One side of the argument says hollanov fucked rough and nasty in the tampa hotel, the other side says it was slow and tender but we don’t have to fight. We can have both. They can fuck twice. I’m so serious. I don’t think they talk much, the first time. Let alone first names. It’s a physical reunion made potent by the unsaid things, fast with just hands and mouths searching for the other. Then they talk, sprawled in bed. Just small talk, catching up. They’ve missed each other so fucking much, and something is different now, a wall torn down. The second time is slower, Ilya putting Shane on his hands and knees like Shane likes but going slow, taking their time. And then they do it a forbidden third time after they’ve showered, both shaking and oversensitive when Shane pulls Ilya back inside him, face to face, and Ilya says something in Shane’s ear so soft and whispery enough that Shane pretends he doesn’t hear it, to spare himself and also to spare Ilya, because it’s enough that Ilya says it at all: Fine, you’re right, Hollander, you win Shane, you fucking win, Shane…
Steve's pretty torn tbh. Because Eddie isn't allowed to die, not ever. They've discussed this. But at the same time he looks so fucking hot when he smokes.
Steddie renegotiating their mortgage and Eddie is just so very professional and well spoken in the meeting at the bank that Steve has no choice but to fuck him the second the door closes because. Competence kink, thy name is Steve Harrington.
Written for the @steddie-spooktober Summerween prompt “I know what you did last summer” | wc: 581 | rated: T | cw: references to past sexual relationship, period-typical homophobia | tags: post-S3 AU, alternate S4, former fuckbuddies (maybe with some feels on Steve’s side at least)
———
Eddie is watching him.
He’s sitting in the old boathouse, shaking with terror and grief as he recounts what happened to Chrissy, and he’s still tracking all of Steve’s movements like prey in fear of a predator.
What does he think Steve is going to do? Point at Eddie and out him to everyone? Announce in front of Dustin, Max, and Robin that he and Eddie spent half of the previous summer screwing each other’s brains out? Kick him and call him names and—?
The thought makes bile rise in Steve’s throat. Eddie knows him better than that, right? He knows Steve’s body, his taste, his preferences, probably better than anyone else ever has. Surely he doesn’t think Steve is a violent homophobe.
But Steve also knows how the weirdness of Hawkins can shut down logical thought and make you forget everything you once knew. Once the laws of nature go out the window, how can you trust anything else? Steve aches to reassure Eddie, to tell him he understands and to offer what little comfort he can provide.
Instead, he’s stuck on the other side of the boathouse, catching Eddie’s guarded gaze and trying to communicate without words: it’s okay, you can trust me, let me help you.
When the kids and Robin finally head back to the Beemer, Steve takes the precious few seconds he has alone with Eddie to place a hand on his shoulder. He feels how Eddie tenses for a second before he slumps in on himself, leaning into the touch like he knows Steve will hold him up.
“I wish I was seeing you again under less shitty circumstances,” Steve murmurs.
Eddie snorts, wet and humorless, trading his wariness for something sharper. “Yeah? Couldn’t wait a couple months for more summer lovin’?”
Something like shame burns beneath his skin and makes him shoot back, “It didn’t have to be just a summer thing. You’re the one who stopped answering my calls once September rolled around.”
“Oh, right, I’m sure you wanted to ask me to go steady and wear your letterman.” Eddie’s shoulder twitches like he wants to shake Steve’s hand off. “How rude of me.”
The idea makes Steve’s heart race but he doesn’t have time to examine that. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “Sorry, I didn’t mean— I just wanted to say sorry, you know, about Chrissy, and sorry you’re getting pulled into all this. And, um.”
He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder without really meaning to, drops his voice in case anyone else is still in earshot. “I didn’t tell anyone about last summer. I still won’t, I promise,” he rushes to add.
Eddie stares at him with those wide, dark eyes, clearly calculating whether Steve can be trusted. He’s silent for a moment before he nods and turns his head away, blinking rapidly. “Thank you,” he says hoarsely.
Almost on cue, Dustin hollers from outside, “C’mon, Steve, let’s go!”
“You’ve gotta tell me your secret to putting up with those kids,” Eddie jokes weakly.
“We look out for each other. That’s all there is to it.” He lets his hand drop to Eddie’s bicep, feeling the lean muscle shift in his grip. “Be careful, Munson. We’ll be back with supplies as soon as we can.”
Eddie doesn’t reply but Steve feels him watching all the way back to his car.
Cliff can't believe he didn't figure it out sooner. The strange move to Ottawa. How happy he's been. And most damming of all, "Jane", it fucking rhymes!
He watches a highlight reel of Ilya celebrating with his line and realizes he's just going to have to accept it.
"No. Wait. Come back here. There is NO ask game! Imma turn off anon, and — and they're gone."
"Who are you yelling at, Eddie?"
"Hmm? Oh. The anon emoji ghost. I've broken the forth wall. Trying to keep the Inspector from freaking out."
Steve rolls his eyes.
"Well. Noble or whatever. But we're gonna be late."
Eddie glances at the wall behind my head, annoyed that I've taken all of his 'watch Steve primp his hair' time. But he smiles at Steve.
"Oh shit. You're right. Can I wear this?"
Steve doesn't look amused. "Your robe?" he deadpans.
"It's obviously my Obi-Wan costume, Steven."
Steve folds his arms, stares Eddie down. It's impressive. Not many can Hold Munson's gaze that long while being smirked at.
"Can I wear my Ewok costume?" he asks finally.
Eddie's eyes cut nervously to me and he mutters, "....No. That's for the bedroom. You know that."
"Well. You have your answer then, don't you, sweetheart," Steve says, turning away and grabbing his keys.
"But fireworks are for nerds! I want to dress like a nerd—and, he's gone, too. Do you see what I have to put up with, Inspector? We're going to fireworks. Fireworks. I hate loud noises. What? No. What does metal have to do with anything?"
He runs up the stairs to change and I decide it's my own fault for asking for help with this.
Steve keeps letting himself into the wrong apartment because he’s drunk and his key’s under the mat and left vs right is hard at night. Unfortunately for Eddie Munson, his apartment is the one on the left. At first, Eddie’s freaked out coming home from an overnight shift to find a stranger on his couch. Then he realizes it’s just his attractive new neighbor. After the third break in Eddie stops trying to shove Steve out the door and just throws a blanket over him instead. It was supposed to be a one time thing. It wasn’t.
"No. Wait. Come back here. There is NO ask game! Imma turn off anon, and — and they're gone."
"Who are you yelling at, Eddie?"
"Hmm? Oh. The anon emoji ghost. I've broken the forth wall. Trying to keep the Inspector from freaking out."
Steve rolls his eyes.
"Well. Noble or whatever. But we're gonna be late."
Eddie glances at the wall behind my head, annoyed that I've taken all of his 'watch Steve primp his hair' time. But he smiles at Steve.
"Oh shit. You're right. Can I wear this?"
Steve doesn't look amused. "Your robe?" he deadpans.
"It's obviously my Obi-Wan costume, Steven."
Steve folds his arms, stares Eddie down. It's impressive. Not many can Hold Munson's gaze that long while being smirked at.
"Can I wear my Ewok costume?" he asks finally.
Eddie's eyes cut nervously to me and he mutters, "....No. That's for the bedroom. You know that."
"Well. You have your answer then, don't you, sweetheart," Steve says, turning away and grabbing his keys.
"But fireworks are for nerds! I want to dress like a nerd—and, he's gone, too. Do you see what I have to put up with, Inspector? We're going to fireworks. Fireworks. I hate loud noises. What? No. What does metal have to do with anything?"
He runs up the stairs to change and I decide it's my own fault for asking for help with this.
While it was a longshot, I do appreciate that Gimli did try chopping the Ring up with an axe first. It was worth a shot, and they'd have all felt like bloody idiots if they took the Ring all the way to Mordor only to find out it could have been chopped up by an axe all along.
Steve's pretty torn tbh. Because Eddie isn't allowed to die, not ever. They've discussed this. But at the same time he looks so fucking hot when he smokes.
I like finding out what people my age and older had as their first cell phone. Anybody younger and their answer is a generic Android or iPhone. Phones from the 2000s were some wacky device like the sidekick or samsung x83 or lg env2
First one was a Siemens this thing. It was indestructible. It fell down the centre of a third story staircase and the only thing that happened was the battery fell out. Miss it still.
Then I had this one, which had a walkie talkie feature you could use with other people who had it, which was important because we used to pay for every text, kids.
we should all appreciate that Legolas and Gimli both, immediately post-canon, do the ‘leaders of small nation-states’ equivalent of buying houses next door to Aragorn’s so the three of them can remain besties for the rest of their shared lives. #thethreehunters
Happy Canada Day fellow hosers. Have an angsty snippet of Steddie in Winnipeg™️ from my Steddie BB fic Look at You, You Made It Out. It's set in winter in honour of it being 40°C today 😭
🇨🇦 🍁 🇨🇦 🍁 🇨🇦 🍁 🇨🇦 🇨🇦 🍁 🇨🇦 🍁 🇨🇦 🍁 🇨🇦
The smoke curls away from Eddie's ungloved hand. Steve has no idea how he's doing that. It's fucking freezing. He waits a moment longer, the van growing frigid now that the engine is off, then he carefully extracts himself shoves his hat on and puts his mitten-covered hands in his pockets.
“Hear those things are bad for you.”
“Many things are,” Eddie drawls. “Real trick is getting it down before the finger tips fall off.”
He exhales, takes another step closer. “You don't seem very surprised to see me.”
“Saw you when you first came in. You’re not as anonymous as you seem to think you are. Whatcha doing here, Harrington?”
Which is not the question he'd prepared to answer. What took you so long? Why was I last? Where are the others? Those were the things Eddie had asked in his head. Not, why was he even here?
“You told me where you were,” Steve dodges. “Why wouldn't I be here?”
“It’s been five months.”
And there it was, really. That was the problem. Steve had known it was part of the snippy replies he was getting, the timeline. The delays. Finding Eddie last hadn’t been his choice, but he knew the harm was done and that it ultimately didn’t matter.
“I know. I’m sorry. They made it pretty difficult to find anyone. You guys are the only ones up here.”
“Figured,” Eddie replies, shaking his head. “Pretty quiet on the whole ‘accusations of murder’ front. I’m sure that was intentional.”
“Yeah. Eddie–”
“You came all this way, found my job, just to leave without saying anything to me?”
“Well,” he replies, unable to keep the darkness from his voice. “I didn't want to interrupt. You seem happy.”
Eddie snorts, puts the smoke out in the can at his feet. “His name is Cameron. And honestly, I am. I think.”
“Congratulations.”
“Yeah. Well. Munsons. We settle fast. A by-product of always being uprooted. I'm good. Alive, or whatever. So. Duty done, sir knight."
"Eddie—"
“Go home, Harrington.”
“I—"
“Steve. Go home."
And the first name, obviously, is what does it. He pulls his hands from his pockets and throws his whole body into the exasperated gesture.
“And where exactly would that be, hmm? Where is my home, Eddie?”
