AU where Eddie's manager just told him that he'll be training two new employees and it's just Steve and Robin. They have this whole 'we'll burn this place to the ground' vibe that Eddie isn't crazy about being associated with.
Day 028: Polar Express | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Sexual Content, Alcohol | Tags: AU, College, Frat Steve, Musician Eddie, First Meeting
Eddie isn't a frat party guy. They're big, dumb and beneath him.
The parties, and the frat guys that throw them. But there was nothing else happening on campus tonight. Their bar gig got canceled due to a lack of heat. Bullshit.
Eddie pushes through the packed house. He needs space. Air. Heading out into the backyard, he finds it deserted due to the freezing temps. Awesome. Eddie lights a cigarette, and catches sight of a single frat guy over in the far corner of the yard. He has on a baseball cap with lots of hair poking out from underneath it.
He's wearing cargo shorts while working on an ice sculpture. Chisel in hand. Well, that's weird. But in a good way. At least he isn't a big baby bitching about the cold.
Eddie swaggers towards him, stopping behind him, smoking as he watches this guy carefully chip away at a block of ice that he's already worked over pretty good. He's dug a trough into it. Not overly artistic, it's not like he's carving a swan over here, but Eddie's pretty sure it's gonna be functional.
The guy senses Eddie, and stands, turning towards him. He offers Eddie a big grin, "Good, you're here. You can be my first test subject."
Eddie isn't really into being a guinea pig, but for this guy? Well. Sure.
"And how will I do that?" Eddie asks, teasing. Flirting a little. He'd love to flirt with this guy for real.
"Okay. Look here. It's a shot luge. I call it the Polar Express," he says, "I'm Steve Harrington, by the way."
"Eddie Munson," Eddie offers.
"Okay, Munson," Steve says, grabbing Eddie's shoulders, directing him. "On your knees."
Eddie's brain short circuits. Just a little. Of course he'd like to get on his knees for Steve. And he allows Steve to push him down to the ground in front of his ice, and then Steve stands at the top, bottle of liquor in his hand.
"Ready?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. Moving closer, opening his mouth.
Steve tips the bottle, tipping more than a healthy pour, and the chilled liquid comes down the carved shoot, hitting Eddie's tongue, filling his mouth. Eddie swallows once, twice. Not spilling any.
Steve whoops with delight, like he thought it might not work.
"Did it go down your throat smooth?" Steve asks, and Eddie swallows again. Grinning.
"It usually does, Harrington."
Steve laughs, head tossed back. "You wanna help me carry this inside?"
A crowd has gathered, everybody waiting for their turn to use Steve's contraption. Steve looks beyond pleased, pouring shots for anyone that wants one, Eddie watching. Then, Steve presses the bottle of vodka into the hand of some other frat guy. Clapping him on the shoulder.
Steve then pushes through the crowd, fingers wrapping around Eddie's bicep as he tugs him towards the staircase.
Eddie follows.
Up in Steve's room, Steve flips the lock on the door, and hits the switch for the overhead light. It's bright, really bright, and Eddie wants to look all over the room. You can learn a lot about a person by studying their bedroom.
"All I can think about now is you saying it always goes down your throat smooth," Steve says, taking another step towards Eddie. It seems almost predatory, and Eddie's cock gives a throb of want. Steve slides his fingers through one of Eddie's belt loops, and yanks.
Yeah, he'll suck Steve Harrington's dick. No question.
But Steve reaches for the brim of his ballcap, and turns it around backwards on his head. Curls peeking out from all the edges. Oh no. Eddie's in big trouble now. He watches helplessly as Steve Harrington lowers himself to his knees in front of Eddie.
Eddie thought. He assumed. Oh, fuck.
But Steve's working open Eddie's belt, the button on his jeans, and then down they go around his thighs. Steve clearly has other plans. And his palm pushing up under Eddie's shirt as he sucks the head of Eddie's cock into his mouth makes Eddie feel on fire.
Even more so when he bobs lower, taking all his length into his mouth.
Fuck. Steve's so good at this. Frat boys usually want to take, want dirty little secrets, and never want to give anything in return.
Apparently, not Steve Harrington. No, he's sucking Eddie's cock like there's nothing else he'd rather be doing. Like this is his favorite thing on earth.
Eddie can see his elbow jerking outward, arm moving, as Steve's clearly jerking himself off as he sucks Eddie's cock. He wishes he could see it, but Steve's head, his whole body, is blocking what is surely a beautiful sight.
He can imagine it though, and fuck. Yeah. Eddie isn't gonna last. It's been a while, and even if it hadn't, Steve's too good.
"Hey, I'm gonna—" Eddie starts, but Steve just uses his free hand to reach around to Eddie's bare ass. Grabbing a handful, tugging him deeper.
Oh, fuck.
Eddie comes down his throat, and Steve hums with satisfaction as he leans backward, swallowing. Head tilted back, stroking his own cock inside his cargo shorts. Eddie can't see anything, but it's still everything. The idea of his cock, the way his eyes are closed, lips parted.
Steve Harrington's beautiful.
Eddie shakes himself out of his stupor, and lowers himself to his knees, fingers trying to unbutton Steve's shorts. Steve's eyes open, and he smiles, but he doesn't let up. Doesn't help, but once Eddie gets them open, and his underwear shoved down, he lets Eddie take over.
Sliding his fist over Steve's cock, gripping the hard, long length, Eddie's impressed. Steve Harrington is packing heat, and he wasn't even gonna show it off.
"Fuck, that's good," Steve says, and Eddie agrees. It's really good.
Steve tries to hang his head back, but Eddie's hand finds the top of his hat. And when Steve comes all over Eddie's hand, he's looking right into Eddie's eyes.
If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!
Written for the @steddieexchange for @coffeewasamistake
The moment I got my assignment I was instantly hit with the idea for this fic, as soon as I looked up what the hell a soulmate goose of enforcement was anyway, and I fell in love with the story just as quickly.
I want to thank my giftee for giving me the absolute goldmine of inspiration with their likes and wants that lead to this madness, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!
Steddie | Explicit | WC: 11,288 | AO3
The gift certificate had been burning a hole in Eddie's glove compartment for eleven months and three weeks.
Ice skating lessons valid for one year from date of purchase.
Wayne had presented it on Christmas morning last year with a quiet smile. One that said plainly that he was pleased with himself. "Thought it might be good for you to try something new," he'd said. Like Eddie was some kind of shut-in who needed to be gently coaxed into the world instead of a gainfully employed twenty-seven year old man with a perfectly adequate social life.
Thank you very much.
Eddie had said all the right things—thanks, Wayne, this is great, yeah I'll definitely use this—and then promptly shoved it in his van and tried to forget about it.
Except Wayne remembers shit.
Asks about shit.
And last Sunday at dinner, he'd asked how the skating lessons were going with this pleased, expectant look on his face that made Eddie feel like the world's worst nephew.
Which was how he found himself crunching across the icy parking lot near the edge of a Lover’s Lake in forty-degree weather on a Saturday morning in December, breath misting the air in front of him, seriously considering faking an injury.
The frozen lake stretched out before him, a flat white expanse that was picturesque in that postcard kind of way. Pretty, if you were into that sort of thing. Eddie preferred the indoors, central heating, playing guitar in his pajamas, and not falling on his ass in front of strangers.
All things that were noticeably absent from this scenario.
The cold bit at his cheeks, making the metal of his septum ring and labret feel like ice against his skin. He pulled his forest green scarf—fraying at the edges, one his Nonna had knitted a million years ago—tighter around his neck and shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his worn leather jacket. Beneath it, his Black Sabbath t-shirt provided exactly zero warmth, and his ripped black jeans weren't doing much better. Fashion over function, as always. At least his boots had decent tread.
A small wooden shack huddled at the lake's edge, weathered and paint-chipped, with a single foggy window glowing warm yellow against the winter gray. The door swung open, and Eddie's breath caught for reasons that had nothing to do with the temperature.
A man—who had to be the instructor—stepped out onto the ice wearing skates like they were an extension of his body.
And what a body it was.
Eddie soon got an eyeful of exactly why this lesson might not be a complete waste of time. The guy had his back turned, bending to pick up a few larger twigs that had found their way onto the ice, and Eddie's gaze dropped of its own accord to appreciate the view. Thick, muscular thighs wrapped in dark athletic leggings, an ass that defied the laws of physics, and broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his burgundy jacket in all the right places.
Eddie's spirits lifted considerably.
Maybe Wayne was a genius. Even if this guy turned out to be straight—and with Eddie’s luck, he probably was—he could at least enjoy the scenery while he humiliated himself on the ice. There were certainly worse ways to spend a Saturday morning.
To top it all off, the rink stretched empty in both directions, not soul around, just Eddie, the dreamy instructor, and the quiet promise of—
A car door slammed behind him.
Then another.
And another.
"Mr. Steve! Mr. Steve!"
Eddie's stomach dropped as he spun around to find an absolute swarm of children pouring out of two vehicles, racing across the parking lot in a blur of bright winter coats and unbridled chaos. They stampeded past him like he didn't exist, a chattering mass of pre-teens making a beeline for the lake.
For the hot instructor.
For Eddie's impromptu private lesson that was rapidly becoming a goddamn middle school field trip.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me,"Eddie muttered under his breath.
His fight or flight response kicked in hard, his feet already angling back toward his van. He could be in his pajamas in twenty minutes. Wayne would understand. Or at least, he'd never have to know.
Except the instructor chose that exact moment to glance up.
Their eyes met over the sea of bobbing heads, and Eddie watched something flicker across the guy's face. Curiosity, maybe. His gaze traveled down Eddie's body and back up in a slow, assessing sweep that made Eddie's spine straighten involuntarily.
Well.
Running now would only make him look like even more of an idiot.
He trudged forward to join the cluster of kids at the shack.
"Alright, alright, settle down you heathens." The instructor's voice carried easily, warm and a little amused as he wrangled the pack of excitable monsters. He leaned down to ruffle the hair of a kid in a baseball cap, fist-bumped another, and grinned at a redhead who was bouncing impatiently on her toes, clearly ready to hit the ice. When he straightened and turned his attention to Eddie though, that easy warmth cooled a few degrees.
Up close, the man was even more devastating. Sharp jaw, eyes the color of whiskey in sunlight, hair that looked effortlessly perfect despite the winter wind, and a constellation of moles that dotted his cheek and neck before disappearing under his collar.
Eddie was so screwed.
"Steve Harrington," the guy said, extending a hand. Professional. Polite. Firmly in the 'I'm being paid to be nice to you' category of human interaction.
"Eddie Munson." He shook Steve's hand—firm grip, calluses on the palm, gone too quickly. "I, um, I got a gift certificate."
"Right." Steve's mouth did something complicated, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. "Welcome."
Steve directed the kids toward a rack of skates lined up against the shack's exterior wall, where they descended like locusts. Eddie hung back, waiting his turn and trying not to feel like a complete imposter. When the coast cleared, Steve emerged with a pair of black skates hanging off his arm.
"Size?" he asked.
"Uh, eleven. Eleven and a half, sometimes."
Steve blinked, pausing for a beat, then nodded and disappeared back into the shack, returning moments later with another pair of skates that seemed far more intimidating up close. He handed them over, and their fingers brushed. Eddie definitely didn't think about that for longer than was reasonable.
"Benches are over there," Steve said, gesturing. "Lace them tight, or you'll roll your ankle."
Great. One more thing to worry about.
Steve addressed the group like a summer camp counselor, all easy authority and practiced enthusiasm. Safety rules, where to find the equipment, the importance of staying in the designated area. The kids hung on his every word, nodding earnestly. Meaning, Eddie tried not to stare at the way Steve's pants pulled across his thighs.
Then they were off, and Eddie discovered several important things in rapid succession.
One, ice was slippery—obviously—but this was like, dangerously slippery.
Two, ice-skates were essentially sharp, deadly knives strapped to his feet, which seemed like a design flaw.
Three, every single one of these children was a tiny ice-skating prodigy, apparently, and he was about to embarrass himself in the worst way.
The kids were already flying around like it was nothing. Eddie stared at the ice like it might bite him. Steve skated over, extended a hand, and said, "Come on, it’s not as scary as it looks." Eddie took it, stepped onto the ice, and immediately understood what a newborn deer must feel like.
"Okay, just—glide, push off with your—no, your other foot."
His legs went in two different directions. His arms windmilled. He grabbed for Steve's jacket on instinct and somehow ended up clutching the guy's bicep instead, which was unfairly solid and did absolutely nothing to help his balance.
Steve caught him with one hand on his elbow, steady as a rock, and Eddie could've sworn he saw his jaw twitch like he was suppressing a smile.
"Easy there, Bambi."
A kid with curly hair and a shit-eating grin skated backward past them—backward—and laughed. "Dude, have you never been on skates before?"
"Listen, Dustin—it is Dustin, right?—some of us didn't grow up in a winter wonderland, okay?" Eddie flailed again, overcompensating, and Steve's grip on his elbow tightened. "Some of us are from—ow, shit—perfectly reasonable climates where the ground stays solid year-round."
"You're from Indiana," the youngest girl said flatly, gliding past with her arms crossed. She had a no-nonsense stare that made Eddie feel like he was already failing some kind of test. "We're in Indiana."
"Yeah, well." Eddie's skate slipped and he gasped, clinging harder to Steve. "I've been avoiding it. Successfully. Until now."
Steve made a sound that might have been a laugh, quickly covered by a cough. When Eddie raised his head, there was something lighter in those brown eyes, a crack in the professional facade.
"Let's try something easier," Steve said, and his tone had lost some of that earlier coolness. "Just... stand still for a second. Get your bearings."
"Standing still. I can do standing still." Eddie straightened carefully, released his death grip on Steve's arm with what he hoped was dignity. "Standing is my specialty."
His left skate immediately tried to escape.
Steve caught him again, and this time there was definitely a grin tugging at his mouth. "Your specialty, huh?"
"I'm a man of many talents," Eddie said breathlessly, finding his balance. "Ice skating is simply not among them."
"We can see that!" Dustin called out gleefully.
Eddie pointed at him with as much authority as a man actively struggling not to fall on his ass could muster. "You're on my list now, pipsqueak."
"Your list of what?" The kid asked.
"I'll let you know when I figure it out!"
The next thirty minutes were a masterclass in humiliation and perseverance.
Eddie learned that ice skating required using muscles he never knew existed. His ankles wobbled like a newborn giraffe's and his thighs burned from the constant effort of not eating shit in front of a so many witnesses. The kids lapped him—literally, multiple times—while he focused on the monumental task of moving forward in something resembling a straight line.
Steve stayed close, though. Close enough that Eddie caught hints of his cologne underneath the crisp winter air. Something spicy and warm with notes of cedar that made him want to lean in and breathe deep.
Which would obviously end in disaster.
"Bend your knees more," Steve instructed, skating backward in front of him like it was nothing. Showing off, maybe, but Eddie couldn't exactly blame him. If he had thighs like that, he'd show them off too.
Skills.
If he had skills like that, he’d show them off too.
Steve shook his head. "Relax, you're too stiff."
"Story of my life," Eddie muttered, then immediately regretted it when Steve's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.
Smooth, Munson. Real smooth.
But Steve's mouth twitched, that almost-smile from earlier making a reappearance. "Just—here." He drifted even closer, until they were nearly chest to chest, still gliding backward with that effortless grace. "Can I?"
Eddie wasn’t exactly sure what Steve was asking permission for, but whatever he wanted the answer was an enthusiastic yes. "Uh. Yeah. Sure. Please."
Warm palms settled on his hips, and Eddie forgot how to breathe. Steve guided him through the motion, pushing gently on his body to demonstrate the shift in weight. "Feel that? Push off, glide. Push, glide."
Oh Eddie felt it, alright. Felt a lot of things, most of which had nothing to do with skating technique.
"There you go." Steve's voice dropped lower, approving, and Eddie's face went hot despite the winter chill. "That's better."
"Oh my god, are we gonna have to watch you two flirt all morning?" The sharp-tongued girl from earlier—Eddie had caught her name was Erica—skated past with an exaggerated eye roll. "Because some of us are here to actually learn something."
"I-I'm not—we're not—" Eddie sputtered, nearly losing his balance. Steve steadied him automatically.
"Sure you're not," Erica said, utterly unimpressed. She performed a nearly perfect spin that felt personally targeted.
Steve audibly swallowed, and Eddie noticed his grip on Eddie's hips had gone a fraction tighter before he carefully loosened it. His gaze stayed fixed on Eddie's form, professionally speaking, but the tips of his ears had gone pink.
"Don't mind her," a quiet voice said to their left. Eddie glanced over to find a smaller boy with a bowl cut skating carefully beside them. "She's like that with everyone. I'm Will."
"Eddie. And honestly? I respect her energy."
"Mr. Steve!" Dustin zoomed up, spraying ice as he skidded to a sideways stop. "Can we play tag?"
"After everyone gets the basics down," Steve said, and finally—unfortunately—removed his hands from Eddie's waist. "That includes our newest student."
"I'm holding everyone back, aren't I?" Eddie asked, attempting another glide and only wobbling a little. Progress.
"Nah." Steve skated beside him now, matching his pathetically slow pace. "You're doing fine for your first time. Some people take way longer to even stand up."
"Wow, lukewarm praise. I'm truly blessed."
That earned him an actual laugh, bright and surprised, and Eddie felt it like a spark in his chest. Steve's whole face changed when he smiled—less catalog-perfect, more real.
Approachable.
Gorgeous.
"Look at you, making jokes while mobile," Steve teased. "Multitasking already."
"I did say I was a man of many talents." Eddie grinned, feeling bold. Then immediately proved himself wrong by catching his toe on absolutely nothing and stumbling forward.
Steve caught him by the forearms this time, and they really did end up chest to chest, nearly nose to nose for a long, suspended moment. This close, Eddie could see the gold flecks in Steve's eyes, the shadow of hair above his upper lip, the way his breath fogged in the narrow space between them.
"I’ve got you." Steve's voice had gone soft, and he wasn't moving away.
Neither was Eddie.
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Dustin chanted somewhere in the distance, and whatever moment they'd been having shattered, as the rest of the gremlins joined in making duck faces and lip smacking sounds.
Steve released him, clearing his throat as he put some space between them, and Eddie mourned the loss of warmth immediately.
"What are you, twelve?" Eddie called after Dustin, who was skating figure-eights with another of the boys he called Lucas.
"Thirteen, actually!" The girl with red hair supplied helpfully as she glided past and began to skate a wide circle around him. "And you’re totally into Mr. Steve. I’m Max, by the way.”
Eddie felt his cheeks heat. “It’s not like that, okay? I’m just trying not to die here.”
"Right," Max didn't sound convinced in the slightest, but she let it drop. "Well, for what it's worth, you're definitely improving. Your ankles aren't collapsing anymore."
Eddie looked down at his ankles, which were indeed managing to maintain a mostly vertical position. "Huh. Check that out."
"Progress!" Steve announced, and there was genuine enthusiasm in his tone now, any remaining traces of that initial standoffishness completely gone. "By the end of this, we'll have you doing figure eights."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, big boy. I'm still working on the whole staying upright concept."
Steve's cheeks flushed. He grinned down at the ice like he was trying to hide it. "Baby steps," he agreed, glancing back up with a shy half-smile that did dangerous things to Eddie's chest. "Or, you know. Baby glides."
A chuckle escaped before Eddie could stop it. Great. So the guy was beautiful and had a dorky sense of humor. Somehow it only made him more attractive, which didn’t seem fair.
"Sorry about the kids." Steve glanced over at where Dustin and Lucas were attempting some kind of synchronized skating routine that looked like a recipe for disaster. "I thought I had them domesticated better than this, but apparently they revert to feral the second they smell blood in the water." He shot Eddie an apologetic grimace. "They love to mess with me however they can. Professional hazard."
The rest of the lesson unfolded in a blur of near-falls, actual falls, and Eddie's slow acceptance that grace on ice was probably not in his future. But something shifted in that hour. The kids embraced him as one of their own—mostly to make fun of him, but Eddie could work with that. He was so proud of himself and his shaky glide, which felt ridiculous and kind of great at the same time. Steve whooped and clapped when he completed his first full loop, and the warmth that bloomed in Eddie's chest had nothing to do with the exertion.
"Alright," Steve announced with a loud, impressive whistle after Eddie made his secondsuccessful loop around the rink without any support. "I think everyone's earned some free skate time before we wrap things up. Who wants to play tag?"
The response from the kids was immediate and deafening.
"I'm it first!" Dustin shouted.
"No way, you were it first last time!" Lucas argued.
"I'll be it," Steve said, and the kids erupted into screams of excitement, scattering across the ice like startled wildlife.
Eddie watched them go, then glanced pointedly down at his own tired and trembling legs. "Yeah, I'm gonna sit this one out."
"You sure?" Steve was already moving backward, tracking Dustin's trajectory with the focus of a predator. "It's good practice."
"Practice getting my ass kicked by a bunch of middle schoolers? I'm good, thanks." Eddie carefully made his way off the ice, collapsing onto the nearest bench like his legs had simply been waiting for permission to give out. "I'll just... supervise."
Steve flashed him a grin—quick and mischievous—before taking off after Mike, who shrieked and tried to change direction too fast. The kid’s skates slipped out from under him, but Steve caught him before he could hit the ice, tagged him, and was already skating away before Mike could protest.
"You're it! No tag-backs!" Steve called over his shoulder.
Eddie began to unlace his skates and settled in to watch, grateful for the break and the view.
Because holy shit, the view.
Steve glided across the ice like he was born on it, the frozen lake his natural habitat. What had seemed effortless before now looked borderline superhuman. Weaving between the kids with precision, spinning out of reach when Lucas almost tagged him, transitioning from forward to backward without breaking stride—every movement efficient and controlled. No wasted effort, just pure fluid motion.
Then Erica, who'd been biding her time at the far end of the rink, made a break for it. Steve turned to give chase.
Eddie's breath caught.
Steve made a perfect jump. Eddie didn't know the name for it, but it was complicated as hell, his body rotating in the air before landing smoothly on one skate, the other extended behind him. He held the position for a beat, arms raised, before pushing off into a spin that would've made Eddie dizzy just watching if he wasn't already mesmerized.
"Show off!" Max yelled, but she was grinning.
"Yeah, yeah," Steve said, coming out of the spin to dodge Will, who'd been trying to sneak up on him during the display. "You love it."
He wasn't wrong. The kids were eating it up, shouting requests—"Do the spinny thing again!" "Can you do a triple axel?"—and Steve obliged with a laugh, launching into a combination that Eddie's untrained eye could barely follow, performing footwork that seemed more like carefully crafted choreography.
This wasn't just someone who was good at skating.
This was someone who'd trained. Seriously. The kind of training that required years, dedication, probably a childhood spent at five AM practices and nationwide competitions. Eddie thought about the calluses he'd felt on Steve's palm and wondered how many years in the gym had put them there.
Next, Steve transitioned into an arabesque—one leg extended behind him at an impossible height, body parallel to the ice—and Eddie felt his jaw go slack. The position showed off every line of Steve's body, the strength in his thighs, the flexibility in his hips, the balance and control it took to hold that while gliding.
"Jesus Christ," Eddie muttered to himself.
Steve straightened out of it just as Jane—quiet Jane who Eddie had barely heard speak—made a valiant attempt at tagging him. He dodged with a laugh, ruffling her hair as he skated past, and she beamed like he'd given her a prize.
The game continued for another fifteen minutes, Steve's demonstrations getting more elaborate as the kids begged for tricks. He did a back flip at one point—actually left the ice and rotated backward in the air—and stuck the landing so smoothly Eddie couldn’t rule out witchcraft.
Eventually, Steve called it, breathing hard but grinning, his perfect cheeks flushed from exertion and cold. "Alright, alright, that's enough. Some of us have to save energy for the rest of the day."
The kids groaned and complained but started migrating back toward the shack anyway, their wild enthusiasm finally flagging.
Eddie just stared, still trying to process everything he’d witnessed. Steve caught his eye and skated over, coming to a stop in front of him with a spray of ice.
"Enjoy the show?" There was a teasing, playful edge to the question, but his eyes searched Eddie’s as if the answered actually mattered to him.
"You're incredible," Eddie said honestly. "I mean, that was—I don't even have words for what that was."
Steve ducked his head, but he looked pleased. "Just messing around."
"That was not messing around. That was—" Eddie gestured helplessly. "You competed, right? Like, seriously competed."
Something flickered across Steve's face, too quick for Eddie to read, but his smile tightened at the edges, not quite reaching his eyes anymore.
"Yeah. A long time ago."
There was clearly a story there, but before Eddie could figure out if it was okay to ask, Dustin was shouting about someone stealing his water bottle, and Steve was already pulling away.
The kids chatted away as they gathered their things, about winter break plans to go sledding and argued over who'd performed the best during tag. Eddie busied himself with his boots, lacing and unlacing and re-lacing them with meticulous care that definitely wasn't a stalling tactic. He was just being thorough. Making sure the knots were secure.
Parents started arriving before long, two minivans this time, and Steve herded the kids toward their rides with the efficiency of someone who'd done this a hundred times before. There were hugs and high-fives all around, promises to practice before next week's lesson, and Dustin's loud declaration that Eddie should absolutely come back.
"We'll see," Eddie hollered back, which wasn't a no.
Finally, the last car pulled away, and it was just the two of them.
Eddie should probably have left too. That would be the normal thing to do. Instead, he found himself still sitting on the bench, ostensibly enjoying the crisp winter air and the peaceful view of the lake. Nothing to do with the way Steve moved around the shed's exterior, collecting stray equipment and returning it to its proper place. Nothing to do with how good he looked doing it, still slightly flushed, hair artfully disheveled from the wind.
Nope.
Just a guy appreciating nature.
Steve disappeared into the shed and emerged with what must have been skate-sharpening equipment, settling onto a workbench near the door. He set to work with a practiced rhythm, the sharp scrape of metal carrying across the quiet morning.
Eddie watched, probably for longer than was strictly appropriate, trying to decide if leaving now would be weirder than staying.
That's when he heard it.
A honk.
Distant.
Probably from the road.
He barely registered it, too focused on the way Steve's hands moved blade over stone, confident and sure.
Yup. He should definitely leave now.
Except Steve wasn’t shooing him away. He was right there, close enough to talk to, and Eddie's mouth kept trying to form words that his brain immediately vetoed.
Hey, so, coffee sometime?
No, too forward.
You're really good at skating, we should hang out when you're not teaching children.
Weird and clunky.
I think you're gorgeous and I'd like to take you to dinner.
Way too honest.
Besides, Steve was so far out of his league it was ridiculous. Eddie played guitar in a mediocre cover band and worked I.T. at an insurance company. Steve looked like he'd stepped out of a Sports Illustrated and moved like poetry on ice. He probably had people lining up to take him out. Beautiful people. Coordinated people. People who didn't need to be physically supported just to stand in a pair of skates.
And sure, yeah, maybe there'd been some flirting. Or maybe Eddie had imagined it because he wanted it to be real. Projecting his hopeless attraction onto some poor straight guy who was just being nice because it was literally his job.
God, he was pathetic. He needed to get the hell out of here before he did something stupid like actually asking Steve out and getting rejected in real time.
Another honk echoed across the lake, slightly closer this time.
Still, Eddie hardly noticed.
He stood, brushing non-existent snow off his jeans and watched Steve work for another second, taking in the concentration on his face, the tongue stuck out between his lips, the little furrow between his brows, before angling towards his van. He felt something uncomfortable twisting in his gut.
Regret, maybe. Or just garden-variety shame and cowardice.
Honk.
There was that sound again. Louder. Closer.
Aggressive.
Eddie took a step and froze.
There, suddenly appearing between him and his van, stood the biggest, meanest, more menacing bird he'd ever seen. Its neck was stretched up to full height, wings slightly spread, and it was staring directly at Eddie with the kind of malice usually reserved for movie villains.
"Oh, fuck no," he breathed.
The duck—
Wait. No, it was too big to be a duck, wasn’t it?
—Honked again, more insistently this time, and took a step forward.
Eddie took a step back.
"Uh, nice bird," Eddie tried, hands held up in surrender. "Good bird. I'm just gonna go around you and—"
The evil creature hissed, baring its... teeth? Did birds have teeth?! This one seemed to, rows of tiny sharp serrated nightmares in its beak—the better to eat human flesh with—and Eddie's brain shorted out with pure primal fear.
"Steve!" Eddie's shout came out higher than he'd like. "Steve, there's a giant duck—it's—help!"
He tried to sidestep. The bird mirrored him, cutting off his escape route, wings flapping violently. It honked again, the sound reverberating in Eddie’s chest.
"He’s mostly harmless!" Steve called from behind him, sounding infuriatingly calm.
"Mostly?!" Eddie backed up another step.
“And that’s a goose, Eddie.”
Eddie fists clenched as his sides. "As if that makes it better!"
The goose advanced.
Eddie swallowed hard.
The goose lowered its head, neck in a perfect s-curve of menace, and charged.
"Shit!" Eddie scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Why is it so fast?!"
"Dustin, be nice!" Steve shouted.
Eddie sputtered, shooting a glare in Steve’s general direction even as he broke into a full run, the possessed goose hot on his heels. "You named this devil bird after that adorable toothless child?!"
"Yeah, cause they're both a pain in my ass!" Steve was moving now too, trying to intercept, but the goose was locked on target like a feathered Eddie-seeking missile.
Eddie took off around the lake with both Steve and the demonic waterfowl on his tail. It was winter for Christ's sake. He'd thought he was safe from wildlife in winter, but apparently the universe had other plans. The goose gave chase, honking like a car alarm, wings beating the air, and Eddie discovered he could move pretty damn fast when motivated by pure terror.
"Why didn't you warn us about this thing?!" Eddie yelled over his shoulder, only Steve wasn’t behind him anymore.
"He's usually not here this early!" Steve’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing across the ice, impossible to pinpoint.
Honk.
Hiss.
Waddle.
Flap.
The goose was gaining. Eddie could hear its webbed feet slapping against the snow, could practically feel the displaced air from its wing beats on the back of his neck. His lungs burned. His legs ached. He couldn’t keep up this pace much longer.
This was it.
This was how he died.
Killed by a giant bird in front of the hottest man he’d ever met.
Wayne would never let him live it down.
Except he'd be dead, so at least there was that.
He slowed as he rounded the shed, exhausted from a full lap around the lake and afraid to fall and die flat on his back, and that's when the goose made its final move, lunging forward with its horrifying beak-jaws open wide.
Strong hands grabbed the back of Eddie's jacket and yanked.
Eddie stumbled into the cool shadowed interior of the shed as Steve hauled him into it and slammed the door closed behind them. The impact rattled the walls. Immediately, the honking intensified, accompanied by the sound of wings beating against wood, claws scraping like something straight out of a Hitchcock film.
They both stood there, breathing hard, listening to the assault.
Eddie moved to the small window and peered out. The goose was right there, neck extended, beak snapping, still honking its fury at the world. Its beady black eyes found Eddie's through the glass, and he swore the thing looked smug.
"What the actual fuck," Eddie choked out, heart still hammering. "What is wrong with that thing? Is it rabid? Can birds get rabies?"
"I don't know." Steve came to stand beside him, close enough for their shoulders to brush as they stared out at their feathered captor together. "He's never been this... persistent before."
Eddie wanted to ask what sort of history Steve and this goose shared but at the moment they had more pressing concerns. Like survival. What if the beast never left? They couldn’t stay in this stupid shed forever, as nice it might be to spend the rest of eternity holed up together in the small shack. Just the two of them…
Eddie shook himself.
"What do we do now?" He asked.
Steve pulled out his phone, and Eddie tried not to feel dumb about the fact that calling for help hadn't even occurred to him. He dialed, putting the phone on speaker.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Yeah, hi. This is Steve Harrington. My… student and I, we're trapped in the skate shed at Lover's Lake by an aggressive goose," Steve said, impressively calm for a man being held hostage by rabid poultry.
There was a pause before the dispatcher spoke again.
A long one.
"I'm sorry, sir, did you say a goose?"
"Yes, ma’am,” Steve replied, barely holding back a huff. “It's attacking us."
"Are either of you injured?"
"Well, no, but—"
Steve started to try and explain the gravity of the situation but was quickly cut off by the operator.
"Sir, this line is for emergencies only. You should contact animal control for—"
"I don’t think you understand. We can't leave the building," Steve interrupted, an edge creeping into his voice. "The animal is hostile and we're concerned for our safety."
There was another weighted pause followed by some muffled conversation in the background they couldn’t make out. "Alright sir, I spoke with my supervisor and we'll send someone when we can, but we have higher priority calls right now. Just stay inside and away from the animal until an officer arrives."
The line went dead before they could reply.
Steve stared at the fading phone screen. "That went well."
"At least we're not bleeding?" Eddie offered.
They stood at the window for another moment, watching the goose patrol the perimeter like a prison guard. It honked periodically, just to remind them it hadn't forgotten about them.
"You don't think..." Steve’s voice dropped to almost nothing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "No. Can't be."
Eddie’s gaze slid from the goose to Steve, who suddenly looked more nervous than he had during the entire debacle so far. "What?"
Steve stayed locked on the window tracking the goose’s movements with sudden intense focus like he couldn’t bring himself to meet Eddie’s eyes. "You don't think it's like, that kind of goose. Do you?"
"What are you—"
It took Eddie's brain a second to catch up. Then another second to process. Then—
A laugh burst out of him, loud and startled and completely uncontrollable. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. His whole body shook with it, doubled over, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.
"You don't—" He gasped for air. "You don't actually believe that stupid old fairy tale."
Everyone's grandmother had told them the same stories growing up. About the rare, lucky few who had soulmates—true soulmates with a capital S—and how a goose would appear in their lives to bring them together when the time was right. The goose wouldn't stop until its job was done, until the soulmates found each other and accepted their fate. It was the kind of story adults told kids to make them believe in magic and true love, not something rational adults actually believed.
When he finally managed to straighten up, wiping his cheeks, Steve had stepped back. His expression was shuttered over and that professional distance from this morning morning had slammed back into place like a wall.
"Right," Steve said flatly. "Stupid."
"Shit, no, I didn't mean—" Eddie scrambled for words, panic rising again in his chest for entirely different reasons now. He felt like a complete asshole. The laugh had just slipped out of him, automatic and thoughtless, and now Steve looked like he’d been slapped. "I wasn't laughing at you, I just—the idea of—" He tore the hat from his head and dragged a hand through his hair, making it puff up even more. "Soulmates? I mean, come on. Even if it was real, Steve, you're so far out of my league, sweetheart. Like, astronomically. Different solar systems."
Steve’s face softened a fraction and a deep line appeared between his brows. "Why would you say that?"
"I mean," Eddie scoffed, gesturing helplessly at himself. "Look at me."
"Oh, I’ve been looking." Steve's eyes dragged over him, deliberate and heated in a way that made stomach flutter. "You're hot, Eddie. Like, stupidly hot. The hair, the tattoos, the piercings? The way you took the kids teasing. You kept making me laugh even while you were falling all over the—"
He cut himself off, clearing his throat like he'd said more than he meant to. He turned away, moving deeper into the shed toward an old worn couch pushed against the back wall. The place was a little bigger than it seemed from the outside, not just storage, but room enough for a bit of furniture, mini-fridge and a microwave. Steve dropped down onto the couch and reached into a wicker basket beside it, pulling out a thick fleece blanket. When his eyes came back to Eddie, he crooked a finger, then patted the cushion next to him in clear invitation. "You have no idea, do you?"
Eddie felt himself go red, a flush that crept up his neck to settle in his cheeks.
"That doesn't—” He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly aware of how cold it was getting. He crossed to the couch, each step feeling heavier than the last, and sank down beside Steve. He tried to leave some room between them but even pressed into the arm he was close enough that their thighs almost touched. "I'm a loser computer nerd in his thirties who still plays D&D on the weekends and lives with his uncle in a double wide.” He stared at his hands as they picked at the frayed edges of his scarf. "I'm not exactly a catch."
"What I'm hearing is that you have a job and hobbies you're passionate about," Steve said, shaking out the blanket and spreading it across their laps.
"Steve—"
"And you have a close relationship with your uncle." Steve's voice was warm as he gently cut him off, like it really mattered to him that Eddie believe it.
"You don't know anything about me," Eddie shot back, but there was no heat in it. Just quiet resignation. Stating a simple fact.
"And you don't really know anything about me either," Steve pointed out softly. He shifted closer, throwing his arm over the back of the couch—and by proximity, around Eddie’s shoulders.
"I know you're an incredible athlete and an amazing skater," Eddie offered.
Steve nodded, conceding the point with a small, sad smile. "I was, anyway. I learned to skate the same time I learned to walk. My parents had this dream of me becoming the youngest male figure skater on Team USA."
Obviously that hadn't happened. Eddie didn't exactly follow figure skating, but a guy from Hawkins making it to the Olympics? That would've been front page news for years. The whole town would still be talking about it, probably would've named a street after him.
"But?" Eddie prompted.
"Hyper-extended my knee playing basketball in middle school. Had to have surgery and everything. It took me out of training for over six months." Steve pulled the blanket higher, tucking it around them more securely. "When I finally got back on the ice... it was just never quite the same after that. I could still skate, obviously, but I'd lost time. Lost my edge. The other guys competing had kept training while I was in physical therapy, and I couldn't catch back up."
"I'm sorry," Eddie said, meaning it. He could hear the sting of old grief in Steve's words, the weight of a future that never came to be, and had to fight off the urge to embrace him.
Steve glanced at him, eyes going soft. "Thanks. But… honestly? It's okay. It was always more my parents' dream than my own. I just wanted to make them happy." He shifted again, their knees knocking together under the blanket. "I still like to skate—obviously. Competing was fun I guess, the rush of it or whatever, but I love teaching even more. The look on someone's face when they get it for the first time, the way they smile and you can see how proud they are of themselves?" The passion in his voice was unmistakable, each word coming faster like he couldn't contain it. "That's everything."
Eddie's throat felt tight. He thought about the way Steve had cheered when he'd completed his first lap, the enthusiasm that hadn't been faked. The patience when Eddie had grabbed onto him for the hundredth time.
"You're really good at it," he said quietly. "Teaching, I mean. You made me feel like less of an idiot, which is honestly a miracle."
Steve's laugh was soft, and his free hand found Eddie’s under the blanket. The touch was tentative at first, his fingertips ghosting over Eddie’s knuckles before settling into the gaps between with a light squeeze. "You weren't an idiot. You were charming."
Outside, the goose honked, a sudden and sharp reminder of their situation. But inside the shed, wrapped in the blanket with Steve's warmth bleeding into his side, Eddie didn't really mind being trapped.
"The fairy tales definitely left out the part where the goose tries to murder you," Eddie muttered. “Pretty sure my Nonna’s version was way more wholesome. The goose was just supposed to show up and be mildly annoying until you figured it out.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah, my grandma’s stories made it sound sweet. Romantic even. But this is less magical messenger of the universe and more winged nightmare fuel.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, hands warm where they were clasped, the only sounds the occasional angry honk from outside and the creak of the shed's walls holding fast against the wind. The temperature had dropped significantly since they'd been trapped inside, their breath starting to fog in the air between them. Eddie tried to pretend the contact wasn’t making his heart race like he was a teenager again.
"So," Eddie said eventually, "on a scale of one to completely fucked, how screwed are we?"
Steve huffed a laugh. "I mean, we have shelter, water,” he tilted his chin towards the small fridge, “heat, not so much. But shelter's something."
"Very optimistic. I like it." Eddie said with an approving head tilt. "Though I gotta ask—is this how you usually spend your weekends? Trapped in small buildings, held hostage by wildlife?"
"Only the good ones." Steve's grin was wide and a little crooked, doing unfair things to Eddie's insides. "Usually I just go home, grade myself on how badly I embarrassed myself trying to flirt with hot guys, and eat my feelings."
"You think I'm hot," Eddie said, more to himself than anything, and couldn’t keep the disbelief—or frankly, the delight—out of his voice.
Steve rolled his eyes, but not like he meant it. "I literally already said that."
"Yeah, but you said it again.” It was all Eddie could do not to start kicking his feet. “That's twice. I'm keeping count."
"You're ridiculous."
“I think you like it,” Eddie said, feeling bold. "You're still holding my hand."
Steve’s grip on him tightened, his thumb sweeping across the back of Eddie’s hand. "Yeah. I am."
The goose chose that moment to hurl itself at the door again, rattling its hinges and making them both jump.
Setting a real romantic atmosphere there, fairy goose-mother.
"Determined little fucker," Eddie muttered.
"Very," Steve agreed, nose crinkling with amusement.
The conversation flowed naturally from there, somehow easier now with Steve in this bizarre situation than Eddie could ever remember even on his best dates. He found himself sharing parts of himself that he usually kept hidden. He talked about Wayne, how his uncle had taken him in, rescued him from foster care when he had nowhere else to go, given him a home and a guitar and the kind of unconditional love he hadn’t felt since his mom died. Steve listened with his full attention, asking questions that showed he genuinely cared about the answers.
In return, Steve opened up about his own past. His parents and the way they treated him after his injury. Always traveling, always disappointed, always wanting more than Steve could give. About how he'd built a life for himself anyway, teaching kids to skate because it brought him joy even if it didn't bring prestige.
“I had this boyfriend a few years ago,” Steve said, and regardless of the soulmate-goose mention, and the fact that they’d been holding hands this whole time, Eddie’s stomach did a complicated flip at the confirmation that Steve was indeed into men. “Tommy. He was—god he was such an asshole, but I didn’t see it at the time. I thought I was in love.”
“What happened?” Eddie asked quietly.
Steve’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “He dumped me after four years together when he realized I was actually happy with my job here teaching and had no interest in ‘pursuing anything better’—his words, not mine.”
“Sounds like you dodged a bullet,” Eddie said, irrational anger at a guy he’d likely never meet making his blood boil.
“Yeah,”Steve agreed with a sigh. “I see him around town sometimes still, danger of small towns. He always has something to say about me wasting my life. Or worse, tries to get me back by telling me I'll never do better than him. He doesn’t believe the old stories either. He thinks I’m an idiot for even hoping it might be true.”
Eddie winced internally. He was such an ass. No wonder Steve had looked so hurt earlier when he’d laughed.
He squeezed Steve’s hand. “You’re not an idiot for believing in love, or for any of the rest of it.”
“Thanks,” Steve said, squeezing back. His exhale came out longer than usual, a tightness unwinding from around his eyes.
Suddenly Eddie became aware that he could see his breath more clearly than before, each exhale a visible puff of white fog. The cold was seeping through the walls, through the floor, settling into his bones despite the blanket.
"How is it getting colder?" he asked, shifting restlessly.
"Happens fast once the sun starts going down," Steve said.
Eddie frowned. "It's barely past noon."
"It's almost three o’clock, actually."
Eddie pulled out his phone to check, and sure enough it was. Had they really been talking that long? It felt like minutes, not hours. Like no time at all and yet somehow he felt now like he'd known Steve forever. He’d learned the cadence of his laugh and the way his nose crinkled when he smiled and the exact shade of gold in his eyes when the light hit them right.
"So, sunset soon. Basically." Eddie joked, though the light was already fading, turning the world outside gray and dim.
"That's Indiana in December for you," Steve agreed. "And this place isn't exactly well-insulated. It's really just meant for storage and quick breaks between lessons."
Eddie fidgeted beneath the blanket, bouncing his legs in a futile attempt to generate some warmth. It didn't help much. His toes had gone numb in his boots.
"How long do you think before someone shows up?" he asked.
"Could be minutes, could be..." Steve trailed off, clearly not wanting to finish that sentence.
"Great." Eddie let his head thunk against Steve’s arm and the back of the couch. "Love that for us."
As uncomfortable as he was, he mostly just wished he were more on his game. His brain felt sluggish, thoughts moving through molasses. But this was his shot—maybe his only shot—with a guy who seemed genuinely interested, who'd held his hand and called him hot and looked at him like he was more than the mediocre twentysomething the rest of the world saw. Soulmate lore notwithstanding, Eddie would kick himself for the rest of his life if he didn't walk out of here with at least a phone number. Preferably a date. Ideally a promise of more. But it was hard when he was so cold he couldn’t even think straight.
Although, maybe trying to think straight was his first mistake.
"You know..." Eddie started, going for casual even though he was quite literally shaking in his boots. "I've heard that if you're stuck somewhere cold, you're supposed to share body heat. Get close, skin to skin, conserve warmth, all that survival shit."
Steve turned to him, one eyebrow raised in a way that was unfairly attractive. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Question is—" Eddie grinned despite the violent shivering. "Is that actually real, or is it just another old wives' tale?"
Steve took his bottom lip between his teeth, and Eddie tracked the movement with laser focus. Then his gaze dropped briefly to Eddie's mouth before snapping back up. "I think," he said slowly, voice gone tight and hoarse, "that one's actually based in science."
"Right. Science." Eddie's heart raced. "So, if we wanted to test that theory..."
"We could," Steve agreed, shifting closer. His hand tightened around Eddie's. "In the interest of not freezing to death."
Eddie hesitated for just a moment, giving Steve one last chance to back out, to laugh it off, to admit this was just a joke and nothing more. But Steve just stared at him with those dreamy eyes, waiting, wanting.
“Fuck it.” Eddie breathed, and moved.
The logistics were awkward at first—trying to figure out how to climb into someone's lap on a narrow couch while wrapped in a blanket without elbowing them in the face or kneeing them somewhere unfortunate. But Steve helped, grasping Eddie's hips with sure confidence, guiding him until he was straddling Steve's thighs with his knees pressed into the couch on either side. The blanket pooled around them, cocooning them in shared warmth.
"Oh," Eddie said stupidly, because it… it was a lot. Steve was solid beneath him, thighs firm and warm even through two sets of clothes. He could feel every breath Steve took, every minute shift of his body. Steve looked up at him with pupils blown wide and lips parted, and Eddie felt like he was in free-fall. "This is—"
"Warmer," Steve supplied, low and breathy.
"Definitely warmer."
Definitely other things too, things Eddie didn't have words for, feelings blooming in his chest—and other places—that were too much and too fast and absolutely terrifying.
"Can I kiss you?" Steve asked, and his fingers flexed on Eddie's hips like he was already imagining it, already pulling Eddie closer.
Eddie's breath caught. “Please."
The gap between them closed slowly, Steve giving him plenty of time to change his mind, but Eddie was already meeting him halfway. Their lips met soft and tentative, just a gentle press of mouths, testing. Steve's hand came up to cup Eddie's jaw, thumb stroking over his cheek with devastating tenderness, and Eddie made a small sound in the back of his throat—need and relief and something dangerously close to wonder.
Steve pulled back just far enough to murmur, "Okay?"
"So okay," Eddie whispered, and kissed him again.
This time was less tentative, more sure. Steve's lips were soft and warm, moving against Eddie's with increasing confidence, learning what made him gasp and sigh. Eddie tilted his head, changing the angle, and Steve responded immediately—tongue tracing the seam of his lips until Eddie opened for him with a shudder.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
This was really happening. Eddie was kissing the most beautiful man he'd ever met, in a ramshackle shed, while a potentially magical goose honked somewhere in the distance. It was simultaneously the most absurd and the best kiss of his entire life. Steve tasted faintly of mint and something sweet like candy, and the needy little sounds he made when Eddie did something he liked were going straight to Eddie's dick, making him shift restlessly in Steve's lap.
They kissed for what felt like forever, taking their time, learning each other, curious hands starting to wander. Steve's fingers threaded through Eddie's hair, tugging gently at the roots, and Eddie gasped into his mouth at the sharp pleasure-pain of it. His own grip found Steve's waist, sliding under his jacket to feel the warmth of him through his shirt—solid muscle and heated skin that made Eddie want more.
"Eddie," Steve murmured against his lips, and god, Eddie wanted to hear him say his name like that forever—reverent and desperate and full of need.
"Yeah?" Eddie's voice came out wrecked.
"Fuck." Steve's breath hitched as Eddie kissed along his jaw, tasting salt and skin. "I need you."
"I'm right here," Eddie said, but he knew what Steve meant. Could feel it in the way Steve's hips rolled up against him, in the thick line of him pressing against Eddie's own growing hardness, in the desperate clutch of his fingers.
Eddie pulled back to see him properly. Steve's lips were kiss-swollen and red, chest heaving, hair completely wrecked from Eddie’s fingers running through it, and so pretty he was nearly painful to look at. He watched Eddie right back like he was equally struck, and there was something in his expression that went beyond simple carnal desire, hints of a softer, sweeter thing that made Eddie's heart feel too full, chest too tight, like his ribcage couldn't contain everything he was feeling.
He felt drawn to Steve in a way that didn't make sense, like gravity, like magnetism, like every cheesy metaphor about soulmates he'd ever rolled his eyes at. They'd known each other for a few hours at most, but it felt like more. It felt important. Like the beginning of something extraordinary.
Eddie's hands went to Steve's waistband, fingers clumsy with anticipation and cold and nerves. "This okay? Can I—"
"Yes" Steve said, already reaching out to work on Eddie's belt with his own shaking hands.
They fumbled together, getting zippers down and buttons open, shoving fabric aside just enough. It was still freezing, and Steve hissed when icy fingers brushed against his heated skin, but then Eddie wrapped his hand more firmly around him—hot and hard and leaking—and Steve made a sound that went straight through Eddie like lightning.
"Fuck, you're—" Eddie stared down at where his hand wrapped around Steve's cock, watching pre-come bead at the tip, flushed and pretty. "God, look at you."
"Eddie," Steve's voice was high and needy, hands clutching at his shoulders like he was desperate for something to hold onto. "Please, I need—"
"I've got you." Eddie reached for himself with his other hand, getting his own cock out, and the relief of even that touch was intense—he'd been half-hard since their first kiss, and now he was aching with it. "Let me just—"
He shifted closer, angling them together, and when he wrapped his hand around both of them at once, they both choked on the sensation. Steve's cock was thick and fever-warm against his own, and Eddie's hand could barely encompass them both, fingers stretching to maintain his grip.
"Holy shit," he breathed, giving an experimental stroke. The slide was dry at first, not quite enough friction, but then Steve was reaching between them with a bitten-off curse, pulling Eddie’ hands up to his mouth and spitting into his palm.
“Oh fuck—”
Eddie started to stroke them together again, slow at first, figuring out what made Steve's breath stutter and his hips buck. He couldn't stop staring down at where they were joined—his pale hand wrapped around both their cocks, the contrast of Steve's flushed length against his own, the way their combined pre-come helped keep everything slick and wet. It was obscene and beautiful and Eddie wanted to memorize every detail.
"Look at me," Steve said roughly, and Eddie dragged his gaze up to meet Steve's eyes. The intensity there nearly undid him. Even through the rising heat between them and desperation to come, Steve stared at him like Eddie was the only thing in the world that mattered. "There you are. Fuck, Eddie, you're gorgeous like this."
"Oh, please," Eddie managed, speeding up his strokes. His wrist was starting to ache but he didn't care, wouldn't stop. "You're so—Steve, you're perfect, I can't believe—"
He couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't articulate how lucky he felt, how impossible this all seemed. If soulmates were real, if Steve was his, then Eddie was the luckiest bastard alive. If this was just chance, just random good fortune, then Eddie was still the luckiest bastard alive because Steve was here, under him—wanting him.
Steve's hand covered his, tightening his grip, changing the angle slightly, and Eddie could have sobbed with how good it felt. They found a rhythm together, his hand and Steve's guiding each other, hips rocking up in time. The couch creaked beneath them, and somewhere in the back of his mind Eddie registered that they were making a lot of noise—gasps and moans and the wet slide of skin on skin—but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Eddie," Steve panted, free hand clutching at Eddie's shoulder, his back, his hair, anywhere he could reach. His fingernails dug in through Eddie's jacket and shirt, sharp points of pressure that would probably leave marks. "Eddie, I'm close, I can't—"
"Me too," Eddie gasped. He could feel it building, pleasure coiling tight at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up. "Steve, fuck, I'm gonna—"
"Kiss me," Steve cried out, and Eddie did, swallowing Steve's moans as their rhythm went erratic, chasing the edge together.
When Steve came, it was with Eddie's name on his lips, spilling hot over both their cocks and Eddie's hand, and the sight and sound and feel of it—Steve falling apart because of him, for him—dragged Eddie right over after him. He came so hard his vision went white, only Steve's mouth on his kept him grounded.
They worked each other through it, strokes going gentler as they became too sensitive, until they were both a trembling mess, panting for breath with their foreheads pressed together.
Eddie couldn’t believe he was here.
This was completely insane.
It was also the best thing that had ever happened to him.
"Holy shit," Eddie finally managed, voice hoarse.
"Yeah," Steve agreed, sounding equally wrecked. "That was—"
"Incredible? Life-changing? Best orgasm of my entire existence?"
Steve laughed, the sound soft and fond. "Yes, yes, and yes."
All at once, Eddie became acutely aware of several things. His hand was a mess, they were both still mostly dressed with their dicks out, the shed was still freezing despite the warmth generating between them, and he was absolutely, completely gone for the man beneath him. Hopeless. A lost cause. He'd probably write songs about this, embarrassing ones that Wayne would make fun of him for.
Also, he realized with a start—
"Steve," he said slowly, straightening up enough to glance around. "Steve, listen."
"Mm?" Steve sounded blissed out, lazy and satisfied.
"The goose. Do you hear it?"
Steve's eyes opened, focusing. They both fell silent, listening intently.
Nothing.
Complete, total silence from outside. No honking, no scratching at the walls, no assault on the door. Just the quiet whisper of wind and the distant call of some other, non-demonic bird.
"Holy shit," Steve breathed.
"It's gone," Eddie said, the surprise and wonder clear in his tone even to himself. "Do you think it’s because we… y’know"
“I think” Steve giggled softly. “I think maybe, yeah.”
They stared at each other for a long time. Eddie wasn’t sure if he believed it—the goose, the magic, the fated destiny of it all—and he wasn't sure he cared. But he couldn't deny how this felt, like finding a piece of himself in this relative stranger who wasn't a stranger at all. Like everything before this moment had been leading him here, to this shed, to Steve.
"I don't know if it's real," Eddie admitted quietly, reaching up to cup Steve's face, thumb tracing the constellation of moles on his cheek. "But Steve, I feel like..."
"Like you found something you didn't know you were looking for?" Steve offered, and his small smile said he felt it too.
"Yeah. Exactly like that."
Steve kissed him again, soft and sweet and unhurried, and Eddie melted into it. They stayed like that for a long moment, just kissing slowly, savoring each other now that the desperation had eased. Tracing the shape of each other's mouths, feeling the rhythm of each other's breathing, the way they fit together like puzzle pieces.
Then a sharp knock shattered the moment.
They both froze, lips still pressed together.
"Shit," Eddie hissed, scrambling off Steve's lap with all the grace of a startled cat. His knee caught on the blanket and he nearly went down, catching himself on the arm of the couch. "Shit, shit, shit—"
"Hawkins PD," a male voice called from outside, muffled but clear. "Got a call about an aggressive animal?"
Their eyes went wide in shared panic before they exploded into motion. Eddie shoved himself back into his jeans, wincing at the mess, while Steve grabbed napkins from somewhere and tried to help them both clean up. They were both red-faced and fumbling, and Eddie's belt refused to cooperate.
"Just a minute!" Steve called, sounding admirably steady considering.
Eddie finally got his belt fastened and took stock of himself. His hair was a probably disaster, he was pretty sure he felt a hickey blooming on his neck, and he definitely looked exactly like someone who'd just gotten off in a shed.
Perfect.
Steve was similarly debauched, lips swollen, hair mussed beyond repair, sticking up in at least three different directions where Eddie's fingers had been. He caught Eddie watching him and gave a helpless shrug that said what can we do?
The knock came again, more insistent. "Sir?"
Steve took a deep breath, crossed to the door, and opened it.
The cop standing there was young, maybe their age, with reddish hair and a freckled face that immediately twisted into recognition when he saw Steve.
"Well, well, well," the cop said, and his voice was cold and mocking. “Should've known it was you."
Steve's entire body went rigid. "Tommy."
Tommy?
Steve's ex, Eddie remembered with a sinking feeling. The asshole who’d mocked Steve for being in things like love and soulmates and happy endings.
“Your ex is a cop?” Eddie muttered from the corner of his mouth.
Steve glanced back at him, expression apologetic, and mouthed, “sorry.”
Tommy's eyes slid from Steve to Eddie, taking in his wild hair, marked neck, and general just-fucked appearance. His expression darkened with something ugly. "Rolling around with trash now, Stevie?” He barked a laugh, clipped and mean. “God, you’ve really lowered your standards, huh?."
"Fuck off, Tommy," Steve bit out, jaw tight.
"Hey, man, just trying to do my job, here.” Tommy raised his hands in a show of fake innocence, his smile all teeth and no warmth. “What's the emergency? Report said something about a..." He paused, barely suppressing another laugh. "A goose?"
"Yes. There was a goose," Steve said stiffly. "It was attacking us, trapping us in the shed. But it's gone now. so again, fuck off, Tommy."
"Gone now," Tommy repeated, scanning the obviously empty grounds with exaggerated skepticism. "Convenient."
“It was here," Eddie said, stepping up to Steve's side and taking his hand deliberately, making sure Tommy saw. "It chased us around the whole damn lake until we ducked in here."
Tommy's gaze fell to their joined hands, something vicious flickering across his features. "And you are?"
"Eddie Munson."
"Right." Tommy's smile went sharp. "And you and Steve were just... talking," he checked his watch with theatrical flair, “for almost four hours?"
The implication was clear. The disbelief was obvious, as was the bitter edge of jealousy underneath.
Steve's free hand clenched into a fist. "That's really none of your business—is it. The goose left. We're fine. You can go now, officer." The last word was absolutely dripping with sarcasm.
"You know what I think?" Tommy stepped closer, and Eddie instinctively moved in front of Steve. "I think there was no goose. I think this is just like you, Steve—making shit up, wasting everyone's time, chasing after some fantasy that doesn't exist."
"There was a goose," Steve argued through gritted teeth.
"Sure there was.” Tommy's laugh was cruel, cutting. "I told you, Steve. You peaked in high school. You're never gonna do better than what you had. You're never gonna find some magical person who’s perfect for you and wants to put up with your shit. That's not real life."
Eddie saw red.
"Hey, asshole," he shoved Tommy in the chest. Not hard enough to be considered assault—he hoped—just enough to make a point. "How about you back off and do your job? There was a goose. It's gone. We're fine. Write your report and get lost."
Tommy looked him up and down with a sneer, but there was uncertainty there now, like he wasn't sure if Eddie might actually take a swing. "So, what then?” He scoffed. “This your soulmate, Steve? He your proof that I was wrong?"
"Yeah, Tommy," Steve said, and Eddie felt arms wrap around him from behind, Steve's chin hooking over his shoulder. Eddie wasn't entirely sure if Steve was being affectionate or strategically preventing him from getting himself arrested for punching a cop.
Probably both.
"As a matter of fact,” Steve went on. “I think he is.”
Eddie's heart beat painfully hard against his ribs, but he laced his fingers through Steve's where they rested against his stomach and concentrated on staring down the wannabe tough guy in front of him.
Tommy's face went through several expressions—disbelief, pain, rage. Finally, he settled on cold professionalism, like a mask sliding into place. "I'll file a report about the wildlife. Try not to waste our time again, Harrington.” He stalked back to his patrol car with a stiff back, and they watched him drive away in silence, Steve's arms still wrapped tightly around Eddie as if he might disappear.
Once the car was out of sight, Eddie turned in Steve's hold. "So. That was Tommy."
"That was Tommy," Steve sighed. He looked shaken but also strangely pleased.
"He seems nice."
Steve snorted, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "He's an asshole."
"Yeah, I picked up on that." Eddie studied Steve's face, reaching up to brush a thumb along his jaw. "You okay?"
"You know what? Yeah." Steve smiled and it was real this time, soft and genuine without a hint of sadness. "Yeah, I really am. Because he's not worth it. He never was. And whatever this is between us, whether it’s fate or dumb luck, I’m glad I have you. Or at least, I hope I do?"
"You have me," Eddie said without hesitation, feeling the weight of that truth settle over him like the world's most comfortable blanket. "Soulmate or not, you definitely have me, if you want me."
Steve kissed him again, right there in the open with the winter sun shining down and the pushy goose nowhere to be seen.
And Eddie kissed him back, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he believed in magic after all.
Hours later Eddie walked through the door of the trailer, cheeks still flushed, with Steve’s business card gripped in his palm and a date for Friday night. He couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. He floated over the threshold already planning what he’d wear, where they’d go.
He couldn’t wait to tell Wayne all about his day.
Well… maybe not all about it.
Wayne was sitting in his chair reading the paper, but he glanced up when Eddie entered, eyebrows raised expectantly. "So," he said, casual as anything. "What'd you think of Steve?"
Eddie froze mid-step, realization dawning slow and terrible.
“You meddling old man.” Eddie stalked over and jabbed a finger in his uncle’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me? I never would have waited this long to to use your gift.”
Wayne’s lips twitched. “More fun this way.”
Eddie couldn’t be mad, not really, not on the day he’d met his fucking soulmate. No matter how much he wanted to. “But I could have been wooing Steve for months now!”
Wayne shrugged, turning the page of his paper with a maddening sense of calm. “That’s on you, Ed. Did Steve tell you he teaches swimming lessons in the summer? Shoulda listened to me when I kept telling you to air that pale skin of yours out at the pool every summer. Coulda met Mr. Dreamboat years ago I expect.”
Eddie gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Then he grabbed a throw pillow and lobbed it at Wayne's head. "You're a monster!"
Wayne caught the pillow easily, grinning. "I love you too, kid."
Thanks as always to the wonderful @penny00dreadful for your incredible beta work and cheerleading 💜
RIP to the person I was when I first saw this frame. I thought my life was about to be changed irrevocably. For a whole second, the universe was going to be realigned forever.
I love so many versions of Steddie, but my absolute favorite will always be:
Confident bisexual Steve, who either just figured out he likes guys and is ready to explore that or has known but has mostly been with emotionally distant guys with internalized homophobia and is very ready to romance Eddie.
Loser virgin Eddie, who maybe hasn’t even had his first kiss and knows all his gay culture from porn mags and never thought he’d get to be in love. Who hated himself for his hopeless crush on the most popular guy at school because it was the exact conformity he despised. And now his brain literally gives him an error code when Steve starts flirting with him.
Mutually obsessed dorks that are equally sickeningly in love with each other.
+ Bonus points if:
Platonic soulmates Stobin that are conspiring to make Steve and Eddie happen.
Steve and Robin are fucking weird.
Eddie is a hyperactive weirdo. Just a huge fucking nerd. Pleaseeeee let him live up to the Freak name.
Steve has the worst case of wrong time/wrong place and keeps getting unknowingly filmed in public and posted online.
Sometimes he accidentally wanders into the background of someone’s shot. Sometimes someone tries to stop him to ask him questions for one of those street interviews. Sometimes someone is a creepy weirdo and just filming him without permission.
Steve’s notable and noticeable because he’s hot and kinda a weirdo. Robin is a number one Steve defender though so she’s always in the comments warding off creeps.
Her favorite example of this was when a girl posted a video complaining that people were so unfriendly nowadays. Her example is that she sees this guy at the park all the time and she always says hi to him, and he always ignores her.
She demonstrates this by flipping the camera around to Steve on his morning run. He goes past her, she says hi, and Steve doesn’t acknowledge her.
She complains that he’s not cute enough to be ignoring people trying to be nice.
Other times Steve have been caught in someone’s video:
(1) Off-screen but audible in the background of Robin’s TikTok, complaining about her above comment because she left out the nuance. He’s not completely deaf. He’s hard of hearing and actually had his hearing aids in that day so he did hear her. He chose to ignoring her.
That’s important.
This video is captioned, ‘he wants you to know this apparently’ and tags the girl.
(2) He unknowingly walked in front of a camera filming two people dancing, talk-to-texting about how Eddie gave him a remixed copy of some of Corroded Coffin’s songs where the bass is louder so he can feel the music and, “Do you think that means he likes me?”
This actually gets Corroded Coffin a lot of listeners on Spotify.
(3) Just wandering around in the background of a video, squinting at things. Clearly lost. People go crazy for this lost hot guy.
(4) He gets stopped by one of those interview people and they ask what he’s listening to. Steve is just like, “I’m on hold with the FBI. Leave me alone.”
As he’s walking away, you can clearly hear him get taken off hold because he says loudly, “Pay my fucking medical bills, you piece of shit. This is Steve Harrington, by the way….Yeah, forward me. Thanks.”
(I think I've done this before with my favorite TV shows, I'm very excited to share my favorite movies!!) Also, I'm gonna put the gifs under the cut because they take so dang long to load!!!
Rules: without naming them, post a gif from ten of your favorite films and then tag ten people to do the same.
@wheneverfeasible @hotluncheddie @touretticeddiemunson and uh....I'm blanking on names. If you see this, consider yourself tagged. My brain's being no good (said in Sonic the Hedgehog PSA voice).
So I finally watched Stranger Thing Season 4 and, of course, I love Eddie. I am also shipper trash so here is a silly little Steddie comic where Steve gets a cool new tattoo. 💕💞💓
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
2087
amandla
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
turnnoffyourmind
