Steve not thinking his flirting is working because he keeps putting on the Harrington charm but Eddie hasn't tried to get into his pants yet.
But Eddie really wants to be with Steve for the long haul so he's trying to demonstrate he would be a good partner by Providing Food whenever they hang out.
Something something fic where Steve DOES go too fast. He practices with dildoes and stuff so on their first date he can blow and take Eddie like a pro, only Eddie has zero prior experience and gets super overwhelmed and avoids Steve after—because he thought he was getting surprise!attainable boy next door but ended up with the homespun equivalent of a gd porn star and there’s no way he’ll ever be able to measure up. He expected to hold hands and wax embarrassingly poetic about how beautiful Steve is, and instead ended up learning that Steve’s trained himself out of having a gag reflex?? Meanwhile Steve left the next morning still feeling blissed out and already daydreaming about their second and third dates.
Dramatically following up on @nancywheelesbian and @precioussteveharrington’s additions to this post, because in the end I couldn’t just leave it alone. Insert “Steve really crammed for that pop-quiz” joke here.
(Also on ao3.)
Eddie spots Steve Harrington crying in his truck on a fucking Tuesday and can’t shake the certainty that it’s his fault. The knowledge stabs at something squishy and weak on the inside regardless of how desperate he is to protect himself, how many times he’s told himself he has to let go and stay away because it’ll hurt less in the long run—hurt less than Steve inevitably getting bored, realizing he isn’t worth the effort, and moving on. So, after some loitering, he slouches over and taps on the driver’s side window.
Steve startles so hard he bangs his head on the ceiling. His face is red and blotchy but he’s caught, and rolls the window down while still wrestling his breath under control, clearly trying to play it cool and it’s honestly just not his fault that he’s failing, no one could shine this turd of a situation. “H-hey Eddie,” he manages, and then it’s either sniffle or let snot run down his lip. “S’up.”
“Are you okay, man?” Eddie asks heavily. He can’t help it, he’s tired; he’s had his own shitty time since pulling away, miserable that he’d attained his unattainable crush only to realize that he can’t possibly maintain, could never live up to or keep up with. It’s shitty, getting exactly what you want and then realizing that continuing to have it just isn’t realistic. And now he has to watch Steve sniffle again and put on a painfully forced facade of I’m Fine What Are You Talking About, brick by shitty brick in real time.
“Why, uh. Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve puts on a smile that looks like it physically hurts. “I’m. Cool. Right? Totally casual. Super chill. Did I say casual? And, like, obviously you know this, but you don’t have to call. Because. We’re casual, right? It’s all good! Just. Whenever. If you want to reach out. Or not! Could be never. I’m cool with it. Staying the other night was just, just a glitch. I was just super tired. Not a big deal. I get like that after practicing a lot and then finally, you know, doing the thing. Like a big game! Not, not that you’re a game. More like, studying for a big test. Except, uh, not big! I-I mean, you’re not small, but, um. Casual. Like a pop quiz? We’re totally casual. If you don’t want me—I mean, don’t want to again that’s… totally fine, no harm no foul. Test drives to take this guy for a spin and decide if you wanna keep him are totally allowed, that’s what dating is for, people do it all the time, it’s fine. We can go back to being friends, it’s fine!”
Eddie had never seen a more pathetic coverup for hurt—nay, utterly devastated—feelings in his life, which is… confusing. Why does Steve get to be the one who's hurt, here? But the bricks in the facade have gaps Eddie could fit his entire body through, and he’s almost too weary himself to actually do it, except—
“You practiced for me?”
If possible, Steve goes even redder. “No! Well—yeah, but. Just because it was my first time. With you. Or a guy. Any guy. And I wanted to be… not bad at it? But I guess I got carried away and forgot that not everyone wants—I mean, I’m sorry for being a lot. After. If you ever wanted to go for a second round I swear I don’t have to stay after, I can get out of your hair, it’s not a big deal. But no pressure! Like I said, I’m cool with just going back to being friends.”
It’s so obviously a big deal that Eddie wants to throw up a little, and at the same time he’s baffled by what Steve seems to be saying. Eddie knows he’s not enough—so why does Steve seem to think that he is too much?
“How,” he asks instead, “was that possibly your first time? Steve, you—” And, okay, they’re in a public parking lot in fucking Hawkins, he can’t just say ‘you took my dick in your throat and ass like you do that sort of thing every day’ out loud in a normal voice without getting them both run out of town. They’re already pushing it, and just lucky that no one is particularly in earshot. “… How the hell do you practice all that by yourself?”
It’s not jealousy. Eddie’s totally not imagining Steve practicing the same way he gained his own rudimentary skills, driving out to Indy over long weekends and trying his luck at whatever gay bar he could fake ID his way into. He’s not hurt by listing in his head all the stuff they could’ve figured out together instead of… whatever the hell Steve actually did. That would be stupid. And he has his high school diploma now, finally, which means he is officially Not Stupid. Or something.
Steve’s eyes are darting around the parking lot now, like he’s finally realized they’re in public and could potentially be overheard. Which—okay, it’s good he’s not just going to announce to Eddie, god, and the entire town how he self-trained to take cock like a pro, but Eddie kinda needs to know this now, so, like. Fuck. Fuck.
“Fine, not here,” Eddie concedes, and his irritation is audible enough to make Steve cringe. “Your place?”
“Uh, yeah. Do you… You could follow me there, or…?”
Eddie sighs and flaps his hands around at the empty parking lot. “I’m on foot today, so yeah, I could use a ride.”
“I can give you one,” Steve blurts out immediately, perhaps realizing he hadn’t actually offered yet. Or maybe that’s what he’d been dancing around with all that trailing off.
The thing is—the thing that pains Eddie so much as he circles the truck and climbs in the passenger side, is—their date before tumbling into bed together had been fantastic. All the ease and comfort and familiarity of being friends first, laced through with the excitement of new beginnings and the thrill of mutual attraction finally acted upon. Now it’s all awkward and pained and ruined, and Eddie isn’t sure if he’s mad at himself or at Steve for that, or just ticked off in general that something so good had crumpled in on itself so quickly.
The short drive to Loch Nora happens in complete silence, no radio and the windows all rolled back up tight for privacy except they’re not talking, are they? Steve is even trying to sniffle as quietly as possible, as though Eddie hasn’t noticed he’s all snotted up, which is just—Fuck.
Steve, for his part, is trying so hard not to lean towards Eddie like a sunflower following the sun and wilting in the painfully awkward silence. He’d put the radio in except he doesn’t think Eddie would like any of the stations he usually listens to, and he’d play a tape except the one in the player is the mix tape Eddie had given him a few days before their date that he’s been listening to on repeat the fast few days, and… that’s it for options, so. Silence it is. But at least that gives affords him the bucket-of-ice-water clarity necessary to pull his shit together. Knit the cracks back together and tuck his raw, heartbroken feelings back down deep inside, letting the tear tracks dry and his face congeal back into a smooth mask that he hasn’t tried to use since his King Steve days.
Once parked he practically throws himself out of the truck towards the house—still living with his parents, because the plan had been to save up for a trailer in Forest Hills but he can’t move into Eddie’s neck of the woods neighborhood now so… new plan pending—and leads the way through the sterile entryway and up the stairs. Yes, it still hurts that Eddie doesn’t want him, but it is what it is. The important thing now is that Eddie, for some reason, wants to know how Steve prepared himself for losing his gay virginity. He doesn’t have to understand the motivation behind it to give the guy an answer, and maybe doing this will prove that they can still at least be friends. That he doesn’t have to lose Eddie entirely and disrupt the greater Party just because things didn’t work out.
“Remember the unit in gym class on weight training?” Steve asks evenly as he leads Eddie into his bedroom. “You start with the smallest ones and work your way up. Robin helped me find the, uh, reading material so I could figure out what to expect, but I did this part… separately. Figured she didn’t need all the details.”
“What,” Eddie starts, baffled, but then Steve has the storage bin out from under his bed frame and dumps it out over the plaid duvet in a thumping rain of butt plugs, dildos, and lube bottles in various states along the full-to-empty spectrum. There’s also a legal-sized notepad that he fishes out of the pile and thrusts in the other man’s direction without looking.
It’s got all his notes: some hastily jotted down quotes or paraphrases from Robin’s zines about shit like fingering your own asshole, breathing techniques, how to find the prostate on yourself and others, what not to do while blowing a dude; other pages are filled with slightly crooked columns of numbers indicating date, duration, and size of certain toys he’d used while… working his way up. Eddie starts flipping through it—not that Steve looks, but he can hear the pages rustling.
“You seriously made yourself a training schedule for this?” Eddie asks after a moment, his tone unreadable.
Resolutely not looking up from the now cluttered bed, Steve nods.
“Going back weeks before we even made the date?”
Steve shrugs defensively. “I figured out what I wanted and I wanted to be prepared. I mean, you’ve known you’re gay for way longer than I’ve known I’m bi, I needed to… catch up, I guess.” His eyes are fixed on his biggest dildo in the pile, the size he had guessed Eddie to be—and he’d been pretty much spot on, something he’d taken a great deal of secret pride in that night.
It was kind of expensive, but he might throw it out. Hasn’t decided yet. Closes his eyes briefly against another wave of sadunlovabletoomuch to keep it from actually leaking out again.
He wishes suddenly that Eddie weren’t here right now. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Proving they could still be friends or something, but—why?
“What are these squiggles?” Eddie asks, still sounding oddly blank.
Sighing, Steve looks over and squints at where he’s pointing to the rightmost column on the page. “That’s where I marked off that I cleaned them. W for washed, S for sanitized.”
Eddie taps the next column to the left. “The S’s all have an A here, and the other ones all have an… M? Is that an M?“ He blinks, his whole face twitching. “Jesus H. Christ, Steve, is that A for ass and M for mouth?”
Steve’s cheeks are starting to burn, but he refuses to be embarrassed for wanting to make sure he could make it good for Eddie. And for not wanting to be gross while practicing for it. “Sue me for being thorough, I guess,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and finally lifting his gaze to meet Eddie’s head on. “Is there anything else you wanted to know, or are we good here?”
Both corners of Eddie’s mouth are twitching, the dimples that Steve likes so much threatening to pop, which is just—That’s not fair. Eddie is clearly surpassing a smile, maybe even a laugh.
“Your W’s look like sideways S’s sometimes, you know.”
Something in Steve’s chest crumples and his crossed arms tighten. “Don’t.”
“Steve,” Eddie says, and his tone is suddenly readable again. Soft. Quiet and earnest and familiar, the way he’d sounded when Steve had still been full of hope that they could be a them. “Look, all of this is… surprisingly, endearingly nerdy, to be honest. And I’m about to admit to being kind of an idiot about something, so, please, just hear me out?”
“I… Okay?”
Eddie bites his bottom lip and rocks a bit on his heels. “So, the thing is… Sure, maybe I had a bit of a head start in the whole, uh, liking dicks in a sexy way… arena, but. All this?” He waves the notepad to indicate everything on the bed, and possibly all of Steve as well. “You managed to level up way past me. Incredibly efficiently, I might add. This is screaming ‘would be good at DnD actually’ to me, by the way, but that’s beside the point.”
Steve tilts his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he tries to follow through the babble to whatever conclusion Eddie is aiming for here.
“You psyched me out,” Eddie admits, glancing away. Shoulders straight, knees locked, honest but vulnerable. “I mean, I’ve done stuff, but you were pulling out moves I’ve never seen outside of pornos. You made it look totally effortless, but this…” He holds up the notepad again. “This is effort, man. This is the craziest thing anyone’s ever done for me—in a good way,” he adds quickly, seeing Steve’s face twitch again. “You’re already totally out of my league, and after the other night I figured I’d never measure up in a million years. So.” Deep, hiccuping breath, and Steve can’t help but ache and let his crossed arms start to loosen as Eddie stares at him imploringly with those big, expressive Bambi eyes. “This is me saying, officially and like a real adult who’s good at using my words and shit, that I’m really, really sorry for avoiding you afterwards. If you can forgive me for that… can we maybe have a do-over? Sometime? My treat?”
Steve feels shaky, his stomach dipping at this second sudden pull of the rug when he’d thought he’d figured out the lay of the land. Part of him just doesn’t understand this hot-cold-hot of whether Eddie wants him or not. Shouldn’t… shouldn’t it be easier to tell if they fit together? Shouldn’t Eddie have just been able to tell, without all this hurt getting in the way? Hurt for both of them, because he’s not blind to the bruise-like dark crescents under Eddie’s eyes or the way he’s worrying his bottom lip waiting for an answer.
“Are you sure?” Steve checks, and he hates how small his voice comes out but apparently that’s what’s happening. “I thought—Staying the night wasn’t too much?”
“I… had a lot on my mind,” Eddie replies carefully, wincing when Steve does as if in apology for saying it at all. “It wasn’t about you being too much, Stevie, I swear. I was too… I got caught up in thinking I couldn’t possibly be enough before we even fell asleep, I didn’t—You staying didn’t, I mean it seemed like… maybe you were just tired or something, I don’t know. It didn’t really… register? I was still stuck on, y’know, how bad I choked when you tried to come in my mouth.” Eddie’s face is red, and he dips his head forward to hide behind his hair. “I mean, you told me it was okay and you were so sweet about it, and then you went down on me and I was like, in your throat like—seriously, that’s porn star level shit! And I couldn’t even last two seconds, and… just…”
Steve feels himself blushing in sympathy. He had done all of that. And he’s been on the other end of stuff like that—not for a long time, but when he’d first lost his virginity to an upperclassman girl who’d been kinda nice but kinda disappointed when he’d turned out to be a two-pump chump. At least Steve had been nicer than that, genuinely taking it as a compliment that Eddie had been too turned on to hold back because he’d thought—well.
He’d expected that since Eddie had more experience with guys… But maybe that’s a different category from having experience with sex in general. Because Steve has been with lots of girls—apparently he’d misjudged how that might, uh. Translate, in bed.
Not that they’d quite gotten to the actual bed before scrambling to get each other’s cocks in their mouths, but. Still.
“Um,” Steve says, suddenly aware that he’s been thinking too long and needs to say something. “I, uh, I. I never thought you weren’t—I mean, it was all great in my book, better than with girls because it… it’s you, and I really. Um.” Why is it so hard to say? (He knows why. The past few days, and Nancy calling him bullshit in a way that still rings in his ears, even years later, sometimes.) His voice drops to a whisper as he forces out, “I really like you, Eddie.”
Immediately, Eddie reaches out, and Steve finishes uncurling in answer to take the offered hand in his. He means to give a reassuring squeeze, but Eddie beats him to it.
“I really like you too, sweetheart,” Eddie says, matching his hushed tone. Drawing closer but hesitating at the last second, as though he’s not sure he’s allowed after being the one to instigate distance between them in the first place.
Steve’s mask—what was left of it by this point, anyway—breaks and he all but lunges forward, curling his arms around Eddie and holding tight. Tucking his face against Eddie’s neck, burrowing just under the leather collar of his jacket-and-vest combo and breathing him in. Melting into it as Eddie hugs him back just as hard, just as relieved.
“I’d say we should sit down,” Eddie mumbles—Steve loves how he can feel the rumble of it, with their chests tight together and his closed lips pressed aside the other man’s throat—“but there’s kind of a lot of stuff that’s been up your ass in the way.”
“It’s all clean,” Steve huffs into his skin, almost laughing.
“Still,” Eddie chuckles back, swaying him from side to side, “it’d be lumpy, you… sex toy shopping spree maniac.”
Steve pulls back slightly, straightening enough to nudge their noses together. Enough to confirm visually why the words sounded a little wet; that it’s happy tears. Jesus H. Christ, he thinks giddily, he’s made Eddie Munson cry happy tears. “I can put them away. Don’t need ‘em anymore.”
This time, Eddie does kiss him. And adds breathlessly, “Don’t you dare put them away for good, I wanna see you in action sometime baby,” before kissing him again, a lot more, clinging the way Steve is afraid to at first but soon enough matches.
Tagging everyone who seems like they wanted a fix-it, apologies if I missed anyone: @matchingbatbites @lost-andstill-lost @mollymawkwrites @tinytalkingtina @itsalmoststrange
Eddie coming out to Robin, and by inescapable extension Steve… as bi. He’s totally gay, but figures this will help make his attraction to Steve less obvious. Less inevitable-seeming to the token straight guy of their trio, with how much time they spend together now.
What he gets instead is a double-barrel blast of hazel Bambi eyes and, “You can like both? That’s… a thing?”
Suddenly Eddie’s plan to soft-launch his coming out with an “easier” sexuality to swallow and working his way up to admitting that it’s really just guys for him doesn’t seem so smart, because Steve is realizing he’s bi right in front of him and at some point Eddie is going to have to deal with the fact that it was a lie.
After everything with the Upside Down is over and done, and Eddie has had some time to work up to being second in command of the Steve’s Best Friend Ship, Steve is comfortable enough to casually mention one night that “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I could fall in love with a guy just like I could with a girl, I’ve just never met a guy I could really see myself with, you know?”
The next day Eddie rolls up to the Byers-Hopper residence for an audience with Byers the Youngest, on a quest to commission a series of drawings or paintings featuring “me and Steve doing just, like, everyday stuff. To really cement the friendship, you know?”
And Will is like, uh-huh uh-huh, nod, steeples his fingers. “Everyday stuff, right. Would you like me to also do one where the two of you and some of your closest mutual friends are facing a dragon and he’s valiantly leading the charge, as the heart of the party?”
Which Eddie replies to with, “That does sound cool… Okay, yeah, let’s throw in one of those too.”
So naturally, Will does the commissioned pieces imbued with all the blatant gay longing he would never dare to include in renditions of him and Mike. Eddie does not quite register this, just appreciates the artwork and pays him more than originally agreed because the kid really went above and beyond. He’s considering commissioning him to paint a kickass mural or something on the side of his van, too.
The pieces are a birthday gift for Steve. He oohs and ahhs appropriately while unwrapping them; the gay longing is, at least for the time being, lost on him.
Robin, however, looks over his shoulder and nearly chokes to death on a mouthful of Sprite at the sight of her two best dinguses captured in imaginary domestic bliss. She has to cover for trying to breathe her soda by claiming she saw a spider. She cannot even with them right now, about this. Boys are impossible.
Permanent tag list, because why not: @hotluncheddie @yesdangerpls @rhettsabbotts @wheneverfeasible @ape31
(I haven't watched the s5 episodes, please be kind about spoilers/tag 'em if you got 'em. Anyway, here's this. Happy Thanksgiving!)
(Now with a part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, and also on ao3)
Steve puts out one of these ads for Thanksgiving because Robin is out of town visiting family, the Hendersons are out of town visiting family, the Wheelers invited him but Nancy and Jonathan (and all the Byers) are going to be there so it’d be terminally awkward, he used to have a standing invitation at the Hagans’ but that dried up along with his friendship with Tommy, and his parents are off jet setting so he’s all alone in a big empty house.
The ad (which Robin helped him write) reads:
Alone on Thanksgiving? Want to have a laugh at your parents’ expense and make your next boyfriend look great by comparison?
Offering to be your strictly platonic Thanksgiving date but pretend to be your serious and/or long term boyfriend for just the cost of a free meal.
I’m an 18 year old, formerly popular high school graduate with no ambition and no real plans to get out of my home town. I worked at an ice cream shop until the mall burned down (I was there, technically no alibi but I nearly died so the police never questioned me) and now I rent out video tapes, but the low pay isn’t a problem because I still live with my parents and they’re rich. They didn’t invite me on their holiday travel plans because I’m an embarrassment to the family name for not wanting to be a bloodsucking lawyer.
I am good with any of the following:
- Telling lame jokes
- Talking in extended sports metaphors
- Acting so overly fake-polite it makes everyone feel uncomfortable
- Being all over you (non-sexually, we can discuss ground rules)
- Acting vain, vapid, and self-centered (I dress preppy anyway, so visually I’m already halfway there)
- Making condescending comments about the home decor, furniture, and food
- Hitting on your relatives while you pretend not to notice
- Shotgunning beers (2 max, I’ve still got to drive home) at the dinner table
- Smoking cigarettes in the house and/or show up smelling of smoke
- Pretending to get drunk and either crying or proposing to you or both
- Talking openly about an ex-girlfriend who broke my heart and getting emotional about it (might be genuine)
So who takes him up on it? Eddie Munson. Because Eddie wants to come out to his uncle, and figures that his presumed type (he has zero actual experience yet because it’s Hawkins and the drive to anywhere more gay friendly costs serious gas money) of denim and leather-clad, tatted up bears several years his senior will seem more appealing to Wayne after a brief sample of yuppie scum.
At first Steve is surprised to get a call from a guy, but he agrees to meet Eddie anyway. Upon meeting, Eddie is surprised to realize that Steve fucking Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High and sought after ladies man, put out that ad. Can’t fault him for not wanting to be a bloodsucking lawyer though, that’s fair enough. And it’s not like Eddie has any room to judge Steve for not having good enough grades to get into college, considering he himself is still on his third try at finishing his senior year. Steve hadn’t even been part of the douchebag popular crowd by the end of his time served in high school, and from the way he’s filling out his clothes a little more now it’s clear that he’s not as much of a jock as he used to be either.
Anyway, they work out a plan. Steve will arrive fashionably late in his preppiest polo. He’ll call Wayne “sir” no matter how many times Wayne tries to correct him, and compare the size of their trailer to various rooms in his big house in Loch Nora. In keeping with being the polar opposite of Eddie’s type and therefore being an obvious bad fit, he’ll ask to put on one of his Tears for Fears tapes in the background, drape himself all over Eddie all the time and do annoying sappy “let’s share it” shit about any food or drink Eddie has in hand, and talk excessively about sports and being part of the douchey jock crowd that Wayne knows Eddie hates. Talking about his prowess with the ladies is a bonus, if he can think of a way to bring it up naturally.
“Should I bring anything?” Steve asks thoughtfully. “Any extra food?”
“Ooh, we barely have space to put everything as it is. So yeah, sure! Maybe a pie? Anything but pumpkin, that’s Wayne’s favorite.”
Steve nods. “I can do a pie.”
Eddie thinks that mean’s he’ll get something store-bought and tasteless, but Steve shows up forty-five minutes late on the dot with a steaming-fresh-out-of-the-oven apple pie.
It’s the first misfire of the night, because apparently Wayne is easily impressed by the thoughtfulness behind homemade baked goods. He’d been pissed on Eddie’s behalf about this so-called boyfriend being disrespectfully late for the first Meet the Parent milestone, but it somehow all melts completely away under the assumption that it was because Steve had been baking for them. Even calling Wayne “sir” doesn’t have the intended effect; Wayne just takes it in stride as Steve trying extra hard to make up for fumbling the first impression.
And Eddie kind of forgot that while he hates sports, Wayne loves it. They throw out stats and team names that go so far above his head he’s not even sure which sport (or sports?) they’re talking about while Wayne finishes up making dinner.
Eddie also kind of forgot to account for the fact that Steve Harrington is pretty, and that having a pretty guy leaning on him and putting big hands on him everywhere (above the belt only, Steve is very respectful about that) is likely to give him heart palpitations. Sometimes Steve stands close and Eddie, who constantly runs cold, can feel heat radiating along his side or back, and when he does his part to sell the fake dating story by slinging an arm around Steve’s waist, he can feel a nice softness there that his fingers kind of itch to dig into.
They’re about to sit down to dinner when Steve says, “You have a lovely home, sir, everything looks so well-loved and personal. And practical too—my mom collects china, but you can never touch or use any of it. Or even see it, because it’s always all packed away in boxes ‘somewhere safe,’ which, I mean, what’s even the point? Not like these mugs or hats, if you need to use one it’s right there and if not it’s a great decoration.”
Eddie can hear that he’s trying. He knows that ‘well-loved’ is supposed to be heard as ‘shabby.’ But Steve sounds so earnest by the time he’s done, like he really does appreciate what the collections add to the space in comparison to what does sound like a boring, bland way to accumulate things and then never look at them again. There’s a pleased gleam in Wayne’s eye as he tells Steve to pick out the mugs they’ll all drink out of tonight, guest’s honor.
By the wide-eyed look Steve shoots him, he can tell that the intended ruse isn’t working. He reaches for his jeans pocket—and there isn’t any way Eddie can signal him that wouldn’t be glaringly obvious, so he just has to watch in horror as Steve pulls out a pack of Marlboros and offers Wayne one.
“Why thank you, son,” Wayne says, taking him up on it. And son? Son?
“I, uh, don’t smoke, myself,” Steve says, still trying to salvage the mission. “My best friend has been telling me nonstop about how it’s a disgusting and unhealthy habit that causes lung cancer and… bad breath and yellow teeth, all kinds of stuff. So I decided to quit. Uh, very recently. That’s why I still had some on me.”
Wayne shrugs. “That’s what I’ve been telling Ed, maybe you can get through to him. Smoking ain’t good for a young man to mess around with. Solidifies it into a life-long habit.” He takes a drag and blows the smoke pointedly away from the dinner table, towards the window they’d cracked open when the biscuits got slightly burnt in the oven. “I think this boy might be a good influence on you,” he adds to Eddie, who frankly can’t believe this is happening.
Steve goes quiet after that, presumably to try and avoid doing things disastrously right again. He digs single-mindedly into the food (which Wayne takes as a compliment, Eddie can tell) and by the time Eddie volunteers them to clear the table while Wayne hits the bathroom he’s slightly flushed and visibly bloated.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispers as soon as Eddie signals that the coast is clear. “I’m really trying here!”
“I know,” Eddie hisses mournfully back, loading their plates into the sink and letting it fill with water. “It’s not all on you, man, this just… isn’t working. What the fuck are we gonna do?”
“The ex-girlfriend thing?” Steve suggests. “Oh, or maybe I can tell him about how my best friend is a girl? Everyone I’ve dated has hated that, which sucks because if someone wants me to give up my platonic soulmate for them then they’re obviously not the one.”
Five minutes later they’re on the couch with two slices of pie each, one pumpkin and one apple and both with vanilla ice cream on top, finding out that Wayne agrees with Steve about the girlfriends-hating-his-best-friend’s-a-girl thing.
“Life’s too short to let other people control who your friends are like that, boy. You’re better off. Plus, Eddie won’t give you a hard time about that, he’s got one of those too. How’s Ronnie doing off at school, Ed?”
“She’s good,” Eddie says through his teeth.
“See? I think I have some photos around here—“ Eddie quietly dies a little next to Steve while Wayne hauls out a scrapbook and shows off pre-teen Eddie’s knobby knees and badly shaved head— “And look at that grin! He really takes after his mama with that, got her dimples’n all.”
“Uh-huh,” Steve agrees, glancing helplessly at Eddie. Apologetic. God, the damage control on this evening is going to be wild, because either they have to manufacture a good reason to break up or (even worse) admit to Wayne that they’d lied to his face.
After he hands the scrapbook back, Steve absentmindedly snags Eddie’s abandoned dessert plate and quickly puts away the rest of his pie slices. Then he leans back with a groan and makes a show of unzipping his pants.
Wayne (who is being bizarrely easy-going about all of this, had he broken into Eddie’s stash before Steve’s arrival to cope with the reality of his nephew liking dick or something?!) just laughs and says that that’s what a good Thanksgiving looks like.
The groan echoes unfairly in Eddie’s head, because Steve is pretty and sprawled out on his couch with his pants undone, the curve of his belly after over-indulging obvious. He can’t keep himself from staring, can’t help thinking that… Steve is already broader than he was in high school, more substantial. There’s a hint of chest hair poking out the top of his polo. He could be a bear, someday. And it’s not like he has a silver spoon in his mouth, not in the way Eddie had always expected based on the Harrington name; he’d expected doting parents and Steve always getting everything he ever wanted, but the guy is alone on Thanksgiving and is… kind of a dork, really. It’s kind of cute. He keeps being accidentally perfect, somehow, and Eddie…
Oh no.
Oh god.
Wayne is totally fine with him being gay, and so is Steve. Steve who’s been kissing his cheek sweetly all evening, pressing their sides together whenever they sit, and during their planning session had said something off handed about giving up on dating girls because it never seemed to go anywhere. Is Steve Harrington… maybe a little bit gay, for real?
Suddenly, Eddie’s problem isn’t about what to tell Wayne. It’s about what to tell Steve.
Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, on ao3
Permanent tag list (ask to be added/removed): @hotluncheddie @scarecrowsteve @wheneverfeasible @yesdangerpls @hiei-harringtonmunson
cw: violation of food safety protocols at Scoops Ahoy
tags: hooking up, humiliation kink, temperature play, sub Eddie Munson, dom Steve Harrington, miscommunication, implied bullying, they’re stupid your honor, getting together
prompt: ice creame scooper from @steddielovemonth
“They don’t fit,” Steve says, teasing and genuine disappointment twining through his tone like twin vines. “Damn. I thought for sure they would.”
“Nnyg,” Eddie chokes out into the tabletop his upper body is draped over. He can’t—He can’t think, not with the cold, slightly damp metal cupping his hot skin like that.
The edge of the ice cream scooper presses in a hard, curving line against his skin where it cups one testicle but not the other.
Steve increases the pressure just a tiny bit, slow but sharp enough to make him gasp in the otherwise silent Scoops Ahoy back room in the closed, empty mall. “Jumping up on cafeteria tables like that, I always figured you were either compensating for something or had big brass balls. Guess we know which one it is now, huh?”
Nodding stupidly, Eddie is still reeling. If anyone were to ask, he honestly wouldn’t be able to tell them how the fuck he ended up here. Alone with Steve “The Hair” Harrington of all people, in the glossy new Starcourt Mall of all places. Bent over an employee break room table with his jeans and boxers puddled at his ankles, his ass bare to the air and one surprisingly focused pair of hazel eyes. Every time Steve moves his scoop-holding wrist Eddie can feel warm skin bumping against the inside of his thigh and his brain whites out a little bit more.
“What else have we learned here tonight, Munson?” Steve continues almost pleasantly. A little condescending, which is not helping how goddamn hard Eddie is but, well. He doesn’t think it was intended to. “Anything about bothering the guy behind the counter about unlimited free samples two minutes before closing?”
Oh. Right. That.
“I—” Eddie’s voice is so wrecked-sounding that he has to stop, clear his throat, try again. “I shouldn’t have done that. Clearly. I’m sorry, okay man? Just, please—”
The scooper drops away suddenly, leaving his balls swinging, and Eddie whines.
“Please what?” Steve prompts.
And Eddie is torn, because he wants to leave but he wants to stay. Wants the cold metal back against his skin, maybe smacking against his ass, but he wants Steve’s warm hands on him too. Thighs, balls, ass, dick, wherever he can get it—even just helping pull his pants back up and sending him off still hard enough to cut glass. He doesn’t know what to ask for because Steve Harrington in the halls of Hawkins High never looked twice at him, but this guy in the sailor suit, blue bottoms criminally short and cupping his ass just so, Eddie doesn’t even know this guy. Has no idea what possessed him to want to see his ass, and is kind of terrified to ask because what if it’s just a joke? Torment the freak, get undeniable proof that Eddie’s a faggot and spread it all over… not school, because Steve graduated, unlike Eddie, but. Around town? Maybe?
“Wh…” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut tight. He’s already humiliated and on a hair trigger about it, why not get some answers. “Why are you doing this, Harrington? What’s your end game?”
There’s a pause, as if Steve really hadn’t anticipated him asking. Eddie doesn’t dare look. He barely breathes while he waits for the answer, even as the silence stretches longer and longer and longer.
“I thought it was obvious,” Steve says finally. His voice is different now, flat and shuttered as he steps back. “Just—never mind then, I guess.”
Eddie’s eyes snap open and he cranes his neck around to look. Steve is running a hand through his magnificent hair, already half turned away but not so much that Eddie doesn’t catch a baffling glimpse of raw devastation on his handsome face.
“What was obvious?” he blurts out, suddenly frantic with the idea that he’s missed something and made Steve look like that—like he’d opened a present on Christmas morning expecting a puppy and finding only a dog turd.
“Nothing,” Steve replies. He’s facing fully away now and his voice is all buttoned up, back to the nonchalant, easygoing tone Eddie remembers overhearing from school when he’d passed by any herd of jocks that Steve was holding court over. “Sorry. I’ll give you free ice cream scoops for a month if you don’t tell anyone and we can just… forget this happened.”
“What was obvious?” Eddie repeats, voice climbing a little too high. “For fucks sake Harrington—“ He sees the guy’s shoulders stiffen and changes track. “Steve, I’m about to repeat twelfth grade for the third time, you’re gonna have to spell it out for me man.”
Without turning, and after another long, tense hesitation, Steve finally answers: “I thought you were into it. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Eddie is so shocked that he finally peels himself off the table and shuffles to turn around, resting his bare ass on the edge because his knees are too wobbly to be trusted right now. “I’m,” he sputters incredulously. “You? Me? Really?”
Steve reluctantly glances over his shoulder, and does what under any other circumstances would be a frankly hilarious double take. Apparently he hadn’t realized Eddie’s dick is still out, standing proud and rosy against the bottom of his band tee and glistening obscenely under the harsh fluorescents.
“I’m very into it,” Eddie continues, flailing his arms for emphasis and unable to stop himself at the point of plausible deniability the way he is usually so careful to around guys in Hawkins. “I didn’t think you would be!”
“S-so you weren’t flirting with me earlier? With the samples?”
“Oh I one thousand percent was, I just didn’t expect anything to come of it.” To stop himself from continuing to flail, because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands, Eddie tucks them awkwardly under his armpits and clamps his crossed arms down tight.
Steve’s hand is in his hair again, mouth twisting in a self-conscious way Eddie definitely doesn’t like. “So, what, you just thought I was bringing you back here to bully you?”
“Yes!“ Oh, that earned a flinch. Time to backtrack. “I mean no. I mean kind of? Look, I don’t know if you’re aware of my reputation in this town—“
“Of course I do,” Steve interrupts unhappily. “Just like you know mine.”
Well, Eddie’s just going to plow right through that for now. He’ll come back to it later if there’s time. “Sure, but the trailer trash super senior doesn’t get the guy, Steve. I’m not supposed to get the guy, especially not around here. Maybe in New York or San Francisco or someplace like that, but not in Hawkins. I followed you back here because I felt like I won some sort of cute boy attention lottery, and—” he loosens his arms to wave a hand down at himself, erection flagging a tiny bit but still going strong “—clearly I had no objection to what was just happening. I’m actually not completely convinced this isn’t some sort of very, very vivid wet dream right now! Although, if so, hats off to my subconscious for totally derailing the good part with this conversation, because—”
Suddenly Steve is standing very, very close, one big hand closed warmly around Eddie’s wrist to prevent any close-range gesturing accidents. “You think I’m cute?”
Eddie blinks owlishly back at him, stunned by this interruption and the change (for the better) in Steve’s demeanor. He’s smiling again and it’s making Eddie’s insides fill with butterflies doing Olympic sized loop-the-loops. “Yeah, duh. Have you seen you?”
Steve presses even closer, Eddie’s dick coming into contact with the Forbidden Shorts and the bulge they not-so-discreetly contain and making the metalhead gasp. “You have wet dreams about me often, Eds?”
“A-all the time,” he admits on a moan, because Jesus H. Christ Steve is rocking his hips. Gentle and slow, but it’s there and, well. Eddie is back to being able to drill through concrete.
“I’ll have to catch up, then.” Steve’s arms fall loosely around his waist, and Eddie shivers as his scooper comes to rest, rounded side down, on his ass cheek. “Think you could help me out, give me a few—” and Steve grins, back to so self assured that it’s goddamn devastating for Eddie’s poor little gay heart “—tips? I may not be going to college, but I’m a very visual learner.”
Eddie, beyond his enthusiastic response to that, just hopes that scooper is getting sterilized before the ice cream parlor opens tomorrow.
Brought to you by my phone trying out a wild new autocorrect while I was tagging something
Steve: So... Your first name is really Theodore?
Eddie: (groans) Don't call me that, I hate that name. It makes me sound like some guy with a sweater vest and elbow patches, and no offense to that kind of guy but that is not my vibe.
Steve: (thinks for a minute, s3 bathroom confession style)
Eddie: ... Are you alive over there, dude?
Steve: Yeah... I've got that beat.
Eddie: What--?
Steve: They asked my mom what she wanted to name me while she was still on some pretty heavy painkillers and she'd been reading trashy romance novels the whole pregnancy, so my full first name is Stevedore.
Eddie: ... (eyes slowly glazing over as he goes down a mental rabbit hole of that context and all its implications)
Steve: (patiently waiting for a response, knowing Eddie will not disappoint)
Eddie: ............. I can't believe our names fucking rhyme.
Permanent tag list: @steviewashere @hotluncheddie @cozysweatersteve @wheneverfeasible @yesdangerpls
