a kiss on his thigh. Steve cleaned up a square of skin with the cotton wipe and emptied the syringe.
“Ouch,” Eddie said in his most indifferent tone.
“Awww, did that hurt, baby?”
Eddie had been jabbing a needle in his thigh daily for the last ten years and was thinking about getting a new tattoo. He could barely feel needles anymore, and his pain threshold was very high anyway. But being the center of his very caring boyfriend’s attention was always nice.
He batted his eyelashes.
“Yes, terribly.” Eddie sat back and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s neck. “The pain is immeasurable, my liege. I need your lovely kisses to make it all better.”
Steve put down the needle with a laugh and dropped a quick kiss on his lips. “And now?”
“Still hurting…”
They were still laughing between kisses when Steve pushed Eddie down to better make out with him on the couch.
BEEP BEEP BEEP
“Hey, what’s that sound?”
“Oh, that’s just the alarm for the lasagna.”
“What???”
“It can stay in the oven for a bit longer, don't worry. No! Come back here!”
Prompt: Representation | Rating: Gen | WC: 2121 | Relationships : Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin&Eddie Munson Tags: Rock star Eddie Munson, interview
Summary:
A year after coming out on live TV, Rock star Eddie Munson finally ends his media break for an exclusive interview.
Between a solo album and his personal projects, he has a lot to say.
Last Tuesday I had the pleasure of meeting renowned guitarist, singer and songwriter Eddie Munson. We talked about his new album, Forbidden Fruit, and his decision to sign this album alone, his future projects with Corroded Coffin, and what he hoped the future had in store for him.
Martha Collins: So, Mr. Munson…
Eddie Munson: Eddie, please. [He smiles.] Mr. Munson is what the cops call my uncle.
M.C. : Right. Eddie then. I’m Martha.
E.M. : I know! I kinda choose you myself for this interview. [He winks at me.]
M.C. : Oh, that’s great to hear! Now, Eddie, after five albums signed under the Corroded Coffin name, you’ve surprised everyone with a more personal creation. Tell me, what made you decide to write a solo album? No troubles with the rest of the band, I hope?
E.M. : Oh, I spent last Friday afternoon helping Jeff get his kid’s puke out of the carpet, so believe me, we’ve never been closer! No, the thing is, I wrote a lot of songs that weren’t really Corroded Coffin material in the last decade, and with everything that happened last year, I felt it was time to properly work on that. So, I spent some time in the studio, and before I knew it, I had an album ready.
M.C. : When you say, “everything that happened last year,” you mean your coming-out on live TV and the subsequent backlash that occurred.
E.M. : Yeah. I had wanted to say these words for a long time now, but I was afraid of what people would say, and the consequences not only for me but also for the rest of the band.
M.C. : A lot of people have declared after your coming-out that you weren’t good enough for metal anymore. [He scoffs] With this solo album, which, if I understand correctly, is radically different from Corroded Coffin’s usual style, aren’t you worried about being rejected by your fans again?
E.M. : Listen, I really don’t care if me or my music offend people. That’s our whole thing. If they want to spat in my face because my music is suddenly “wrong" in their eyes, when two years ago I was their idol, then they are no better than the people judging them for their own beliefs and their taste in music. They would sound just like the ones who scream that metal is the work of the devil, and I don’t have time for their hypocrisy. I walk to my own rhythm.
M.C. : So this album is what, an act of rebellion?
E.M. : In some ways, yes, it is an act of rebellion. My music always is. I don’t think I ever wrote a single song without a hint of revolt in it. Even my love songs. Especially them, I think, because when I wrote about love, there was always the reminder that society hated it. Hated me. Hated what I’m sharing with Stevie. That I had to hide who’s my muse because otherwise my label would throw me out with the trash. But now it’s different. I’m not hiding anymore, I’m embracing it. Throwing it back in people’s faces, in a way. Nothing about me conforms to society’s idea of what is "right," or "normal," and that’s okay. So, I guess this album is about rebelling against the system, just like my work with the boys [the other members of Corroded Coffin], but in a more personal way. It’s the quiet rebellion of choosing to be yourself, no matter what.
M.C. : So Forbidden Fruit is about love, amongst other things?
E.M. : It’s a lot about love, yeah. I talk about my relationship with Stevie, everything that hurt about it and all the ways it makes me feel alive. Why our love is worth the pain, you know? But it’s not just a Stevie-and-I lovefest. I talk about other people too. Prom Queen is about a good friend of mine who struggled a lot with parental and peer pressure, including her choice in romantic partners, and a lot of other very difficult issues. And all of it was tied to this obligation she thought she had to conform to the image other people had of her. It hurt her deeply, and getting past these hindrances was a complicated journey. So Prom Queen is a song dedicated to her strength.
Now, on the other side we have Malboro Boy. This song is about that guy I hated in high school, who clearly felt like he had to be his most aggressive self, like he had to be top dog, you know? If he wanted to be a real man. He’s the reason why Stevie is hard of hearing by the way.
M.C. : How so?
E.M. : Well, real men fight, so, of course, he had to deal with everything with his fists. [His laugh is bitter.] Basically, Steve put himself before Billy, that’s the guy’s name, and one of the kids he baby-sat, and he got his face pummeled in. He got a concussion, and an ear that barely work and rings more often than not. And these two stories are about the same problem, but they don’t end the same way. My friend Chrissy had a very close brush with death and it really changed how she saw life, so she escaped all the conformity, the heteronormativity, you know? But Billy never had the occasion to grow past all the fucked up ideas that had been put in his head by assholes and society as a whole. And even if he was a real bastard, he didn’t deserve that. That’s an important part of the album, I think, this idea that you deserve better than the chains of conformity. Everyone should be free to present themselves to the world as they really are, and I hope my music can help some people in this aspect.
M.C. : That’s a great reason to share these songs with your fans, Eddie. But now, you briefly talked about your partner Steve, and how you sing about your relationship with him. Is that him on the cover?
E.M. : Oh, the cover. Let me tell you, I heard a lot of shit about that cover from basically everyone I know. Apparently, it was very romantic of me, which, okay. I admit, it can be seen like that. I did put my boyfriend on my cover album after all. But there was no need for everyone to heckle me for it!
M.C. : I’m pretty sure friends are contractually obligated to do that.
E.M. : If they aren’t, they hide it well. But yeah, that’s Stevie. Half-naked. Biting in an apple.
M.C. : And the apple is bleeding.
E.M. : Eating the forbidden fruit is fun, but it can hurt. You gotta know what you’re signing up for. Life’s tough like that.
M.C. : Are you the forbidden fruit? For Steve.
E.M. : Our love is the forbidden fruit. First because of the whole gay thing, because according to a lot of angry people, boys aren’t supposed to kiss boys. You just can’t do that. I wasn’t supposed to touch Steve, kiss him, fuck him, and I was certainly not supposed to fall in love with him. That’s like, the first rule of conformity. Love thy neighbor, but not too much if you can’t make babies together. And on top of that huge interdiction, there was a second layer, the social one. I was not even supposed to be friends with my man, because before being Stevie, he was King Steve. The guy who planned the best parties, ran with jocks like him, dated cheerleaders and was captain of two sports teams. Two! The top of the top of the fucked up little society high school was. And me? I was at the bottom of the ladder. I was a nerd, a freak, and a rumored satanist. I couldn’t touch the King. It would have been a crime.
M.C. : But you did fall in love.
E.M. : Yes, and that’s the best thing in my life, our love, but when we were teenagers, you would have never believed we were going to end up together. Our love was definitely of the forbidden kind, but hell did we bite the fruit. And even now, after all these years, we’re still fighting everything and everyone to keep loving each other.
M.C. : It impacted your work pretty badly. Last year, when you came out, it was not just your fans who reacted to it. Your label dropped you. Did the rest of the band resent you for that?
E.M. : No, never. But, you know, I would not have come out without their approval. Because I’m not just Eddie, I’m Eddie Munson from Corroded Coffin, so everything I do has an impact on the boys. In fact, they were the one who convinced me to do it. We had a fight or two about it. They knew hiding my relationship with Stevie was hurting me deeply, and they all decided that we could take the fall. We’ve made a few albums, Stevie forced us to be clever with our money, we were not going to end up on the streets. And Jeff had a baby on the way, so we needed to take a break anyway. I was just scared to take that step. In the end, that whole stupid rumor made me lose my shit a little, and yeah. I did it.
M.C. : Your real fans will be happy to hear you did not fight about it. Does that mean we can hope for a new Corroded Coffin album in the coming years? Maybe a tour? And what about another Eddie album?
E.M. : Yes, maybe, yes. I’m already working on songs for the band. I’m always sharing a little something with the boys when I see them. It’s going slow, because my solo music and our personal lives get in the way, but it’s going. A tour… It’s more complicated. Jeff is a dad now, and Gareth is looking a bit too wide-eyed when he holds the kid. And I’m not even talking about Stevie, he’s a pile of goo every time a child is involved. So we might not go on tour for a few years. Can’t leave babies at home for too long without seeing them. But if you’re already asking for a second solo album, don’t worry. I haven’t used all my material, and I’m leaving full time with my muse, so… The inspiration is not drying out, believe me.
M.C. : You’re thirty-three, your bandmates are having children… Are you thinking about fatherhood?
E.M. : That’s the plan, yes. Of course, it’s not as easy for us as for the guys, because we don’t have the bits for it, but we have great people around us. We’ve talked about it with Stevie’s best friend and her girlfriend, and yeah, we… we’re going to be parents. Soon, I hope. It’s going to be sort of a communal baby, but that just means they’ll be even more loved! And it’s reassuring, in a way, to know my child will never be left without a parent, even if I have to go on tour, or if something happens to me. And Stevie would not have to raise them alone either. [He smiles sadly.] Sorry, that was a really depressing thing to say! But I didn’t exactly grow up with two loving parents, so…
M.C. : You lost your mother young, didn’t you? Do you think she would be proud of the man you’ve become?
E.M. : [His expression softens.] Yes, she would be so proud. I don’t know if I believe in like, God, or anything, but I hope there’s an afterlife, and she can see me. She taught me how to play guitar, you know. She made me love music. Now I have a career as a guitarist and a singer, I have great friends around me, a man I love by my side, and I’m planning to have a child of my own. What’s not to be happy about?
M.C: No, I think you’ve made it. You won at life.
E.M. : Ah! I definitely did.
M.C. : I think we’re reaching the end of this interview. Do you have anything else to say for your readers?
E.M. : Believe in your dreams, I guess. Never let other people kill your creativity or your identity. Love who you love. And stay true to your friends, always. Family is made of people life gifts to you, and people you choose. Keep choosing them in everything you do.
Prompt: Lipstick | Rating: T | WC: 3999 | Relationships : Steve Harrington & Eleven | Jane Hopper & Maxine "Max" Mayfield , implied future Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Summary:
Max and El have fun with makeup at the Harrington's.
Steve is not jealous.
Steve took the cookies out of the oven and put them on a tray to cool down a bit while he cleaned up. He had prepared caramel pecan cookies, just because Max had thrown him the sweetest look she could muster while asking him. He had immediately folded when she had told him she wanted to share her favorite cookies with El. She was an absolute terror most of the time, but she was even worse when she went out of her way to look sweet. Her little tactics were rubbing on El, too, and her big eyes were even more effective than Max’s fake innocent smile.
Of course, Steve had caved. He had never really been able to refuse anything the kids asked before, but now, after everything that had happened, he had turned into a total carpet. The kids were walking all over him and he was letting them, too glad to see them walk around, happy, unhurt, alive. Max, especially, had spent way too much time in the hospital for Steve to refuse her anything. Especially when it was something as easy to make as cookies.
Once the kitchen was in order, everything cleaned and put in its place, he prepared a tray for the girls. He opened the fridge, hesitated a moment, then grabbed a few different cans of soda. That way, they could directly choose whatever they wanted without having to walk to the kitchen. He put the cans on the tray with the cookies and brought it to the living room.
At some point, his house had become the headquarters of the Party. He hosted Hellfire once a week, and a movie night at the same frequency, and was regularly invaded by whoever wanted a bit of space that day. Steve always complained about them coming without telling him beforehand and making a mess half of the time, but it was mostly for show. He had to keep a semblance of authority on the kids, even if seeing his house so full of life was one of the best things to happen to him.
Today his house had only been invaded by two gremlins and not the whole pack of teenage demons. Max and El were sitting on the ground against the couch, and Steve could barely see them, finding their location by following the sound giggles permeating the air. Seeing the kids mess around was one thing but hearing them laugh so freely was special.
He walked into the living room, announcing loudly:
“Cookies for the ladies!”
His arrival, or more exactly, the cookies’ arrival was met with even more glee.
“Are they caramel pecan cookies? Steve, did you make the caramel pecan ones?” Of course Max was checking if the merchandise had been baked according to her request. She was not Erica, but she was not playing around either when it came to cookies.
“Yes, Steve, Max said they were the best type of cookies, and you are the best at making snacks.” El said softly, aiming a big smile at him.
Steve was absolutely done for.
Were they constantly manipulating him into baking for them? … Perhaps. Were they the best kids in all of Indiana? The jury was out, and Steve had accepted a long time ago that he was biased as hell when it came to them.
“Of course I made your favorites, Max. Be careful, they’re still a bit hot.”
His warning fell into deaf ears. In two minutes maximum, all the cookies had been snarfed down, except for two they had generously put away for him.
“There are so good, Steve,” Max said, while still eating her last mouthful of cookies. She swallowed. “You brought them at the right time too, we were almost done with our makeup, and the lipstick would have smeared if we had eaten with it. Here, look,” She delicately grabbed El’s face and turned it toward Steve. “Isn’t she so pretty like that?”
Max had applied a really pretty purple eyeshadow on El, and she had definitely put other things on her face, but Steve couldn’t really tell what everything apart from the mascara and the blush. It was colorful without being too much, and she looked bright, happier than ever. Max, on the other hand, was sporting a heavy dose of black eyeliner, and for a moment all Steve could think was Eddie putting eyeliner on in his van just before a Corroded Coffin’s show.
Steve swallowed with difficulty. He felt strangely agitated, as much by the reminder of Eddie’s pre-show ritual than by the multitude of makeup products spread on his living room table.
“You’re both really pretty.” His smile was still reaching his eyes, but it was a close call.
“We’re not done yet!” Max grabbed a pink lipstick and applied it on El’s lips.
Steve’s heart fell into his stomach.
El frowned a bit, looking inside the bag open on the ground between them, and finally selected a dark red lipstick.
Steve’s missed a heartbeat, then felt as if his body was making up for it by beating fucking war drums in his chest. He took a slow, deep breathe, then another, trying to stay as calm as possible, or at least look the part for the girls. He didn’t want them to see him distressed, and he certainly wasn’t planning to tell them why he felt that way.
“I think this one would look bitchin’.” El put it on her best friend very carefully, visibly less familiar with the technique. She dabbed a cotton on the corner of Max’s lips to remove an excess of makeup and took a step back, clearly satisfied with herself. Then she turned toward him.
“Steve, can you take a picture of us?”
God. He wanted to throw up.
“Yes, of course.” The polaroid camera was in his hand before he had even realized it.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
“Here. One for each of you, and one for me. I’ll put it on the wall.” They looked so happy, he could not pass up the opportunity to have such a sweet picture to his collection of the Party's best moments. Even if his smile was tight and his eyes were burning.
“I’ll leave you to your girly things, alright?”
He fled the room, barely hearing the two teens screaming about the movie they were about to watch.
The house was empty, and Steve couldn’t sleep.
It wasn’t because of the Upside-Down. The ache in his chest was different, both old and new, and turning in his bed again and again ended up being prodigiously ineffective.
Steve stared at the clock, the red numbers gleaming like a beacon in a tempest.
3:45 a.m.
3:46 a.m.
3:47 a.m.
Steve threw the covers down and stood up. He was not going to sleep tonight. He walked around the house without thinking, until he found himself staring at the mirror in his parents’ bathroom. The curtains were open, and the night was just clear enough to illuminate his tired face in the moonlight. Steve blinked, half-surprised to see where his feet had brought him. He started drumming his fingers against the tile behind him, keeping a bit of distance between the basin and himself.
His mother was not often here, but she liked to keep what she deemed as “essentials” in the Hawkins house, just in case. Her bedroom was full of clothes she liked enough to keep but didn’t care to bring on her travels, and her bathroom was fully stocked, from her favorite shampoo to all her necessary makeup.
And Steve was standing here, in this mausoleum of his mom’s life, staring at that damn bathroom drawer. The handle had been changed when Elizabeth Harrington had gone through her latest home renovation frenzy three years ago, but the furniture was still the same, if a different color. In the dim light, it looked eerily like the bathroom he had known in his childhood.
Shit.
With trembling hands, Steve opened the second drawer. A bunch of cosmetics had been left there, waiting in vain for the return of their owners. Most had never been used, and the others were still barely used. Steve reached in the drawer and picked up a red lipstick. Slowly, he took the cap off and stared at the vibrant color, muted by the relative obscurity of the room. The lipstick was new; Steve had the intrusive thought that if he tried it on, he would leave a mark, and his mother would know.
It was stupid. She wasn’t at home enough to remember which lipstick she had used or not.
Minutes passed.
He stared.
Finally, he put the cap back on, then threw the lipstick back in the drawer and left the room, flying both his pale reflection and the tube of makeup.
He didn’t go back to his bedroom. At this point sleep was clearly out of his reach for the night, and turning for hours in his bed for nothing was not very appealing at the moment. Instead, he took a turn, walked down the stairs, and set his course for the living room.
But between here and his goal, there was…
His dad liquor cabinet.
Steve froze in front of it, his brain working in slow motion. He had done his best to cut down on his drinking when he had started to date Nancy, but he had stopped trying when she had stomped over his heart like a herd of wild buffaloes. And he felt better now, with Robin, the kids and Eddie, but he could still remember vividly a time when he had beer for breakfast on weekdays to chase his hangover. Alcohol was… a difficult subject these days.
He opened the cabinet and picked up the first bottle he saw. Scotch. A good one at that, way older than him and probably worth more than the price of his battered liver on the black market. He swore. If his mom would not even realize it if he decided to ransack her whole bathroom, His dad would definitely notice his missing bottle. He had, before, and Steve never wanted to put himself in that kind of situation again. But even if the cabinet was off limits, there was still the wine cellar in the basement…
Steve shook his head and put the bottle back in its place, glass clinking. He took a deep breathe, his eyes closed. He wasn’t going to drink himself into a stupor just because he felt stupidly jealous of a couple of teen girls. He was better than that.
He fled toward the living room, stopping in the kitchen just long enough to grab a can of coke, then threw himself on the couch. Maybe a movie would be enough to lull him to sleep.
Back when he was eight years old, his parents had started going on longer and longer trips, and Steve had been left with a nanny. Linda had pretty blue eyes, pretty brown hair, a pretty smile, and was generally the prettiest person ever, according to little Steve. She had succeeded to Janice, who had only babysat him when his mother was busy, but had been mean enough that the idea of getting a nanny like her full time for weeks had been really scary. But after her, Linda was an angel, and Steve was in love.
She was so kind to him, Linda, always reading him a story before bed and telling him how strong and brave he was when she cleaned up his raw knees after a fall, just because he didn’t cry. She was the best, period. Steve wanted her to stay forever. She was way nicer than his dad, and Steve had decided quickly that he was not going to follow in his dad step and be a boring lawyer like everyone wanted him to be one day. No. Instead, he was going to be just like Linda, with her kind voice, her beautiful puffy hair and her pretty red lipstick.
One day, when Linda had been busy cooking dinner and he was supposed to do his boring homework in the living room, he had tiptoed up the stairs all the way to his parent’s bathroom, and picked up the lovely red lipstick his mom had left behind. He had tried to put it on just like he had seen her do it, making an “o” with his mouth and smearing the product on his lips.
Linda had found him there, with red all around his mouth, and had screamed at him for the first time. She had rubbed a hard cloth against his face to wash it off.
“Lipstick is for girls, Steve. Girls. Never do that again, do you understand?” Her voice had been hard, sterner than it had ever been, and her grasp on his arm had hurt.
He had promised her he would never play with his mom makeup again, and had been sent to his room without dinner. He had swallowed down his tears, and accepted her reprimand, because it was Linda, and Linda was always right.
She had been a bit more strict for a few days, but Steve was pretty sure she had forgiven him after that.
But then his parents had come home, and the first thing his dad had done had been to slap him, hard, and give him the verbal lashing of the century while shaking him. It had been worse than that time he had helped Tommy egg his neighbor’s house. Between his dad harsh words and his mom’s disappointed face, he had understood.
Linda had snitched.
He had been punished, again, and had spent two months without any sleepover at Tommy’s. After two weeks, his fury against Linda the Snitch had abated, turning into a deep hurt. He didn’t love her anymore, and he certainly didn’t want to wear pretty red lipstick like her, because she was a traitor, and he never wanted to be mean like her.
Lipstick was for girls anyway.
The kids were always squatting his house like a bunch of invasive little rodents, so, of course, Max and El came back two weeks later for a girls’ afternoon, just the two of them. They had asked for baking goods, again, but this time their alleged means of survival were brownies.
Steve, whipped as he was, made brownies.
When he brought the cakes to the girls, his nose was assaulted by a sharp smell.
“Steve!” Max raised her head, abandoning for a second the nail polish she was putting on El’s hand. “Come here, El needs someone else to practice using nail polish.”
Steve froze.
“What?”
“She already did my nails. It’s not exactly perfect, but she’s doing better each time!” Max wiggled her hand in his direction, showing off her bright green nails. “Look, she barely put any on my skin.”
Steve stood there, staring at the two teenage girls seated on his living room’s floor, dumbfounded. They wanted to… do his nails?
Max must have read his trouble on his face, because she immediately started to argue.
“You know, El needs more experience in normal people’s activity. So you would be helping her.” El nodded vigorously. “And you know, plenty of guys wear nail polish.” Now, that was a lie. Steve was a guy, and he had plenty of male friends back in high school when he was on top of the food chain. None of them had ever used nail polish, because it was a girl thing, and would have ended with the dude stuck in his own locker. Max was so full of shit right now.
“Like Eddie!” El added.
Wait what?
“What? Eddie doesn’t…”
“Yes, he does! He painted his nail black with us once before going to Indianapolis!”
There was an implication there that Steve was not ready to think about. All he knew was that Eddie definitely didn’t wear nail polish in Hawkins. People would have made even more comments against him if he had, and he really didn’t need more hatred from every asshole in town right now.
Still. Even if Eddie didn’t really paint his nail on the regular, it didn’t mean Steve could not do it once, discreetly, for the girls. He would just have to remove it before going to bed.
“You know what? Okay. I’ll do it.”
Max and El cheered as he set the brownies on the coffee table and sat down with them. The girls rummaged in a bag for a minute, before El brandished a little blue bottle.
Oh shit. That was… a rather bright color. He winced.
“Are you sure about this one?” He asked them.
They both nodded. “It’s blue. Blue is a boy color, you’ll be fine.” Max added, rolling her eyes.
Steve tried to ignore the blue eyeshadow El was sporting and gave her his hands.
El took her time, carefully painting each of his nail blue, sticking her tongue out in concentration. It was always very sweet to see her do mundane activities with her friends instead of fighting for her life. Steve did his best to focus on the satisfaction he felt at seeing her this happy, and ignored the pit that was trying to grow in his stomach.
He was fine. It was just nail polish.
“Aaaand done!” El threw him her best smile. “What do you think?”
It was…
It was…
Well, it wasn’t so bad. A bit unusual, of course, but the color created a good contrast with his skin. It was eye-catching, and Steve found at his great surprise that he rather liked it.
“It’s lovely,” He said, a bit breathless.
“It’s my turn, now!” Max said, grabbing the makeup bag. Steve frowned. Everyone’s hands were already painted, what did she want to do? Steve wiggled a bit to hide his feet under himself. He was not letting her paint his toenails.
She brandished a pink tube.
Oh.
“Max, I’m not letting you put lipstick on me,” he started, voice stern. “That’s for girls. You know I’m not a girl, right?”
“Oh, come on!” Max said with a big smile. “Just for a few minutes. It’s not even a very colorful one. It’ll be very discreet.”
“And we’ll match.” El continued.
Steve felt the pit in his stomach grew.
“I… It’s for girls, Max.”
He watched, breathless, as they exchanged a pointed look. Had his reaction been that visible last time? Did they talk about it in his back?
They turned back toward him. Unexpectedly, El was the one to start.
“You know, I’ve seen lots of people acting like other people doing things differently than them is wrong. And at first it hurt, because I wasn’t like anyone else. Like at all. I still don’t understand everything people say, because I didn’t learn about a ton of things as a kid. But now, I don’t care anymore.” She took a deep breath, then smiled. “The most important thing I learned was to be myself, whatever ‘myself’ meant, and to try to be happy with that. Rules about what you should like or not are stupid. So don’t listen to the dumb mouth breathers who say only girls can wear lipstick.” El shuffled closer to him. “They’re wrong.” She whisper-shouted in his ear.
Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. She… She wasn’t wrong. These rules were stupid.
“Okay,” he mumbled.
“Okay?” Max’s smile was soft. “So I can put lipstick on you?”
“Go ahead.” Steve closed his eyes tightly. “But if I don’t like the color I’ll take it off.”
He sensed more than he heard Max coming closer to him, but the weight of her hand on his shoulder made him jump anyway.
“You need to stop biting your lips, Steve.” Max’s voice was soft, and for a moment he felt like she was talking to a spooked horse. The wild staccato of his heart wasn’t breaking the comparison either.
Steve was acting like a total idiot. It was just some damn lipstick.
He let go of his bottom lip and took a deep breath, trying his best to relax.
“Here we go…”
The lipstick wasn’t cold. Steve wasn’t sure why he had expected it to be, but it wasn’t. The texture was dryer than lipbalm but it tasted vaguely fruity, and Steve had to refrain from licking his lips. The whole process was sort of underwhelming.
“Okay, it's almost over. ‘Max slipped a piece of paper between his lips. “Now, press your lips together.”
He followed her instructions, bemused.
“And we’re done! You can open your eyes.”
Steve blinked, disorientated. He didn’t feel anything. It was weird. He was wearing lipstick. Surely he should have felt different. Changed. Maybe less of a man, or something. But no.
Maybe it was just because he couldn’t see himself.
El picked up a hand mirror and waves it in his direction.
“Here, look at yourself! You’re so pretty!”
Steve caught the mirror and angled it toward his face.
Oh.
It was. Nice.
Very nice. El was right, he did look really pretty like that. Max had chosen a lovely strawberry color, and it matched well with his reddened cheeks. He ran his hand though his hair and tilted his head, admiring his reflection.
“Yeah, I think that color is really working for me.” He smiled at the mirror. “Damn. I look fine.”
El and Max started giggling madly.
“You do!” El said. “It’s very nice.”
“I think you should show it to Eddie,” Max continued with a plotting look on her face.
Steve blinked owlishly. Why? How? Did she really expect him to drive like that all the way to Forest Hill just to show to Eddie how the soft red of his lips complimented his face?
“Why would I do that?”
The giggling resumed.
“He likes makeup.” El said.
“Yeah, sometimes he put some eyeliner on.” Max added.
’ I know, but I don’t think I ever saw him with eyeliner unless he’s playing with his band? That’s part of his rock star persona. Like ABBA’s crazy concert clothing.” Then again Steve wasn’t spending all his time with Eddie. Maybe the guy had hobbies he shared with other friends. Like the ones he met in Indianapolis.
“No, I saw him with eyeliner on weekends too. I think he’s a bit shy about it.”
“Eddie? Shy? Have you met him?”
“He probably thinks you would react badly if you saw him with makeup in a sort of normal setting? You did just imply makeup was only for girls…”
Steve sputtered. “I wouldn’t have said anything mean to him if he had shown up to a movie night with eyeliner!”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. And you have a huge jock vibe, so that doesn’t help.”
El nodded. Traitor.
“So if you showed him you’re not against wearing a bit of lipstick, he should appreciate another guy who does nonconforming things, like him.”
Steve took a second to really think about it. Eddie was always very vocal about non-conformity. They were probably right. He should show him how he looked right now. Show him how he wasn’t just a former jock. Eddie didn’t need to go all the way to Indianapolis to find interesting friends. Steve had dept. He could be unconventional if he wanted.
“You know what?” He stood up. “I’m going to Eddie’s.”
“Wait, what? Right now?” In Max’s defense, he had decided to never leave the kids unsupervised in his house after the carpet incident. But it was El and Max, they were not like Mike and Dustin. He could trust them with the furniture.
“Yeah, why not?” He briefly turned back toward the girls, one shoe in his hand. “Are you going to destroy the house if I leave you alone?”
“Of course not!”
Okay, I’ll be right back,” Steve said, walking out.
He closed the door, nearly missing Max’s last comment.
Prompt: Leather community | Rating: T | WC: 862 | Relationships : Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington; Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Summary:
Robin goes to a gay bar with her emotional support Dingus.
They weren't expecting to cross paths with a leather clad Eddie Munson.
The club was packed. Robin had be told about it by some pretty girl apparently working at the bookshop were she had found all her lesbian informations. Of course she had insisted on showing up tonight, when the mysterious hottie had advised his best friend to come. There was an event, something something, lots of queer people from every horizon, something something. Robin's explication had been severly lacking, and Steve was pretty sure she hadn't heard a third of the cashier's speech, too occupied trying to not melt into a pile of goo because an attractive girl had told to her.
Whatever. It was not the first overpacked party he had attended. Buying a drink would be a bit difficult with so many people around, but as long as he Robin's hand in his, they would at least stay together.
"I didn't think it was your scene, Big Boy..."
Steve turned around, startled. He knew that voice. He had heard it so many times in the high school cafeteria while its owner was flouncing on the tables.
Eddie Munson was standing in front of him, clad in leather pants and a goddamn leather harness. He wore nothing else, and Steve found himself almost hypnotised by the expanse of naked, tattoed skin in front of him. He swallowed heavily, trying desperatly to find something to say, anything, before Munson go too weirded out by Steve's lack of answer.
"Oh, hi Munson! He's with me!" Robin pipped, saving him from looking too much like an idiot. She was smiling like crazy. "I was a bit scared to come alone, and Steve was all 'I'm a great winngman Robie, I'll get you laid'. And I thought, yeah, this guy is known as the ultimate lady killer, the Panties Whisperer. So I thought why not? He could help me find a girl, because, lesbian, you know." Her smile dropped for a second, and she winced. "Though I saw him try to flirt with the girls who came at Scoops during the summer and he was absolutely awful, so I don't know if his expertise is to be believed. Maybe his technique is not that good and I'll end up alone at the end of the night... But at least I would have been to a gay bar once in my life."
"So first time being here. I though so, but I didn't want to assume."
Robin grimaced. "Why, do I look out of place?" She glanced at Steve. "Do I seem straight to you Dingus?" Steve shook his head. Robin turned back to Eddie. "Is it my clothes? I try do wear something cool, but clearly," she gave him a once over, "I'm falling short right now."
"Nah, you're fine. I just never saw you here, and well, we live in Hawkins. You look good for a girl, don't worry. "
"Oh." Robin visibly relaxed. "I was scared there was a dress code I had missed or something."
"No, I'm a special case. You like it, Birdie?" he asked, grinning.
"I'm not gonna lie, you look amazing in leather. Very dramatic. Does it works with the boys?"
Eddie laughed.
"You have no idea. People are coming on to me right, front and center. I'm nearly as popular as our own King Steve." He winked.
Robin started fidgetting with her rings. "Does it... Does it works well with girls too? Do they even make things like that" she gestured at the harness Eddie was wearing, "for girls? Whoever create these, I mean."
"Oh believe me, they do. It's less common for lesbians, but some girls dress like that too. I've seen it, it looks great with tits. Why, you wanna try?"
Robin hesitated. "You think it would look good on me?"
"What I think, my lady Robin, is that you would look very butch in leather. And that would make a lot of panties drop." He winked. "I know a few girls who could tell you all about it. Interested?"
"Oh my god, Eddie! Yes!"
He turned toward Steve, and the strange look in his eyes made him shiver. He felt like a poor little gazelle staring at a dark haired lion.
"And you Stevie? You haven't used your pretty mouth in a second, now. Tell me, pretty boy, do you like the leather?"
Steve blushed, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. For once he had nothing to respond to someone who was flirting with him. He was accustomed to girls batting their eyelashes at him, smiling, playing with their hair. But now, in front of Eddie Munson's burning intensity, he found himself barely able to look at the older guy. He kept glancing at his almost naked torso, at the glorious contrast between the leather and his pale skin. He felt an insane urge to lick at the sweaty expanse of flesh right in front of him.
Did he like the leather? Steve averted his eyes.
"Yes." he mumbled.
A beat. Steve found himself glancing back at the other guy, drawn to him like a moth to a flamme.
