Doesn't Change Anything
Rating: Teen and Up CW: None, I don't think. Sex is lightly hinted at, but ended up not happening, whoops. Tags: Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Trans Eddie Munson, Transmasculine Eddie Munson, Coming Out, Kissing, Just So Much Kissing, Body Worship, Dialogue Heavy, Eddie Has Slight Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Harrington is a Good Boyfriend, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Trusts Steve Harrington, Sappy Ending
💕—————💕 “Before we do anything, I need to tell you something about me, okay?”
He doesn’t want to open his eyes. Stare down the confusion and the contempt surely crawling over Steve’s face; slimy legs and a writhing body, annoyed that he won’t open like a flower. If his clothes come off, though, and they’re exposed to something both of them don’t know what to do about, including everything down there—not that Steve would have much trouble, he just wouldn’t understand.
Not that Eddie begs to be understood.
It would be nice, if even for a moment, to be brought in as a fresh idea and contextualized into the fabric of everything. That he could open his legs further for the grazing touches, be embraced without question.
Mismatched body parts and scars in places most people don’t earn; simply him, as puzzling as it may be. It being him.
His hands are knotted together, dangling between his knees, hiding. It’s always been like hiding, hoping to never be caught by the seeker. Yet when he’d glance in the mirror, all this time the seeker’s been him, wide Bambi eyes and his mom’s hips. Now, tonight, he’s stepping from behind the trunk of a tree, barefoot into the dew-wet grass, letting his sunlight—his Steve—see him fully.
Steve doesn’t touch him now. Doesn’t do that thing where he grazes his fingertips along the back of Eddie’s hand. Or force himself closer, glued from shoulder to heel. He takes a slow breath, sure. Murmurs, “Whatever you need to tell me, I’ll listen.”
Simple.
Eddie nods once, merely a dip of his chin and then back up. His eyes peeled to the mirror hanging on his closet door. Full length, spotty with sprits of glass cleaner he didn’t fully wipe, mismatched stickers and polaroids along the edges. A frame of memories. And he is within the center of it. Always at the center, even unwillingly.
Half of Steve’s body is in the reflection. His soft face and his splaying left hand, spread across his hairy thigh. Still dressed in boxers he borrowed from the dresser. Hair dripping on his shoulders, fresh from the shower and sticky with body wash. He smells like Eddie’s soap, some musky thing he bought in a moment of overcompensation and need.
Gotta smell like the rest of them.
“There are…”—he steels himself with a deep, strangling breath. It catches like a knotted net in the center of his chest; he’s a fish struggling in it; free me, free me, free—“…are some people who are…they don’t go with what they’re born with,” Eddie tries. “I mean, like, they’re not associating themself with what they were told they were. Y’know, the whole girl-boy thing.”
Something flickers over Steve’s face. His eyebrows furrow for a millisecond before resettling.
Okay, so maybe he’s not doing a good job at this.
Doesn’t help there’s a stone ready to sink in his gut. A stone the size of the world.
“I…um…I was born a girl? Whole pink blanket thing and you-know-what between my legs,” he rushes out, words searing like the skin relieved from a quickly peeled bandaid. Can’t help himself, Eddie closes his eyes again. Doesn’t want to know Steve’s stance quite yet. Rather relish in the body heat and freshly washed skin and his boxers still cupping his boy, probably stretching them out enough they won’t be his anymore. “And now I’m, well, I’m a guy. I’ve…I’ve been a guy, Steve. For however long I could remember. Always preferred the tomboy look, y’know, wearing Wayne’s t-shirts when he wasn’t looking.” Restless, Eddie shakes his legs. He could make a quick exit. Go Roadrunner style out the patio door, skitter down the road until he can’t make out the Bimmer with his blurry eyes. He remains, though.
Because Steve does.
He continues, “I’ve been going by Eddie for forever. Picked it all myself. My clothes, the name, how I looked. When I looked.” His eyes open again, darting down to the floor. To his bare feet scrunched in the carpet. It’s funny, he thinks, his feet were the least uncomfortable thing about him; he had his mom’s giant shoes to thank for that. “I’m on prescription hormone injections, to give me that testosterone like you have. Had surgery on my chest, went out of state for it. Wayne held my hand the whole way. I just…
“I just don’t want you to be shocked by what you find. That’s…that’s why I’m telling you. Because I want to have sex with you, Stevie, I do. And I know you know how to please, but…I don’t know.” Eddie’s hair whips around his face as he shakes his head, clearing his mind as if he could erase the awkwardness from the center of his tongue, his spinal cord. “You deserve to know considering who you are to me, sweetheart. And, as much as it sucks to say, you’re allowed to feel how you feel about it. I get it. I don’t expect you to…to understand or respect me or…or love me. I’ll totally understand if you”—
“Are you still you?”
Eddie jerks at the sound of Steve’s voice. Warm and soft. He swivels his head, finally looking over, directly on. There’s a tiny mask of confusion. Otherwise, though, there’s a gentle smile and droopy eyes and a sort of proud adoration still aimed at him. The only thing that’s really ever aimed at him when it comes to Steve.
“Wh-what?” he manages to choke out.
Steve’s eyes dart between his. The expression he’s wearing doesn’t falter. If anything, it only grows stronger. More poignant. Realer. “I mean…I appreciate you telling me. That takes a lot of courage, I can get that. What I want to know, though, is if you’re still Eddie? My Eddie? The person I fell in love with?”
“You…you love me?”
Slowly and tentatively, Steve’s hand leaves his thigh, instead reaching for Eddie’s hand. When neither of them pull away, their fingers end up mingling together. Warm there, too. “Of course I do,” Steve whispers, “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
Blinking, Eddie sits stunned. “Oh,” he breathes. “Wow…oh, wow.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Steve timidly, mildly says, “but I figured it’s important that you know.” He squeezes at Eddie’s fingers. Tight and sure. “Answer my question, though. Are you still you? The nerdy, lovable, perfectly-imperfect person I fell in love with?”
He swallows. “Y-yeah,” Eddie responds shakily, “I’m still me. Just, y’know, I’m a guy.”
“You’ve always been a guy to me,” Steve says, “I’ve only ever known you as a guy.”
“But I have a vagina, Steve. I’m not exactly a conventional”—
“That doesn’t matter to me. I mean, it does if you want it to matter for me. But…I mean, I may have always expected you’d have a dick. It’s whatever, though. Doesn’t stop me from thinking you’re hot or that I want to hold your hand or eventually, y’know, possibly get married to you. And…y’know, our relationship isn’t exactly conventional either, right? At least around here—here, in Hawkins.
“You’re Eddie, my boyfriend, and I love you. And we’re totally gay and into each other. That’s all that matters to me. We can get you a strap-on or something. One of those really realistic ones and you can do me in the ass. That’s”—
Aside himself, purely built on disbelief, Eddie finds himself full-body laughing. Deep and hard from his stomach. Weeping from the corners of his eyes, shaking with it. When he catches his breath, clutching his stomach, he turns to Steve again. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Always a shocker, always in a good way. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Mm…I think it’s my charm,” Steve says around a full smile.
Eddie snorts. Sighs. “Wow…so I sat in fear for absolutely no reason. Shit.”
“No, you had a reasonable fear, I think. That’s a hard thing to tell somebody, I imagine. It was sorta scary as-is to tell you and Robin that I’m bisexual, even if I knew you two wouldn’t judge me. Think it’s just always gonna be there, the fear. But now you don’t have to be scared of me, baby.” Steve squeezes his hand again. “At least, I hope I’m somebody you don’t have to be scared of?”
Instead of words, Eddie leans forward. Enough to rub the tips of their noses together. He stops, drawing himself away momentarily, looking over soft line of Steve’s face. The gentle brush of facial hair freshly coming in. Raised moles, some dark in color, others light like sun-birthed freckles. His eyes are gazing out, purposefully and passionately. It dawns on him, then, why the color is called hazel; there’s a forest of hazel trees growing wayward and strong within his boy, growing big in the sun. He smells of musk, of ocean brine and sun-warmed sand. Soft as the bed they sit on.
Finally, he tastes him.
Parting his lips to lick him over, to squish, to move. Steve is plush and minty and crisp, yet warm. His teeth are straight where Eddie traces him. He hums, he sings. The tip of his nose buries into Eddie’s cheek, just under his eye, pushing deeper as if he could will them to get closer; as if he could bend the laws of physics, atoms and chemistry, to allow them divine perfection—to combine, to become one. Steve’s hands come to rest over Eddie’s chest, their fingers still tangled together, fingertips pressing for the shape of a heart, for the proof of life—the same life he gave back, restarting the very heart he finds.
To think his heart stopped for this man.
To think his heart resuscitated, beating and breathing for this same man.
To think his life is this now: simple.
With a minute, wet pop, Steve gently pulls back. When Eddie can flutter his eyes open, he’s already being gazed at. Half-lidded and fondly.
“Can I go further?” Steve murmurs against Eddie’s open, the words kisses.
Eddie nods. “Y-yeah,” he whispers, “not below the waist…not yet.”
In turn, Steve is nodding back. “‘Course,”—he punctuates with a peck—“of course, Eds. You…you have the power right now, I promise”—
“I trust you.” Eddie unfurls his hands from Steve’s, fingertips pressing lightly into the back of his hands until dropping them away fully. He reaches down for the hem of his t-shirt—a soft, blank thing from Wayne’s closet—and leaves his boxers alone. Slowly, he peels it away from himself, their stares remain locked on each other. Steve doesn’t drop his eyes, doesn’t even twitch for a look, but his hands do go back to his lap. Fingers dipping into his own palms, pressing against the residual warmth Eddie’s left there. Finally, when the shirt hits the carpet, he sets his hands palm-side down over his thighs. “I trust you,” he repeats, softer. He guides Steve’s left hand back to his chest, to his heart. “Take me to bed?”
With a hand still on him, Eddie leans down into his bed, scooting himself up the mattress with Steve kneeing after him.
Steve eyes are big and attentive, focused solely on Eddie’s eyes still. His mouth is closed, lips curled into a soft grin. Cheeks pushed lightly, flushed pink in the dim lighting. He takes his right hand to Eddie’s left, holding them tight, guiding them up the mattress to rest just below pillows. Gently, Steve is sitting on Eddie’s lower stomach, legs folded under himself, curling down to kiss once more.
It’s heavier this time, sappier. Steve breathes hard and deep, nose plunging for purchase, lips slick and dancing in a choreography he’s already practiced, but Eddie doesn’t find himself jealous—kissing back; no, the realization this is all for him now presses against him like Steve’s hand against his chest, careful and tentative, but sure. So sure. He can’t keep the smile off his face, lips pressed to his front teeth, mint prancing over his tongue.
The hand on his chest moves, sliding slowly upward. Tickling against his neck, gliding smooth over his jaw, cupping the back of his head, fingers buried into his wild hair. Steve’s fingernails are dull against his scalp, circling—he lowers himself down, back curled further, knees moving down the mattress until he’s practically laying over Eddie instead. He pulls back again.
Gazing at Eddie.
He places his free hand on Steve’s left side, relishing how it expands deep with each breath, his fingers slotting between ribs. Melding as if he’s always belonged.
“You’re still you,” Steve decides. “I just know you better now.”
Eddie’s breath shutters, gearing to cry even through the smile bright on his face. He wraps his hand further up on Steve’s back, pulling him in closer against his chest. Bare skin to chest hair. “Thank you,” he wobbly whispers, “I knew I could trust you. Even if I was scared.”
Steve pecks him on the lips, then again on his cheek, his jaw over the scar he earned in March. They trail further, the line of his neck, at the still developing Adam’s apple in his throat.
Instinctively, Eddie lets his hand fall back to the mattress, head buried deeper into his pillow, baring more of himself for Steve to reach.
And reach he does.
Over his shoulders, his collarbone, the sparse hair between his pecs, on his heart.
But then he stops, hovering. Left hand warm on Eddie’s bicep. Right hand still wrapped tight around his left. Then, he traces a finger along the surgical scars under Eddie’s pecs, light and careful—curious, too. His face is open still. Inviting and adoring.
“From when I had my breasts removed,” Eddie breathes, “makes me feel more like a man.” Steve looks up to him, eyebrows raised, lips puckered in a silent question. He chuckles, it’s wet and airy, but humored all the same. “You can kiss me there, too, you dork.”
Again, Steve does. Tender and slow, covering every square inch of scarring he can reach. Until he pops back up, eyes shiny with some emotion Eddie can’t quite place. “I noticed them,” Steve murmurs, “back when I had to…to give you CPR. Then, I think I was confused by them, but I didn’t really care because, y’know, I was trying to save you.” He sniffles, presses his lips over Eddie’s heart, like he’s remembering. His voice is quiet again when he speaks. “They saved you, too,” he says, even though it sounds like a question.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Eddie asks softly, tracing his fingers along Steve’s ribs. They shutter under his touch.
“You always seem so confident,” he states. “Because you don’t really have to hide, I guess. Or at least, y’know, not much anyway. You can just be you…even if you were you before, you can be a better—I’m not making much sense.” Steve shakes his head, lips smearing over Eddie’s chest. He huffs a sigh. “I just mean that the surgery obviously helped you. Made you happier.”
Eddie breathes a small chuckle. “Y-yeah, I guess they did.”
Steve rests his head against Eddie’s chest. Cheek pillowed where he had been kissing. “I’m glad I still have you,” he whispers, “that I get to love you now. Just as you are.”
“Me too, baby. I love you.”
His hand is squeezed hard, Steve’s fingers curling and tensing, palm sweaty against his own. He nuzzles against Eddie, placing his ear deeper. “Eds?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for letting me see this part of you.”
Eddie’s hand drifts over Steve’s arm, the back of his shoulder, to his head. He cradles him. “Thank you for loving me anyway.”
💕—————💕
