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steviewashere · 8 months ago

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How Do Horses Wear Jeans?

Rating: General CW: None Tags: Post-Canon, Humor & Hijinks, Shenanigans, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Domestic Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson Have a Brotherly Friendship, Dork Steve Harrington, Smug Steve Harrington, This is Silly and Probably Stupid and Very Goofy, Steve Winning Bets, Eddie Siding With Steve (Even Unknowingly), They're in Love, Dialogue Heavy, Short & Sweet Steve and Dustin have bets and arguments constantly over hypothetical scenarios. And Steve has a secret weapon to defend himself which is Eddie's opinion on these scenarios.

🐴—————🐴 It��s five in the morning. He doesn’t want to be awake, but is awake despite. To spite, eventually. But he’s here. In his little kitchenette. Spooning dry Honeycomb past his lips because they ran out of milk, listening to the Felix the Cat clock tick away, and trying to make sense of whatever thing Steve’s got this morning.

Here’s the thing, Eddie isn’t a morning person. Not in the slightest. He’ll wake up when he eventually feels like it—and sometimes he’ll go back to sleep for a few hours more. Though, since he’s somehow started dating Steve Harrington, he’s up and at ‘em when Steve feels like it. At first, it was a total accident. Steve had hefted himself out of bed a little too hard, jostled Eddie awake, and then he just stayed awake.

(Wayne questions what black magic Steve brewed because in all the years he’s known his own son, Eddie has never—not even once—been awake at the same time as another person. Not willingly, at least.)

It just became a force of habit.

Steve’s up? Eddie’s up. Steve’s down? Eddie’s down. Steve’s hauling ass? Eddie’s hauling Steve’s ass—okay, so maybe that one’s different, but it still counts.

What he didn’t expect, though, was for Steve’s mind to be so active in the morning. Sure, he fantasizes about Steve slipping into some running sneakers and going about the neighborhood, boobying about or…whatever he does; running, probably, but Eddie’s horn-dog mind doesn’t make it past sweat and hair without half-passing out from a hard-on. Steve doesn’t go jogging in the mornings, that’s the weird thing. No, this puzzle of a man wakes up at five to down a plate of plain scrambled eggs—of all things—and guzzle a glass of orange juice. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, after that satisfying glass of OJ, belches like he’s the only person on the face of the planet, and then says some oddball thought out loud for Eddie to parse.

Yesterday, it had been the question on whether or not jellyfish poop. “Yes,” he had told Steve, “they just shit out of their mouth. They only have one opening, y’know.” And Steve had stared at him. Cackled. Then proceeded to ask him what other creatures shit out of their mouth. Eddie didn’t have an answer. Steve came to the conclusion that Mike Wheeler does—and that…well, Eddie can agree with that most of the time.

This morning, Steve spoons heaping piles of eggs into his mouth. Chews with his mouth open as he’s talking—the heathen. Gets his usual glass of orange juice. (Keep in mind this is all while Eddie’s groggy, his bangs are slick to his forehead from hot flashes in the night, spooning sharp and dry cereal down his throat, trying to keep up.) Then, a belch and a half later—Jesus H. Christ—Steve voices, “If a horse wore pants, do you think they’d wear them on their back two legs or on all legs?” His words sleep riddled and husky, still syrupy from dreamland.

Eddie blinked. Blinked some more.

“What?” He finally got out, throat brittle from his cereal.

“Horses,” Steve says, “they’re wearing pants. How many legs are covered in jeans? The back two or all of them? Because I feel like it makes more sense for just the back two, but also”—he tsks—“they aren’t people. So…would a horse have its own way of wearing jeans separate from us? Or would they just go with it?”

“I…I don’t know? Why are they wearing jeans?”

Steve shrugged. “They just are.”

He set his bowl on the counter behind him, clinking it against a couple other dishes he has yet to put away from the dinner last night. Last night, when Steve brought up the idea that dogs would have their own accents based on the regions they grew up in. And he just sighs.

“So…horses are wearing jeans,” he thinks aloud, words slow, “and you need to know the orientation in which they’d wear them?”

“Yeah!” Steve exclaims, snapping the thumb and index finger on his right hand, “they’re wearing jeans! But how?”

“I mean, having jeans on all four legs would look weird,” Eddie gives as his two cents, “we don’t wear jeans on our arms.”

Steve hums, but it’s more of a, “See, but here’s the thing…” hum. “Jean jackets, though. We wear jean jackets. Jeans on our legs. Jean shirts. People have all kinds of ways of wearing jeans, so what about horses?”

“What about horses? Wouldn’t they just have their own trends, too? Like some would wear jeans on the back two legs and others do all the legs? I bet they’d wear jean saddles, too if they could figure out how to get them on by themselves!”

And…shit. This is exactly what Steve does to him every morning.

Voice some thought. The thought is random, doesn’t make much sense, could be waved off with a simple hand. But then Steve gets him all heated. To the point where he argues some weird defense.

Then, Steve looks at him after it all.

Some smug, satisfied grin on his face. The heathen!

“So would horses be like us, then? Just wear jeans however they felt like it?” Steve asks. Still smug. So smugly.

Eddie groans. “Is this some weird argument you’ve got going on with Dustin or something? Am I just backing your point—again?”

“Oh…I don’t know,” Steve drawls. “Maybe. But also…since you’re on my side”—he can’t help but groan at Steve again—“then that means Dustin loses the bet we had. Dude gets to sort out the tapes the next time he tags along for one of my shifts.”

He levels Steve with a look. One eyebrow raised. Eyes wide. “What’d he do?”

“Spilled Dr. Pepper on the floor of my car,” he answers simply, “he didn’t have the money to help pay for it to be cleaned and detailed. So. Next best thing? Punishment at Family Video. And also I get to rub it in his face that my point is correcter.”

“More correct.”

“Whatever,” Steve mumbles, a flippant hand in front of him. “You knew what I meant. I just get to be more correct for once and that’s gonna be freaking awesome sauce, dude.”

Eddie snorts. Mutters, “Awesome sauce.” Then, he picks up his bowl of cereal again, another dry spoonful on his tongue. Asks, “What if he gets the others to rally with him? How’re you gonna prove your point then?”

Steve goes completely quiet and still.

It’d be worrisome if he wasn’t screwing his face up every few seconds, working through other thoughts he’s got. What rambunctious things go on in his brain, Eddie doesn’t know—probably won’t ever know, but at least he knows Steve’s working on…something.

And at the last few crumbs being poured into his mouth, Steve has the audacity to follow through with, voice serious and low, “Monkeys are taking over the planet. You have to save one of two things. Your acoustic or the Garfield mug, which one are you picking?”

He shakes his head and sighs, turning towards the sink with his cereal bowl. But, after a few seconds of thought, he answers, “Probably the acoustic. A mug wouldn’t do me any good against monkeys, right?”

Behind him, Steve lets out a large victory whoop. The commotion of him moving through the trailer, into the kitchenette, sidling up right next to Eddie. He smacks a wet, noisy kiss to Eddie’s cheek. Whispers, “I knew it!” And then starts back towards the bedroom—Eddie can only assume to put on some more decent clothes than his pajamas.

Which is confirmed mere minutes later when Steve presents himself again, keys in hand, pumping his fist and pointing directly at Eddie in the living room. “That little shrimp has to clean the men’s restroom, too! Ha-ha!” he shouts.

Playfully, he rolls his eyes and smirks. “Go to work, you dork. Don’t wanna miss Dustin’s betrayed little face.”

Steve grins, teeth and all. “Oh, I know. It’s gonna be fucking great. That’s what he gets for spilling his sticky ass soda in my car.” He strides to the trailer’s door, begins to step out, but once he’s half-way through, he turns back to Eddie with, “I love you, Eds. I’ll keep my mouth shut about you answering my questions. Dustin won’t have a fucking clue.”

“Love you, too,” he says, “and don’t worry about throwing me under the bus. I’ll always be on your side…whether I realize it initially or not.”

Later, when Steve’s on his lunch break, Eddie will get a call—another hypothetical:

“If pigs could fly, would they use it for good or evil?”

He can’t help but wonder how he got stuck with the most lovable dork on the planet.

And how Dustin keeps getting roped into these goofy bets. Probably his tone, Eddie surmises, yeah…probably his tone.

🐴—————🐴

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #(he's only mentioned though)#silly and goofy #humor and hijinks #this is so stupid #but also I love it

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