rated m | 875 words | cw: implied sexual content, alcohol | tags: love confessions, mutual pining, getting together, first kiss
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Two shots didn’t usually do him in, but the room was spinning and his mouth was running like he’d had a whole bottle of vodka. At least everyone else seemed to be on his level.
Except Nancy. She didn’t drink much anymore, so she was usually the babysitter when they all got together.
He could feel her eyes on him now as he danced with Robin, spinning her in circles while they both giggled and nearly tripped over their own feet.
What had he even drank?
“Robbie!” Steve stopped her spin and held her face in his hands. “I didn’t eat lunch!”
“Me either!” She yelled before spinning again.
Steve giggled as he stepped back and watched her for a moment.
The back door opened and closed and Eddie slipped inside, the cool night air wafting off of him as he sat down in the chair behind Steve.
Steve was hot. He should cool off.
He sat down in Eddie’s lap and sighed with relief, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Eddie’s hands were resting on the arms of the chair, his legs tense under Steve’s.
“You feel nice,” Steve said, relaxing completely against him, curling into a ball in Eddie’s lap. “Good.”
“I was only outside for 15 minutes. How’d you drink so much already, Stevie?” One of Eddie’s hands rested on Steve’s calf, thumb rubbing along the seam of his jeans.
“Only had two!” Steve held up two fingers, then tapped them against Eddie’s cheek. “You were gone forever. Missed you.”
“You were dancing with birdie. You barely even noticed I was gone,” Eddie laughed. “Think you need some water.”
“I didn’t eat lunch,” Steve groaned. “Should eat lunch.”
“A little late for lunch, but I can get you a snack if you’re hungry.”
Steve shook his head, but felt dizzy and had no choice but to let it fall to Eddie’s shoulder.
He turned his face into Eddie’s shirt, breathing in the smell of his cologne mixed with the weed he’d just smoked outside. He was warming up now that he was inside and had Steve sitting on him, but Steve didn’t want to get up.
“Could sit here forever.” Steve closed his eyes as he mumbled against Eddie’s skin.
“Might have to get up eventually,” Eddie said quietly back.
“Don’t wanna. Perfect right here,” Steve slurred.
“C’mon, Steve. You’re drunk. You should get some water and lay down.”
But Steve didn’t want to do that. Well, maybe he wanted to lay down a little bit. But only if Eddie came with him.
“Wanna lay with you.”
“Alright! Time for sleep!” Nancy said next to him, tugging on his arm to try to make him stand up.
“No.” Steve burrowed further into Eddie, pulling his arm towards his chest. “Sleepin’ here.”
Eddie must have brushed her off because they were alone again a few moments later and most of the noise of the room seemed far away. Steve snuggled against Eddie, smiling to himself when Eddie’s arms wrapped around him and held him tighter.
“You can sleep for a bit. I got you.” Eddie’s voice was quiet, only for Steve to hear.
“Mkay. Love you,” Steve muttered, just loud enough for Eddie to hear.
But before Eddie could respond, he was asleep.
****
When Steve woke up, he was tucked into his own bed, drooling on his pillow.
He didn’t see any sunlight through his window, so he must’ve only been asleep a few hours.
He was alone and he was thirsty.
His bedroom door opened and he turned his head to see if Robin was finally joining him.
“Shit, didn’t know you were awake. Just wanted to bring you some water before I head out,” Eddie said quietly, walking over to Steve’s side and holding out a glass of water. “Feeling okay?”
“Mhm. Still tired.”
“Yeah, I think you overdid it.” Eddie gave him a small smile to let him know he wasn’t judging him. “Go back to sleep, Stevie.”
“Like that,” Steve mumbled as he let his eyes close. Eddie’s hand brushed through his hair softly.
“What?” Eddie whispered.
“When you call me that. Feel special.”
“You are, Stevie.”
Steve opened his eyes to see Eddie looking down at him with furrowed brows, like he was trying to figure something out.
“I am?”
“You don’t remember, do you?” Now, Eddie sounded sad, and Steve never wanted Eddie to be sad.
“Remember what?”
“You told me you loved me earlier.”
“I do.”
“You do remember or you do love me?” Eddie asked.
“Yes.”
Eddie groaned. “Steve, which is it?”
“Both. I do love you and I do remember telling you.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m gonna say it again in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Cuz you don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“I just know you. Cuz I love you.”
When Eddie smiled, Steve couldn’t help letting out a relieved laugh. He’d been holding that back for so long, having it out in the open so easily was almost impossible to believe. Maybe he was having a vodka induced dream.
“I love you too. But you should get some more sleep.”
“Stay?”
“I’ll stay.”
“Love you in the mornin’ too.” Steve’s eyes slipped closed as Eddie’s weight made the bed dip beside him.
Eddie snorts. “Oh, really? What’s with the sudden change of heart, Emerson? That desperate to knock me down a peg?”
“Dude,” Gareth sighs, and the defenses he’d so easily garnered up fall just a little. “Look, I know I wasn’t all that thrilled about Harrington in the first place – ”
“Oh, that’s the understatement of the fucking century, Gare-bear - ”
“ – but,” Gareth ignores Eddie’s attempts at cutting him off, “that was before I saw how miserable you are without him. Like, dude. We made it. We’re on tour right now, and all you wanna do when we’re not on stage is sit on the bus and play Patsy Cline. You,” Gareth taps Eddie on the chest, “you should be having the time of your fucking life right now, but it’s like you’re not really here with us, man.”
Eddie lets Gareth’s words sink in for a moment. The kid’s not wrong, of course, but he doesn’t get it. He can’t. Eddie barely has the words to describe how the feelings started or what his feelings even are, but any time he bumps into anyone that has that look in their eye, that whole I wanna take an up-and-coming rock star for a ride shine, Eddie turns tail and practically runs the other way. It’s not to say that he hasn’t tried – oh, he tried, especially in those first few cities after first leaving Indiana – but it either didn’t happen or it didn’t end well for either party and eventually he just stopped trying.
Because none of them were Steve.
And the worst part is, it’s fucking hopeless. The King never, ever gave Eddie even the slightest inclination that it wasn’t just “babes” for him. (Although, to be fair to Steve, Eddie himself didn’t really know until he was too far away to do anything about it, and that’s assuming Eddie’s balls got big enough to even fucking try something.) Steve was kind to Eddie, sure; hell, he was even calling Harrington his best friend at the end, before they left for tour. But then Eddie started wanting and, even worse, started knowing that he wanted any eyes that looked at him in pleasure to be big and brown and belong to Steve and – well, he hasn’t been playing on this side of the field for long, but even a newbie like him knows just how this is going to play out.
(Which translates to: he slowly stops calling Steve until he isn’t calling him at all. He takes “Head Over Heels” off the set list. He puts the swim team sweater he stole from Steve’s closet at the bottom of the “extra clothes” pile in the back of the bus. And instead of going out after every show, instead of trying and failing to find some peace in the bottom of a bottle like his dad, he sits in the tour bus and plays Patsy Cline on his acoustic under his fingers bleed.)
“It’ll only make things worse, Gare,” Eddie replies, fishing aimlessly in his pockets for the last of his Camels. “I’ll get over it. Eventually.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you will, but he won’t.”
Eddie’s fingers still in his pocket. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me. You don’t think Robin chews my head off every time I call to check in?”
(It’s just Eddie’s luck, of course, that Gareth’s first-cousin-and-childhood-best-friend happens to be Steve’s other half.)
“Then why don’t you stop calling?” Eddie finally finds a cig and pulls it out of his pocket, only for it to get snatched out of his fingers.
“Because I’m not an asshole, asshole,” Gareth snaps. “And I’m getting really sick and tired of getting yelled at every time I call home because somebody refuses to man up and deal with his feelings.”
Eddie turns in place, glaring at Gareth. “I am dealing with my feelings!”
“By not dealing with them, dumbass! And for the record, you’re making it even more noticeable by notdealing with them! Hell, even Byers asked me about it the last time he called, because why else would you just drop Harrington all together? It’s been like a year, man, you have to deal with this at some point.”
“I – I didn’t know until a month and a half ago, Gareth, what the hell do you mean by the last year?”
Gareth snorts. “Seriously? Seriously. Holy shit, you’re serious. Fucking – really, man? Now I owe Jeff money.”
“GARETH!” Eddie snaps. “What do you mean, the last year?”
Something is on Eddie’s face, some expression that he can’t control, because Gareth’s eyes soften and grow sad. “Eds, man, you wear your heart on your fuckin’ sleeve and your feelings all over your face. All anyone gotta do is see you look at Steve and know.”
“Know? Know what?”
Gareth’s voice is almost a whisper now. “Do I really need to say it?”
The wounded beast in Eddie’s chest shudders. “No.” He pulls his eyes away from Gareth, refocuses on the rings on his hands – and more specifically, the ring made from an antique spoon that Steve had made him when they were going through his parents’ shit.
(It was the only piece of Steve he couldn’t bear to hide away these last six weeks.)
“Does – does he?”
(Eddie can’t finish the question; hell, Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s asking.
Thankfully, somehow Gareth does.)
“Go call him, Eds,” Gareth says. He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, a benediction for courage, and then leaves the tour bus, leaving Eddie alone and staring at the phone at the end of the bus.
(Maybe there’s a world where Steve feels, can feel, has felt the same. Maybe there’s a world where, when he told Eddie that he’s taking a break from dating that it meant taking a break from dating someone who wasn’t Eddie. Maybe Steve’s been trying and failing to get past this too, and is spending his nights by the phone like Eddie, waiting for someone to call.)
written for @steddie-week
Day 1 prompt: Mystery/Secret Relationship
Rating: T | wc: 2128 | no cw
Read on ao3
Steve’s lounging on the Munson’s couch, right-hand wrist deep in a bowl of popcorn, when Eddie stalks into the room. He’s got two beers in hand and is mumbling about something, words muffled by the rim of the beer bottle as he takes aggressive sips. It’s not unusual to hear but not understand what his rumblings are — Steve’s become accustomed to his quiet but loud brainstorming sessions. What is unusual, however, is the pinch of his brows and the slight downturn of his lips as he does so. Curious, Steve perks up and leans forward.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Eddie gasps, scandalized. “My thoughts are worth at least a dime, Stevie!”
Taking a more calculated, calming swig of his beer, he drapes himself on the couch beside Steve and sighs. “I think Wayne is knocking boots with someone.”
The words leave Eddie’s mouth with a nonchalance, as if he’s giving Steve an update about the weather. It’s something he does often with no explanation, at least not one Steve’s discovered yet, and it’s quickly becoming another quirk in a long list of ones he’s coming to love about Eddie.
This though… this is a whole other monster.
Steve's eyes widen and blink in confusion. His lips fall into a soft, confused pout as he tilts his head to the side — the tell-tale sign that he has no idea what Eddie is talking about. It’s a sign Eddie picks up on immediately, with — the both of them well-versed in their non-verbal body language as of now, so he clarifies.
It’s weird, feeling the heat spread across his cheeks and down his neck. He’s never been embarrassed by sex before. Kind of hard to be when his entire high school reputation revolved around who he was (or wasn’t) jumping into bed with. Never mind the fact that he actually only ever did it twice. He couldn’t go a week without it being brought up at least once, and each time, Steve had glided through the conversation with flying colors, hardly embarrassed.
Back then was different, though. It was all talk at the end of the day. Mostly make-believe talk. This, though? Listening to Eddie talk about his uncle’s very real sex life? He’d be concerned if he didn’t find it mortally embarrassing.
Clearing his throat, Steve shifts in his seat.
“Does it matter if he is? Ya’ know, bumping boots or whatever?”
Eddie cackles, throwing his entire body into it until the bowl of popcorn topples over onto the couch between them. So much for movie night Steve thinks as he tries to save as many of the kernels as he can before they fall into the couch cushion abyss. Not like he had been looking forward to eating or anything.
“Does it matter if he is?” Eddie huffs, half-mocking Steve as he shakes his head. “Of course, it matters! It’s my uncle! What if we like, walked in on him or something because we don’t know what’s going on? That would scare me for life, Stevie. I’d need therapy!”
“You’re already in therapy.”
“Well, I’d need another therapist. One who specializes in the traumatic experience of walking in on your parental figure getting his di—“
“Let’s just rewind for a minute.” Steve shuts his eyes, willing his brain not to conjure up the image Eddie’s so keen on painting for him. His therapy bills are expensive enough, he doesn’t need to add another session just to talk about whatever the hell this conversation is. “If Wayne is in a relationship, which you don’t even know if he is, why would he keep it a secret?”
“I don’t know. You’ve met him! He’s weird and secretive like that. I didn’t even know his middle name until I was fourteen and swiped his license so I could buy cigarettes.”
Steve remembers that story. It was one of the first of many never-ending cascades of embarrassing childhood stories Wayne shared with him that always turned Eddie scarlet. Eddie always gets upset when Wayne tells them, never failing to pout over not having someone on Steve’s side to badger for his own stories. Steve, happy to keep his past in the past, has grown used to shrugging him off and urging Wayne to tell him more.
“Not telling you his middle name is a lot different than hiding an entire person,” Steve continues to reason as he relocates the popcorn bowl to the table in front of them. “Why do you think he’s hiding someone anyway?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Eddie says, turning on the couch to better face Steve. He folds one leg under himself, the other hanging off the edge, foot planted and bouncing in an erratic rhythm Steve’s willing to bet is a new beat for a song. Eddie takes one more swig of his beer and then clears his throat as he claps his hands together. “Evidence número
uno, he’s been smiling more lately.”
“And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re back home and on the mend.”
“Hey! Don’t interrupt me to remind me that my uncle loves me. It ruins my street cred.”
Steve shoots his hands up in defense, shaking his head at his boyfriend's antics.
“Evidence numéro deux—“
“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin,” Steve mumbles, taking a swig from his own beer this time. All this language-switching is giving him a headache.
“Evidence numéro deux!” Eddie repeats, louder this time as he holds up two fingers. He’s kneeling now, knees sinking into the well-loved fabric of the couch. “He’s been using a new mug.”
“Someone call the police! Wayne’s using a new mug.”
If looks could kill, Eddie would be a modern day Medusa and Steve would be stoned to the couch.
“Evidence number three — and this is the most damning of evidence — Wayne has had plans every Monday night for the last two months.” He jumps to his feet now and begins pacing around the living room.
Wait, Monday nights? But that’s —
Oh.
Eddie is so off base. So, so, so far off base, he might as well be lost in space. Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The last thing he wants to do is upset him more than he already has with his interjections.
But this is hilarious. Downright hysterical.
And honestly, the truth might be a harder pill for Eddie to swallow than this mystery lover he’s dreamed up. Because that is way easier to explain than the truth, that Wayne has been spending every Monday night for two months with Steve… watching football.
“Two months, Stevie!” Eddie shouts, pulling Steve from his thoughts. “He comes home from work, changes, and then he leaves and doesn’t come back home for hours! I mean, maybe I’m being a bit generous since he is gone for hours. I can’t imagine he’d have that kind of stamina, but maybe he—”
The front door opens, interrupting whatever cursed thought was about to spill from Eddie’s lip to reveal the older man in question. Steve’s never been so grateful to see Wayne — even if he’s the reason this entire conversation is happening right now.
“Eds. Steve.” Wayne nods at each of them before crossing into the kitchen to fetch his own beer. He returns a moment later, collapsing into his recliner with the same dramatics as Eddie. “What are ya boys talkin’ ‘bout?”
It’s kind of hard to be a religious man when he’s witnessed hell on Earth and had to claw his way out of it, no sign of divine intervention in sight. And yet, Steve can’t help but shut his eyes and say a silent prayer to whoever may be listening that his boyfriend keeps his mouth shut for once in his life.
The power of prayer isn’t on Steve’s side though apparently, as he watches Eddie’s eyes get that twinkle in them right then and there, a mischievous glint that he has a love-hate relationship with. Sure, it’s cute as hell, but god dammit, every time it happens, Steve ends up having to bail him out of trouble. He really doesn’t want to have to do that right now, not for this.
“Funny you should ask, Wayne—“
The intro to the seven o’clock news cuts him off. Maybe Steve’s prayers have been answered. Maybe this is what people talk about when they say that God works in mysterious ways. Maybe—
“We’re coming to you live from The Hoosier Dome to bring you breaking news about our Indianapolis Colts.”
“Bet it’s got to do with that coach they got runnin’ the place. Still can’t believe he ran that damn childish play on Monday.”
“Tell me about it,” Steve says, shaking his head. “You know how I feel about the Colts, but you should’ve won that game.”
“Least we get a rematch later in the season,” Wayne says, sipping his beer. “We gotta go to Diana’s for that game. If we lose, I can drown my sorrows in a real whisky instead of that cheap shit Glen keeps selling us.”
“Us?” Eddie balks.
Steve watches in real time as Eddie puts the pieces together. His eyes widen then narrow into judgemental slits. His lips purse, head swiveling between the two of them and the television like he does when he’s DMing an intense session for the kids. Eddie’s sharp, always has been, and he wears his emotions on his face, so it’s easy to know when everything clicks in that chaotic mind of his. He might as well have buzzers going off behind him.
“You!” He shouts, pointing an accusatory finger in Steve’s direction. “You’re the one keeping my uncle out late! Making him happy!”
“What’s he talkin’ ‘bout?” Wayne asks.
Steve bits his lip. “Eddie, uh, thought you had a secret lover that’s been keeping you out on Monday nights.”
“A secret lover?” Wayne laughs. “On a Monday night? Boy if I was gettin’ handsy with someone it wouldn’t be on no Monday night. I’m a Friday night gentleman, you know that. Maybe even Saturday mornin’ if I’m lucky.”
“I don’t know anything anymore!” Eddie shouts, really doubling down on his theatrics. There’s a moment of calm before his brain conjures up something sinister — at least, Steve thinks it must be really bad judging by the paleness in Eddie’s face and the anger in his eyes. Finally, he explodes. “You’re cheating on me with my Uncle!”
“I am not!”
“Maybe not physically — Jesus H. Christ, ew, please please tell me it’s not physical. I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Now hold your horses a minute, Eds.” Wayne stops Eddie in his tracks with an easy hand around his wrist. “Steve here ain’t do nothin’ wrong but offer me his company during the games. I’d watch them with you. Hell, we both would. But, we know you hate ‘em.”
“So it’s my fault then?”
“I ain’t say that.”
“You implied it, old man!” Eddie says, jabbing his finger in Wayne’s direction now. “You better keep your blue-collar hands away from my debutant boyfriend.”
“You two are both ridiculous,” Steve laughs, shaking his head. He turns to Eddie, giving his best attempt as his puppy dog apology eyes. “It wasn’t meant to be a secret. You’re just never home on Mondays anyway, so we never thought to mention it. But if it bothers you so much, come with us this week. You’ll see for yourself no one’s stealing my honor, or whatever and it’s going to be a good game.”
“Not for the Colts,” Wayne grumbles.
Eddie makes a big show of considering the offer before shuttering. “And spend the night at Glen’s sports bar? I think I’d rather you cheat on me with my uncle—“
“Can we please stop talking about this?” Steve runs a frustrated hand down his face. “It’s grossing me out. No offense, Wayne.”
“I’d be offended if you weren’t grossed out, son.”
“Hey! I was talking,” Eddie squawks. Steve gives him his undivided attention, Wayne’s not so graceful, offering him a grunt and a hand gesture telling him to stop blocking the television. “As I was saying, you two can have your little sports bromance thing, butI do expect you to buy me a new mug for all my troubles, Stevie. S’not fair you got one for Wayne and not me.”
“I’ll take you to the store tomorrow, and you can pick it up yourself.”
“Thank you.” After a moment, Eddie sinks back into his side of the couch cushion and reaches for the half-full bowl of popcorn on the table. “Now, let’s start this movie night.”
Eddie always tries to be as quiet as he can when he gets home from late shifts at the bar – holding his keys tightly so they don’t jangle too much and avoiding turning on lights if he can help it. Steve is usually asleep by the time he makes it home smelling of greasy bar food and whatever beer blew its keg that evening all over his uniform tee, and Eddie hates waking him. His boyfriend doesn’t get much sleep as it is. The last thing he needs is for Eddie to come tumbling through the door and interrupting the precious few hours he gets every night.
So every time Eddie gets home from work in the earliest hours of the new day, he tries to be as quiet as possible.
And every time, Steve wakes up anyways.
Contrary to what most people might assume, it’s actually not Eddie’s fault that Steve can never sleep through his homecomings. (Years of living in a thin-walled trailer with a man who worked nights and slept during the days made him a master of moving stealthily through his home, after all.) It’s just that Steve Harrington is the lightest sleeper who’s ever lived.
According to Steve, he wasn’t always this way – he used to sleep through alarm clocks and his mother banging on his bedroom door to get him up for school, when he was younger. No, the light sleeper thing didn’t start until after Steve learned that monsters were real, and it only got worse after Upside Down Part 2: Electric Boogaloo, when suddenly he had a whole troupe of children to worry about all night. Every little creak of the floorboards could be a demogorgon, or a preteen in need of help fighting off a pack of demodogs. Faint police sirens in the distance could be headed to Steve’s house, where some uniformed cop would come knock on the door and tell him that something had happened to one of the kids.
It sounds like a nightmare, in Eddie’s opinion – not being able to sleep more than a handful of hours a night – but Steve always shrugs it off, like he’s already gotten so used to it that he hardly notices it anymore, and Eddie thinks that might be the case. It makes him feel horribly guilty (and maybe a little sad) whenever Eddie is the cause of Steve’s late-night wakefulness, but despite his desire for his boyfriend to get the sleep he needs, Eddie can never quite force himself to be too upset whenever Steve stirs as Eddie tiptoes into their shared bedroom.
Because sleepy Steve Harrington is, frankly, infuriatingly adorable, and tonight is no exception.
He hears, rather than sees, Steve wake up in the darkness of their room. It starts with a little snuffle, then a rustling of bedsheets, and finally – like always – a gravelly, endearingly hopeful, “Eds?”
Eddie’s heart warms in his chest, melting away the ice left there by a long shift dealing with drunk idiots and coworkers who would rather bitch about their jobs than actually do them. His job is exhausting at the best of times, and downright soul-sucking at the worst, but it’s okay, because at least at the end of the day, he gets to come home to this.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he sighs tiredly, ignoring the part of him that balks at being foiled again in his quest to let Steve get some sleep. Carefully, he toes off his shoes and makes his way to the edge of the bed so he can brush a few messy strands of hair from Steve’s forehead.
Steve instantly tilts his head to press into the touch, and Eddie can’t help but smile. “Wha’time s’it?” Steve slurs.
Eddie glances at the clock on their bedside table and nearly winces when he sees just how late it is. “Almost two,” he murmurs guiltily. He can see Steve’s mouth turn down into a frown now that his eyes have adjusted to the lack of light.
“S’late,” Steve mumbles. He rolls onto his side and reaches blindly for Eddie, hand eventually wrapping around Eddie’s bony wrist and squeezing gently in a mostly subconscious show of sympathy. His eyes blink open – bleary and unfocused – and scan over Eddie’s face. “Everything ‘kay?” Even half-asleep, he’s a worrier. Eddie finds it both endearing and a little heartbreaking.
He smiles, despite himself, and begins to card his fingers through Steve’s sleep-mussed hair, an unbearably fond feeling settling in his belly when Steve lets his eyes flutter shut again. “Yeah, sweetheart, everything’s fine,” he assures his tired boyfriend. “Just a long night. Pacers game a few blocks down, y’know? Spent a whole extra hour after close catching up on bar dishes.”
Steve furrows his brow and makes a discontented noise. “Gross,” he mutters, and Eddie huffs out a laugh. God, he is so stupidly in love with this beautiful, bitchy man.
“Very,” he hums in agreement.
“Y’should come to bed,” Steve says, and his voice is almost whiny, just like it always is when he tries to coax Eddie into their bed without a proper shower. He does it almost every night, and it almost never works. It’s certainly not going to work tonight, with Eddie smelling of shitty beer and grease.
“In a bit,” Eddie sighs, bending to press a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Gotta shower first.”
Steve properly whines at that, petulantly mumbling something incoherent.
“Baby, I’m covered in Miller and fryer grease. Do you really want me getting that shit all over our pillowcases?” Eddie says fondly.
“I want you to come cuddle with me,” Steve grumbles.
It takes more effort than is probably reasonable for Eddie to stifle the cackle threatening to burst from his chest. “In a few minutes, ‘kay? Just gonna go wash off real quick, and then I’ll come cuddle, you needy little bastard.”
“You’d better,” Steve says not at all threateningly. Eddie just laughs and kisses his forehead again before dragging himself away and into their little apartment bathroom for a quick shower. There’s a ninety percent chance Steve will be asleep again by the time Eddie makes it into bed, in ten minutes, so he can’t really bring himself to feel too guilty.
Still, true to his word, he showers quickly – rinsing all of the greasy smell out of his hair and scrubbing the spilled beer from his skin. He uses the bergamot soap Steve got him for Christmas, because he knows Steve likes it, and Eddie likes when Steve likes things. (And he’ll never admit this, but he doesn’t hate the smell of bergamot, either.)
When he’s finished, he quickly towels himself off and slips on the pair of plaid boxers Steve left out on the bathroom counter for him earlier (just one of those little, caring things that Steve does every day that make Eddie love him all the more). He plaits his wet curls so he doesn’t wake up with hair worse than Doc from Back to the Future, then he finally, finally, makes his way to bed.
Steve’s breathing is a slow, steady rhythm, but the way he instantly shifts closer to Eddie the moment he climbs into bed is a clear indicator that he hasn’t quite managed to fall back to sleep yet. Eddie has hardly had a chance to pull the covers up before Steve is pushing back into him, silently demanding the safety of his arms.
Eddie is all too happy to oblige.
It’s automatic and achingly familiar when Eddie rolls onto his side and wraps his arms around Steve, pulling his boyfriend close so Steve’s back is pressed to his front. Even then, it doesn’t seem to be close enough for Steve, who wiggles back even further until it nearly becomes impossible to tell where he ends and Eddie begins. It’s so disgustingly sweet that Eddie sort of wants to cry. Instead, he buries his nose in the crook of Steve’s neck and leaves a soft kiss just behind his ear.
“Hi, baby,” Eddie breathes as Steve rests one of his hands atop the one Eddie has tucked under his side and laces their fingers together. He leans forward slightly to kiss Steve’s cheek, just because he can, and before he can pull away to settle against the pillow, Steve turns his head to capture Eddie’s lips in a soft, barely-there kiss. The kind of kiss that instantly settles even the most frantic parts of Eddie’s soul.
“Hey,” Steve murmurs, lips still brushing together, and Eddie can both hear and feel the way his mouth has curved upwards into a smile. Eddie gives him one more peck on the lips before they both fall into their pillows again. “Missed you,” Steve whispers. It makes Eddie smile and shake his head with tired amusement.
“Missed you, too,” he whispers, even though it’s only been ten or so hours since they last saw each other. Christ, when did he become such a goddamn sap?
(He knows the answer to that question, obviously. Eddie “The Freak” became Eddie “The Sap” the first time Steve Harrington looked at him with that secret little smile on his face – the one he reserves for Eddie and Eddie alone, these days. The one that silently says, I love you.)
Steve hums contentedly and snuggles deeper into Eddie. God, he’s so fucking sweet like this. Eddie loves him so fucking much.
“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, moving his free hand to run his fingers through Steve’s hair, because he knows it helps his baby sleep.
Steve’s voice is already sleepy again when he murmurs, “’kay,” and then, even softer: “Love you.”
Eddie smiles. Holds Steve just a little bit tighter. Gives Steve’s hand an extra little squeeze and marvels at the fact that after everything – after murder accusations and monsters and government payouts and three fucking years as a senior at Hawkins High – he gets to have this. And sure, maybe he’s feeling a little extra sappy because of the simple ring he’s got buried in his guitar case – the one Robin helped him pick out just a few days ago, even though they can’t technically get married in the state of Indiana. Maybe that’s why he smiles a bit wider tonight with Steve in his arms…why his heart thumps a bit harder at every sleepy snuffle his boyfriend makes…
But the sappiness stopped bothering him a long time ago, when his sharpest edges were sanded out by the presence of the little family he found in the aftermath of the Upside Down, so Eddie doesn’t mind. Soon, he’ll be able to fall asleep next to his fiancé, instead of his boyfriend. They’ll get to call all of their adoptive rugrats and tell them the news, and Steve will be beaming so brightly it might just blind him. And it’ll be perfect.
For now, Eddie just lets himself sink into the warmth of having Steve Harrington in his arms.
And he sleeps.
This is for @steddie-week Day 5: Established Relationship. Just a little ficlet that popped into my head at literally 2 in the morning. I hope y'all enjoy!
