36924

[36924]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 20

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16 || PART 17 || PART 18 || PART 19

Chrissy is willing to admit that when Steve doesn’t call her after his date, she panics. If her mom wasn’t such a light sleeper, she would’ve snuck out to check up on him. But instead, she wallows, dozing on the couch, not even able to call Jeff to bitch because what if Steve chooses that moment to call?

So, she can admit, when he finally calls a few minutes after seven in the morning, she’s a little short with him.

“Finally, Steven,” she hisses into the phone, keeping her voice quiet so as not to alert her mother to their conversation. “I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he rushes out, sounding contrite. “We sort of fell asleep.”

Chrissy gasps, a smile slowly spreading on her face as the implications set in. “You guys slept together?” she demands gleefully.

“We didn’t have sex!” he shouts, and she’s glad, for the first time, that his parents are so absent from his everyday life. “We just fell asleep!”

She’s still smiling, twirling the phone cord round and round her fingers. “Does that mean it went well?” she wheedles.

She doesn’t think that Eddie would suddenly realize he’s straight and renege on the date, not really, but Steve had, and she can’t get the terrified tone of his voice out of her head.

“Well—” he drawls, leaving her on tenterhooks for a few seconds more. “He took me to see some shitty horror movie.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, full-on grinning now. “What a stereotypical move.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he replies so wryly that she can almost see the way his eyes must be rolling. “Except he barely talked to me the whole time and didn’t even try to hold my hand.”

“No!”

“And then he took me into the woods like some sort of serial killer, and then tried to kiss me so abruptly that my lip split a little.”

“No!” she shrieks with laughter before catching herself and slapping a palm over her own mouth as Steve’s own amused chuckle filters through the phone line. “And you still spent the night?”

“He was nervous!” Steve defended. “And besides, the second kiss was much better.”

“Your boy’s a fast learner, huh?”

Steve hums, and she wishes he was here with her, so she could see the dopey grin that must be on his face as he says, “yeah,” with a dreamy sigh. “He took me stargazing.”

Chrissy coos, can’t help it, not when this whole thing’s been building for so long now. Not when there’s been an edge of fear to everything Steve’s said for months. He deserves something nice for once.

“And you’re going out again?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, and a knot of fear she’s had tucked beneath her sternum loosens.

He sounds excited, happy, hopeful. If Eddie does anything to jeopardize this, Chrissy will be digging a very deep hole and tossing him into it. She’s got a shovel, and the muscle strength built up from years of cheer—she’ll manage just fine.

So, when Eddie walks up to her in the cafeteria in some sort of fucked up parallel to that first time and bends at the waist in a showy bow, hand outstretched as he asks, “a word, madam?” she’s ready to kill him.

But, when she glances at Steve at her side, his ears are red, and he’s smiling up at Eddie from beneath his lashes. And when she looks back toward Eddie she catches the tail-end of a wink that has Steve sputtering.

Even Jason doesn’t protest from the other side of the table where he’s quietly seething.

So, she takes his hand and follows him out of the cafeteria.

Eddie doesn’t seem to know where he’s going, as he walks through the halls, peering into nooks and crannies until he finds a corner he deems suitably vacant enough. He flops down, legs outstretched in front of him, uncaring of the dirt caking the floor.

He pats the spot next to him, smiling up at her, so she slides down the wall and crouches beside him, unwilling to let her bare legs touch the floor.

Eddie leans away from the wall and wrestles his jacket off before placing it on the floor in front of Chrissy. Gratefully, she sits atop it, crossing her legs to keep them safe. She turns her body so she’s facing Eddie dead on, and he follows her lead.

When he doesn’t say anything, she breaks the silence with a quiet, “I hope you know that if you hurt my friend, I’ll kill you.”

“I have no doubt, Lady Cunningham,” Eddie replies, drawing an X across his heart with his finger. “But, I’m not here to talk about Steve.”

“Then—what?”

He’s grimacing now, no longer meeting her eyes as he fiddles with his rings, one of his fingers bizarrely missing its usual adornment. “We’re friends, right?” he asks hesitantly, like he’s choosing each word with deliberate care.

“Of course,” she replies, eyes trained on the little furrow between his brows. He’s picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans, further fraying the edges. “Why would you ask that?”

He sighs, slumping into himself in a way that makes him look small. “I’m glad I’m here, okay?” he asks, not waiting for her to answer before he continues. “Steve’s great, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But, you still lied to me—"

"We never lied to you," she cuts in, and he waves his hand in assent.

"Yeah, yeah, but you all like, conspired behind my back, and that feels…”

“Shitty,” she continues for him when he seems to lose his words.

“Yeah! Shitty, it feels shitty that you were all talking about me behind my back all so you could keep this from me."

Chrissy sighs. She’d known they’d have to talk about it eventually–clear all this stale air so they could move on–but it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. But, he’s right; no matter their intentions, they’d all made a mess of things. She’d known that even as she’d been in the thick of it.

So, she starts where these things should always start, and looks him dead in the eye as she says, “I’m sorry.”

He finally looks up, seeming almost surprised. “Just like that?”

“Yes, Eddie, just like that,” she replies, maintaining eye contact even as her gut squirms. “We were just trying to protect each other, but that doesn’t mean it was the right choice.”

His eyes are wide, still shocked, and she wonders, something uncomfortably close to pity bubbling up within her, if he’s not used to receiving apologies at all.

“Both of you?” he asks.

Chrissy averts her gaze, mouth twisting up. “You know how Steve said Jason has been kind of stalkery?” she asks, watching Eddie nod out of the corner of her eye before she continues. “Well, it was worse before. He kept coming to my house and cornering me at school, and I just wanted to move on.”

It was more than that, though. She still remembers the way fear crept down her spine as cold sweat when she’d opened her door to Jason smiling at her like they’d never broken up, the way her throat had closed up when he’d scooted far too close to her side at the lunch table.

The way he kept cornering her in the hallway when no one was around to witness it. 

“So, when I found Steve trying to write that first letter, I struck a deal,” she continues. She feels bad about that, even now, even still. “He’d be my boyfriend, and I’d help him with the letters.”

She finally turns back to Eddie, braced for, what? Condemnation? But he’s squinting at her like she’s a puzzle he’s trying to crack as he says, “you totally would have helped him anyway,” with so much conviction that it warms her. 

“Oh, definitely.”

He’s still looking at her, but he’s smiling at her, eyes warmer than she’s ever seen them. 

“Alright, I forgive you,” Eddie says, like it’s easy.

It’s too easy. 

“Just because we had reasons doesn’t mean it was fair to you,” she replies, steel in her voice as she squares her shoulders and looks at him dead on. “It doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt,” she finishes, reaching out to pat his knee.

He doesn’t jerk away, just looks at her hand on his knee with a peculiar smile on his face. “You know there was a time when you touching me like that would’ve sent me into a tizzy,” he says, still looking down at her hand.

“And now?”

“Nothing,” he replies, shrugging. “It was never you, Chrissy Cunnigham.”

“You either, Eddie Munson,” she replies, matching his smile as she smacks his hand once before withdrawing. “Now is that it, or was there something else you needed?”

He looks away, cheeks darkening to a blotchy red, she’s almost worried he’ll faint. “I, uh, well, the jacket?”

She thinks of Eddie’s jacket beneath her first, but that’s not where he’s looking. His eyes are planted firmly on the sleeve of Steve’s letterman with a sort of longing that’s almost funny in its intensity.

She doesn’t ask any follow up questions—if he wants the jacket, he can have the jacket. After all, it’s Steve’s no matter how attached to it she’s become, and Steve had looked up at him with the sappiest look she’s ever seen on his face.

She’d do more than give up his letterman to keep him happy.

Still, it feels strange when she pulls it off her back. A shiver runs through her–she feels almost naked without its familiar weight. 

Since that first day in the library, it’s been her shield against Jason’s pushy advances, and her reminder that, no matter what happens, she’d still have Steve. 

But, Jason’s backed off, and everywhere she turns, she sees her people: Steve, yes, but Jeff, and Eddie, and the Hellfire boys–even Robin. Her life’s full to bursting in a way that it’s never been before. 

Chrissy will miss it, but she doesn’t need it anymore. Besides, she knows where Steve keeps his spare key, and she’s not above stealing something else from his closet. 

“Jeff’s going to be sad,” she says, patting the bundled fabric in her arms like it’s a favored family pet, feeling strangely choked up. “He really liked it.”

Eddie grimaces down at it and asks, “do I need to get this thing dry cleaned?”

Chrissy throws her head back and laughs. “No, but if you would’ve waited a few more days, you might have.”

He makes a gagging noise, but when she holds it out for him, he readily takes it, even if he doesn’t put it on. She wonders if it’s fear of homophobes or the thought of her and Jeff’s bodily fluids that stops him. She’s polite enough not to ask, even as Eddie says, “Wait, is it you wearing it or him that Jeff likes?”

She opens her mouth to reply, ready to offer up a vague “both,” but Eddie holds up his hand and cuts her off, talking quickly like he’s afraid of what she might say. “Wait, don’t tell me. I really, really don’t need to know.”

Chrissy springs to her feet and picks Eddie’s own leather jacket up off the floor and sliding it on. It’s even baggier than Steve’s was on her, clearly designed for layering. “I’m borrowing this,” she says, turning her back on him and making her way toward her next class just as the warning bell rings. “It’s cold today.”

“Don’t do any weird sex things with it!” Eddie calls.

She laughs again, making a point to neither confirm nor deny her intentions no matter what he yells after her retreating back.

When Jeff slides into her passenger seat after school, he quirks a brow at her new look, and asks, “that Eddie’s?” as he buckles his seatbelt.

“He wanted Steve’s,” she says, reaching out to pat his knee consolingly.

“I’m going to miss that jacket,” Jeff sighs, looking genuinely forlorn for a second before he gets a particular gleam in his eye that Chrissy’s becoming increasingly familiar with. “You know—”

“Eddie requested that we don’t ‘do any weird sex things’ with his jacket,” she cuts in, putting her car in reverse and slowly backing out of the spot.

Jeff groans like he’d been shot, and throws his head back into the headrest. She reaches out to dig her fingernails into his knee, just this side of too-hard so his groan shifts into a hiss.

“I know, baby,” she says, smiling sweetly at him as they pull away from the school. “But, I’ll get your mind off it in no time.”

Jeff gulps, and doesn’t utter another complaint for the rest of the night.

***

Robin watches Chrissy follow Eddie out of the cafeteria. Even after the door closes behind them, she keeps staring, wanting desperately to know what they’re talking about. This might have all started because of her crush on Chrissy, but Robin’s nosy at heart, so even as the flames of her crush burn down to embers, she wants to know.

Steve had called her on Saturday, spilling all the details of what sounded like a truly horrible date as if it was some sort of fairy tale while Robin cackled in his ear. But he’d sounded buoyant with exhilaration, and all Robin had been able to think about was that he’s like her and he’s happy.

Maybe there’s hope for her, too.

Robin’s broken out of her reverie by a shoulder bumping into hers. “Should we help him?” Vickie whispers, and it takes Robin a minute to snap her eyes away from her vibrant green eyes to follow her gaze over to Steve.

All the losers he’s still pretending to be friends are jeering at him, Tommy H. going so far as to slip into Chrissy’s vacant seat so he can jostle Steve around with a decidedly unfriendly look on his face while Steve picks halfheartedly at his lunch.

Robin’s out of her seat before she can even think about it, palms slapping noisily on the table as she calls. “Harrington!” Steve perks up, metaphorical tail wagging as he meets her eyes from across the room. “Come help me win a bet!”

He’s up and out of his seat in a matter of seconds, leaving the remains of his lunch abandoned on his table as he trots over, slipping into the empty seat across from her while all the other band kids look at him like he’s got the plague.

“What’s the bet?” he asks, looking far more relaxed already than he had while surrounded by his supposed friends.

Robin kicks him under the table as she replies, “the bet was whether you’d come when you’re called.”

“Oh, hardy har har,” he mocks, kicking her right back until she links both her feet around his ankle and yanks him so he damn near falls off his seat.

“Poor little puppy,” she coos, reaching across the table to pat his head while he bats her hand away.

Vickie’s laughing from beside her; it rings through Robin’s ears like church bells. She gets stuck, staring at the pink of her cheeks, the red of her hair, the mirth in her emerald green eyes, hand still outstretched toward Steve’s hair.

He kicks her again, and she snatches her hand back, grateful for the intervention until she catches sight of the knowing look Steve’s shooting her. In retaliation, she grabs one of her carrot sticks and tries to shove it down his throat.

“Not a word, Harrington, or we’re through,” she hisses, finally succeeding in shoving the carrot into his mouth.

“You guys are so funny,” Vickie says, still laughing.

Steve smiles, carrot sticking out of his mouth like it’s a cigar until he bites into it with a snap, seeming oddly satisfied.

Chrissy and Eddie don’t come back, and by the time lunch is over, the rest of the band kids have finally stopped sitting there like scared lemmings, waiting for King Steve Harrington to attack. She’s sure they’ll soon learn what Robin already knows: the king is dead, long live the king.

She loves him so much, it’s almost stupid.

“So, Steve Harrington, huh?” Vickie asks, inexplicably walking out of the cafeteria with her even though Robin knows for a fact her class is on the opposite side of the school.

“I mean, yeah?” Robin replies, feeling her face heat from the inside out. “He’s just like, not what I was thinking at all, and maybe the best friend I’ve ever had, which is crazy—it’s crazy, because it’s Steve Harrington, right?” Her hands, she realizes with horror, are miming an explosion above her head while her mouth makes a weird, crackling explosion sound. “Who would’ve guessed?”

When she finally gets her mouth flapping under control, Vickie’s smiling at her, walking close enough that the sleeve of her sweater brushes against Robin’s bare arm.

“I don’t know, I always thought he seemed nice.”

Robin’s nodding along like one of those bobble head hula girls that boys are always putting in their cars, even though Steve Harrington isn’t nice. He’s an unmitigated bitch with a sacrificial streak a mile wide, but he’s not nice.

“He’s like a stray that I let into my house one time, and then my mom fed him, so now he keeps following me home,” her mouth says.

Vickie’s mouth laughs in return, so maybe it’s not all that bad.

Robin’s mind replays the angelic sound as she walks into her class, waving goodbye to Vickie as the other girl rushes away in a mad dash to make it on time to her next class.

God, Steve’s going to be such a bitch about this.

 ***

After Eddie’s talk with Chrissy, things shift.

Steve doesn’t sit with the jocks at all anymore. He and Chrissy, still joined at the hip like they really are dating, shift back and forth between the band geeks and the hellfire tables at lunch on Tuesday, prompting hushed whispers to filter through the entire cafeteria.

For his part, all Gareth says is, “does this mean you two’s weird feud over Chrissy is finally over?”

Jeff snorts chocolate milk out of his nose while Eddie laughs so hard he nearly falls off the bench entirely, only staying upright because Steve props him up.

“What?” Gareth demands, tearing into his chicken strips with a viciousness that betrays his ire.

“They’ll tell you when you’re older,” Doug replies despite having no idea himself.

Eddie loves his friends so fucking much.

By Wednesday, a clearly fed up Robin frog-marches the pair of them to the Hellfire table and plops down beside them.

“Munson, I can’t do this split custody thing anymore,” she says, making the red-head that’d followed her over giggle. “They’re too much of a handful.”

“Or maybe even two handfuls,” Steve replies, across the table at her like he’s not playing the most overt game of footsie right below it.

“Don’t be gross, dingus,” she scoffs, and Eddie’s mind goes galloping off with thoughts he shouldn’t be having in a room full of teenagers just waiting to push someone a few more rungs down the ladder.

“Are you guys coming back to Hellfire?” Gareth asks, clearly unable to stand not knowing what’s going on a second longer.

Steve looks at Eddie, brown eyes devastating beneath his lashes. “I’d like to.”

Eddie opens his mouth, ready to grovel at Steve’s feet to get him to come, to get him to keep looking at him like that, but then Robin cuts in with a sly, “you know this means you’ll have to come to Steve’s basketball games,” and he slams his mouth shut.

Steve grins, all seduction dropping off his face as he reaches across the table to give Robin a high five like they’re already on the fucking court. She slaps his palm hard enough that the sound of skin on skin damn-near shatters the sound barrier.

“We can sit together,” Jeff says, but he’s not even looking at Eddie, eyes trained on Chrissy’s blushing face. “It’ll be fun.”

Eddie groans and lets gravity overtake him, dropping his head to the table so suddenly that it would have hurt if Steve hadn’t put his palm over the spot just in time. Eddie turns his face so he can glare up at the other boy, but Steve looks so hopeful and excited that he has to look away again, burying his face into Steve’s palm.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he drawls, lips brushing against Steve’s hand with each word.

“What the hell is happening?” Gareth demands.

Much to his dismay, no one replies.

Things slide back to normal after that—Chrissy and Steve showing up to band practice and hellfire and lunch like nothing had ever come between them. But, it’s better now because Steve knocks their feet together beneath tables, and lets his hands settle on knees and stares just a little too long at Eddie’s lips.

It’s driving him crazy; he wants to reach out and touch, reach out and take.

But that’s not something that’s allowed. Boys are born in their own, invisible bubbles to keep them from touching other boys. Eddie doesn’t know how he never noticed it before, but he wants to shatter it like glass, let it cut up his feet if it means he can brush his lips against Steve’s.

There are all these rules left unwritten, but flung at their feet like slurs: don’t stand too close, don’t look too long, don’t dare to touch.

He wants to, though, thinks maybe in the confines of Gareth’s garage and behind the closed doors of the drama room he could, and it would be safe.

But they live in Hawkins, Indiana, and he’d like to live long enough to get the hell out of here.

So he lets their feet tangle beneath tables and doesn’t lean across them to have a taste, no matter how often Steve licks his lips.

Friday can’t come soon enough.

***

Robin’s been twitchy for days by the time she pulls Steve into their bathroom stall. He follows her dutifully, only laughing a little as she pulls a towel out of her backpack and lays it down before sitting on the floor.

“You plan this, Birdie?” he asks, settling across from her, the towel beneath them insulating him from the cold that’s seeping up from the floor.

Robin’s face turns a blotchy red like a blood vessel burst and dispersed beneath her skin. “Boobies,” she blurts, staring at him with beseeching eyes before she slaps her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Steve nods, his attempt at sage wisdom undercut by the way he has to bite his lip to stop from laughing at her. “Boobies, yes,” he chokes out. “I’ve, uh, heard of them.”

That’s all it takes for Robin to kick out at him. When her foot gets dangerously close to his crotch, Steve grabs her ankle and cradles her foot in his lap, rubbing the bone.

“Don’t make fun of me!” she whines, still trying to kick him.

“Okay, okay!” he cries out, chuckling as he holds onto her leg for dear life. “Sorry, just—what’s this about boobies?”

“Stop saying boobies!”

Steve uses his free hand to lock up his mouth and toss the invisible key into the toilet, smiling as the blush on Robin’s cheeks creeps up her nose and onto her forehead until she resembles an especially square tomato.

“Vickie—”

And Steve can’t help it, he really, really can’t. “Has nice boobies?” he cuts in, already grabbing at both her legs to stop her jackrabbiting feet from finally landing a blow to his balls.

“I hate you!” Robin shrieks, but even she’s laughing now as she writhes atop the towel, scrunching it as she earth-worm-inches closer to him so she can slap at his ribs while he’s defenseless. “Steve Harrington, you’re the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

She tries to say it with conviction, but Steve’s hands have crept beneath her crew socks, and his fingers are tickling against the inside arch of her foot, so her words come out more as shaky exhalations of laughter. He wiggles his fingers as she squirms away, kicking out with such reckless abandon that one of her feet breaks free and kicks him far too high on his inner thigh for comfort.

“Get your boy cooties off me!” she demands, and he does, pulling his hands out of her socks as she backs away until she’s leaning against the opposite side of the wall again, pouting at him. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, feeling lighter than air. “Now tell me about Vickie’s girl cooties.”

Robin smiles bashfully, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. “Vickie doesn’t have cooties,” Robin replies, gaze distant. She looks wistful, enamored, hopeful. “She walked me to class the other day, even though I know it made her late.”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts, helpless to do anything but to smile back.

“Yeah,” she replies. “And maybe it’ll be like Chrissy again, you know? But you and Eddie…” Robin kicks out at him again, nudging her foot into his and then leaving it there, their soles pressed together. “Maybe there’s more of us out there than I thought.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, absolutely in love with brave, hopeful, honest Robin, here in this stall, in this moment. “Maybe there are.”

They smile at each other, two queer kids in the bathroom together, seeing themselves in each other, again, and again, and again. Steve hopes they’ll always be like this, here, on the bathroom floor, finding hope in each other’s smiles. He has Chrissy, and Jeff, and Eddie now, too. But, Robin will always be the first person who looked at him and made him feel seen.

“We should get married,” he says, not thinking about it before it comes out of his mouth and hangs in the air between them, making Robin’s eyes bug out of her skull. “Just think about it! Eddie and I can’t get married, and neither can you and Vickie—”

“You’ve literally gone out with the guy once, and we don’t even know if Vickie likes girls yet—”

“—but we could totally just marry each other instead!”

The silence of the bathroom rings once Steve’s declaration is out there. Robin swallows, throat bobbing, eyes wide enough that Steve can see the little red veins near the back. Suddenly, Steve wonders if he’s stepped over some line he didn’t even know was there.

Before he can spiral too far, Robin launches herself across the space between them, knees bracketing Steve’s hips as she leans over and bites his shoulder, hard.

“Ow, Robin!”

“You’re insane, Dingus, you know that?” she asks, moving away from his shoulder to plant a kind of wet kiss against his forehead. “I’m sixteen, and you’re proposing in the boy’s bathroom.”

She rubs her hand against his head, likely fucking his hair up beyond repair, but he doesn’t even care because she kisses him again, this time on the top of his head.

“I meant like, later?” Steve says shyly.

He’s always fallen hard and fast, knows that about himself. It’s a fundamental law of the universe: gravity makes things fall down, the earth’s always spinning on an axis, and Steve Harrington puts his whole heart into people who don’t always give it back.

But Robin’s on his lap, kissing his head, and leaking what’s either snot or tears into his hair. “Alright,” she warbles, sounding embarrassingly soggy. “When I get a girlfriend, we can just be permanent beards for each other.”

Steve puts his arms around her and hugs her tight, mashing his face awkwardly into her neck as she laughs. “Grow old in separate bedrooms,” he replies.

“Gotta keep our cooties separate,” she says, like she’s not currently dripping on him on the floor of the boy’s grimy bathroom.

He just squeezes her tighter and gives her a little shake, like a dog with its favorite toy. “Tell me about Vickie,” he demands, but it sounds a whole lot like I love you when it comes from his mouth.

“Okay,” she replies, and it sounds a lot like I love you, too.

[36924]

a filthy one-off starring Arrogant!Rockstar!Eddie x Snarky!Rockstar!Gareth x AFAB!Reader that literally came to me in a dream and hasn’t left my horny brain alone since

CW: Female pronouns, An absurd amount of pet names, Light Dom/Bratty Sub dynamics (I mean very light), Mean Eddie and Gareth (initially), Taunting, Banter, Vaginal fingering, Oral (F receiving), Protected P in V sex, Rough sex, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dirty Talk, Spit Kink(ish), Voyeurism, I mean — it’s a filthy threesome, there’s bound to be more but that’s basically it

Word Count: 15k

Pairings: Rockstar!Eddie Munson x AFAB!Reader, Rockstar!Gareth Emerson x AFAB!Reader, and enough banter and sultry looks and touches to make it Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Rockstar!Gareth Emerson x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You’ve heard of the classic Same Bed Trope? Well, what would you call it when all you expect to do is fall asleep in luxury after a missed flight, only to find the room already occupied? Same Hotel Room Trope?

Great. Cause here it is.

The hours of trouble are now suddenly worth it.  Even as your heavy eyes threaten to slip closed, you thumb the button to the penthouse suite with enthusiasm and admittedly, some excitement.  Maybe losing your shit and bursting into tears in front of the United Airlines attendant was the way to go, especially if it gave you a voucher for dinner so cash-laden, you know you’ll never be able to spend it all.

Not to mention, the fucking penthouse suite at the Park Hyatt.  

Okay, so maybe it’s not the penthouse, but it is still a suite.  The view the attendant promised of Lake Michigan from the floor-to-ceiling windows is the best in the city, and you’re ultimately grateful for the accommodations they made to put you up for the night.  Plus – it’s definitely a far cry from The Marriott in Hilton Head, South Carolina.

Which is where you were headed for your work conference before your flight got delayed and made you miss your connecting.

Heaving one last heavy sigh to the ceiling of the elevator, you again remind yourself that all is not lost.  Missing one day of a conference isn’t so bad.  You’ll use this to your advantage – shower in luxury, maybe even apply your pumpkin enzyme mask and give yourself a little spa-treatment in that luxurious soaking bathtub you spied at check-in.  As your fingers fumble to get that pleasant little click and green light combo on the door lock, you soothe the ache in your feet and the fatigue in your bones with a promise that no matter what, you’ll be fast asleep as soon as your head hits the plushy pillows on that king size bed.

That is, until you’re shocked wide awake with the sight of two dark-dressed men lounging on the plush leather couch, legs spread and bodies relaxed as if they were expecting you.

Which clearly, they weren’t.

Two sets of eyebrows shoot sky high at the sight of you at the door, stunned more by the way you screech,

“What in the fuck –!”

The taller man (you think, anyway) with the slender frame and bambi eyes isn’t terribly fazed.  Annoyance clips at his tone as he sighs, jostling the freshly rolled joint between his full cherry lips.

“Y’lost, sweetheart?”

The surprise of the presence of two denim-clad strangers only intensifies as he addresses you with all the nonchalance in the world.  Stumbling over your words, you finally eek out a spluttering What the fuck – 

– before the shorter, stockier male with a thick silver hoop in his pout snaps at you like a chained junkyard dog.  

“Get the fuck out of our room!”

“Wh-what?”  You hate how your chin trembles, at the mercy of the adrenaline that surges through your system.  “No!  No,” you attempt to explain, “this is my room –”

Lip-ring scoffs; a haughty catch that rasps deep in his throat.  “Guarantee you, it’s not.”

At least the adrenaline has afforded you some spunk.  Matching this asshole’s condescension, your mouth curls in a sneer as you flash him the keycard still pinched between your fingers, waving it in front of your face for proof.

“Well, then explain how I just got in here!”

The same man shrugs, tossing a thumb at his friend, boyfriend, next murder victim, whatever with the long, midnight curls.  “You stole it from him, somehow.”  That menace with the piercing blue eyes leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.  “It’s a little desperate, if you ask me.  Eddie likes the chase, not pussy provided to him on a silver platter.”

Eddie – apparently, you wouldn’t put it past that sharp-tongued shithead to lie about names – snorts through his nose (ringed nose, you spot a sliver of delicate silver adorning his left nare) as he adjusts his legs to splay wider across his cushion.  Appraising you with an obvious flick of whiskey brown up and down your frame, he scoffs. 

“Hardly a silver platter.”

Your nose wrinkles.  Okay, so the messy bun perched on top of your head is undoubtedly in a right state; you’re aware of that.  You’ve spent the better part of the day traveling, for Christ’s sake.  It stings, how he points out something so obvious – though you refuse to let your hand tend to it.  You wouldn’t dare give them the satisfaction.

Instead, you meet those intense espresso eyes with a furious stare of your own.  “Um, rude.”  You take a grounding breath before demanding, “What are you assholes even talking about?”  

A slow, cocky grin slithers across his features.  “Lemme spell it out for you, sweetheart.”  You recoil at the eponym, his intention clearly made in how he spits it out like it’s burned his tongue.  “You came to our show, you obviously liked what you saw, and you followed us back here.  I gotta say, I admire the tenacity, but we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

That so figures, these egotistical sons of bitches are musicians.  “Wh–what fucking show?”  You shake your head to accentuate your bewilderment. “I haven’t been anywhere but the goddamn airport today!  My connecting to Hilton Head got missed because my stupid fucking flight took off an hour late.”  Chest heaving, you tilt your head to the side.  “Says a lot about your observation skills.  I’m literally standing here with a big ass suitcase and a carry-on.  Who the fuck goes to a show with that?”

He – Eddie, you remind yourself – lifts an unbothered shoulder.  “Still doesn’t excuse the fact that you broke into a rockstar’s room.”  Long fingers splay over his heart.  “While I am flattered, I stand by what I said.  Desperate little fangirl with a weak-ass sob-story, just trying to get into my pants.”  He flashes you his teeth.  “A tale as old as time.”

That gets a guffaw so obnoxious from the other idiot it makes your blood boil.  In spite of yourself, eyes flick down his frame to take in his outfit.  Black OpalInSky shirt.  Tight, ripped black denim jeans.  Chains.  An exorbitant amount of chains.  Black socks and thick-soled black combat boots that lay at rest near his feet.  

And a chunky, glittering set of fucking rings on some stupidly long fingers.  

Which reminds you what’s still held in yours. 

“How many keys did you get when you checked in?”

“What?”

“Pay attention, sweetheart,” you snap with the sweetest venom in your tone.  “How many keys did you get?”

“Two.”

Now it’s you that cocks a thin-lipped grin.  “Show me.”

A sardonic string of dry snickers tumble from his lips as he lists towards lip ring, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket.  “She’s bossy.  She’s kinda growin’ on me, Gare.”

“You like ‘em mean, that’s for sure.”

Seriously?  The audacity of these two.  “I’m literally standing right here –”

Those deft fingers flip open his leather billfold. “Oh, pipe down, princess.”  Eddie tosses two sleek, navy blue cards on the table.  “Well, wouldja look at that?  Two cards.  This doesn’t prove –”

Your own keycard and the cardboard holder join the identical pair on the table, bulging with the heft of a folded-up receipt.  “Go ahead,” you snip. “Look.”

You’re surprised that he obeys.  While he scans the contents, you can’t help but feel a lurch in your belly, as if your proof won’t be enough.  “This is my room.  Please,” you say as your shoulders slump with fatigue, dropping your carry-on to the floor with a muffled thump, “just please leave.  If you’re like, in a band or something I’m sure they’d be more willing to cater to you than just someone they had to put up for the night.”

The blue-eyed boy grins, shifting on the couch to throw a casual arm behind Eddie.  “Nah, I think he’s good here.”

Your eyes practically bug out of your head.  “Are you – do you not see the literal receipt I just gave him –”

“You might be surprised at the lengths we’ve seen chicks go to to be in this exact situation –”

“I highly doubt you’re that big of a deal.”

“Honey, we’re the leading men of Corroded Coffin,” that crooked smile would be hot if it wasn’t attached to someone so assholishly brash.  “I assure you, we are that big of a deal.”

“I’ve never heard of you,” you spit, “have no fucking idea who you are.”

“That’s a shocker,” he laughs as those crystalline eyes dance with mirth.  “You probably wouldn’t know metal music if it bit you in the face.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you bite back, “Metal?  Are you kidding me?  You look more like someone who’d open for a shitty emo cover band.”

The young man barks a laugh, and a curious flutter beats against your ribs, satisfied you got such a genuine sound out of him.  Before you can dwell much on that feeling, Eddie waves his hand.  

“Children, please,” though he sounds bored, his eyes betray him.  The stare he gives you is loaded.  “Now, sweetheart –”

“Don’t – ugh,” you groan.  If you were to stomp your foot, you would look every bit as petulant as you feel.  “Stop calling me that.”

That ringed hand comes to rub along the stubble on his jawline.  “Whatever the lady wants.” A dimple pops in his left cheek when he murmurs your name.  “Relax.”

Oh, that’s rich.  You can feel your body tense, your blood pressure rising as you practically screech, “Did you just tell me to relax?”

Midnight curls frame his face as he leans forward onto his knees.  “Yes,” he reiterates lowly, the browns in his irises darken as he looks at you through his eyebrows.  There’s a subtle dominance, a shift in his demeanor, and though he’s still seated on the couch, that tone he uses compels your attention like he’s standing over you. “I said, relax.  We’ll get this sorted out.”

The sandy-haired man tips his head back against the cushions, lolling to the side as he mutters, loud enough for you to hear, “Maybe y’should get her to relax, Ed.”  He pins you in place with a Cheshire grin.  “She looks like she’s wound so fucking tight she’s gonna explode. ”

What you mean to say is, No.  Get out of my room.  Don’t speak to me like that.  Or even a, Shut your stupid, sexy mouth before I bite that goddamn ring right out of your face would have sufficed.  

Okay, maybe not that last part, but the way that asshole keeps tonguinging it is starting to drive you a little mad, and not necessarily in a bad way.  

But, you don’t say any of that.  

Instead, your hackles are up as you reactively retort, “Your lazy fuckboy skills couldn’t get me to come if you tried.”

A heavy silence buzzes in your ear; a dreaded feeling that you’ve gone too far prickles heat up your neck before blooming into your cheeks.  

Eddie’s features split wide in a sinister grin, as though watching you squirm is enjoyable.  “Interesting,” he muses softly, sending a thrill down your spine.

“Please…” shame threatens to muck up your vocal chords, and it’s an effort to fight over the weak rasp and warble to petition for their mercy.  Still, you’re firm in how you demand, “Just leave.”

There’s no mercy at the bottom of seaglass and dark honey, only this taunting sort of dominance that has your heart hammering wild in your chest.  “Do you mean that?” Eddie asks with a brazen tilt of his head, “y’really want us to leave?”

Your jaw swings open on its hinges, at the ready to fire back with all the confidence in the world.  How they haven’t realized this, gotten it through their thick skulls is beyond you – all you want is to crash on that bed and wrap yourself in that duvet that looks like it would swallow you whole.  

Funny – because that’s precisely how both of these men look right now as they wait for your response.

Your very delayed response.  “Yes,” you manage to choke out, drawing a snicker from the asshole to Eddie’s left who still hasn’t told you his name.  

Not that you care.

A subtle scrape of metal against enamel, Eddie clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the way he slowly works it over his words showcases the silver bar and ball in its center.  “Nah, I don’t think you do.”

The air turns dense, suddenly laden with promise.  “What?”

Eddie feels it too, it radiates off his lithe form in waves.  “I propose to you a deal, sweetheart.”  The deep timbre in his voice rumbles through your chest.  “You’ll get the room.  Fair and square, because it does look like the hotel fucked up.  Honest mistake, you can surely imagine that those happen, can’t you?”

It’s as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe.  “I –”

He presses on as if you’ve kept silent.  “You’ll get the room if, and only if, I’m not able to extract that stick from your ass and use these lazy fuckboy skills to make you come.”

To punctuate his point, he wiggles those ring-clad fingers, smirking as you stammer, “That – that’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Eddie shrugs.  “But something you’re entertaining.  Isn’t she, Gareth?”

The man who now has a name raises an eyebrow suggestively, making a point to slowly drag his tongue over his lower lip as he stares you down.  “She certainly looks like she’s entertaining it.”

Oh, this little shit.  White hot denial, thick and heady, is sluggish as it courses through your veins.  It’s maddening how it delays your vehement, “No, I’m not –”

“Yeah, I think you are.”  Eddie interrupts your pitiful rejection, confident in the way he matches Gareth’s reclined position on the couch.  Arms splay out wide, palms to the ceiling in smug supplication.  “Those are the terms.”  After a beat, he extends a hand across the designer coffee table.  “Whaddya say?”

It only takes a moment of consideration before your upper lip curls in disgust, refusal found and sharp as you slap his offering away.  “Fuck you and fuck this.  Get out of my room.”

Gareth guffaws as the crack of skin on skin echoes off the high ceilings.  “I think we struck a nerve.  Been awhile since you had someone other than that vibrator in that front pocket of your carry-on make you come, yeah?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, unable to mask the shock of his accuracy.  “I – no, I don’t –”

“Gare Bear, be nice,” Eddie admonishes as the saccharine sweetness drips from his canines.  “We can be nice, I promise.”  

You don’t believe him for a second.  “I sincerely doubt that.”

A subtle pitch of his hips forward has Eddie shifting his position on the couch, and you could curse yourself at how swiftly your eyes flick to the impressive mass straining behind his fly.  That devilish smirk on his face only grows wider – and you know he’s clocked your stare.  

“Oh, but you’re wondering, aren’t you?  Wondering if I can back all this talk up?”

“You can’t.”

“I can.  In fact, I can be so nice to you in so many different ways.”  He tosses you a wink.  “So many different positions.  Baby, I’ll have you losing count of how many times you come.”  

Your mouth drops agape, your stare oscillating to Gareth like he’s going to refute this, apologize for his bandmate’s filthy mouth, do anything but look as smug as he does while he watches you fight for words.   

“Oh, don’t worry about Gare,” Eddie mistakes your stunned silence, thumbing over to his bandmate.  “He’ll sit pretty and just watch.”

That lip ring twists into a frown, lasting but a moment before Gareth schools his expression back into a cocky grin.  “Critique, you mean.”

Eddie snorts as he digs an elbow into Gareth’s side.  “Fuck you, asshole.”

Their banter gives you a moment to breathe.  “I – no,” you mutter, pushing a defiant breath out of your nose before reiterating more firmly, “no.”

“Y’sure about that?”

It’s appalling how you’re standing in the very same place you started, feet sewn to the floor while the circumstances of the evening whirl around you as if you’re not even there.  Just moments ago, you were so sure all you wanted to do was unwind in peaceful solitude, lose yourself in luxury you hardly ever afford yourself in reality.  Now, standing here in front of these two irritatingly arrogant men – you’re wired, buzzing with electricity that sends potent little zings to your toes.  Your heart is pounding, pulsing your exasperation through your vessels to throb a relentless rhythm in your core so strong it aches.

It aches for more, so much more than that earlier version of you ever dreamed of wanting. Truthfully, you’re not all that surprised.  You know how you allowed it to happen; egged it on, even.   

Actions, meet consequences.  

Plural.

A steely set of sky-blue eyes is laser-focused on how your chest heaves, offering nothing to his friend’s previous question.  Gareth angles his body, purposefully close; his defined cupid’s bow brushing the helix of Eddie’s ear.  

“I think that’s our answer.”

A dark, deep hum rattles in the other man’s throat.  “Last chance, sweetheart.”  Broad palms softly smack against denim as Eddie makes a show of lifting himself off the couch to stand at his full height.  A long, lean finger drags under your jawline, and you flinch at the contact before he’s crooking it under to softly tip your chin upwards.  His voice adopts a gravelly husk.  “Tell us to stop, and I’ll go down to the desk right now and sort it out.  Promise you, I will.”  The mood shifts as those deft fingers grab your chin, a sensual flare of heat licks at your insides as he slowly runs the calloused pad of his thumb along your bottom lip.  “Or, tell me to fuck you.  Tell me to take care of you like you deserve.”  Midnight curls, softer than you ever imagined, brush the sensitized skin of your cheek when he comes closer, guiding his thumb past your lips as he whispers in your ear.  “Tell me to make you come.”

A soft, feminine moan is wrenched from your depths as you taste him.  Eddie’s skin is ripe with salt and musk and man, his essence he spreads over your tongue as he reaches deeper.  The roughness of his thumb is exquisite, this dynamic even more so – and you lean into it, locking his lustful gaze as you hollow your cheeks and suck.  Eddie scoffs under his breath, pressing farther back to test your limits.  When you don’t gag despite his depth, a corner of his mouth lifts in approval.

Gareth watches with rapt attention, stifling a grunt as your heavy-lidded eyes lock in his fiery stare.  He matches Eddie, lips stretched wide to bare his teeth while his hand rests over an obvious bulge behind the fly of his jeans.  

He never breaks eye contact.  “Oh, she’s gonna be so good for us, Ed.”

“She already is.”  Slipping the calloused pad over your tongue once, twice – before drawing it back over your lips, he gently prods for your consent.  “She’ll be even better if she tells us with her words what she wants.”

It’s already been decided, but you indulge him, never once breaking that intense umber stare.  “Okay,” you reply, barely above a whisper from the breath you’ve lost, but still somehow firm.  “Try to make me come.”

Eddie’s whole face, though still darkened with lust, lights up with your answer.  He draws in a shaky inhale, on the cusp of saying more, when his bandmate butts in.

“Sorry,” Gareth exaggerates cupping his hand behind his ear, “I can’t hear you from all the way over here.”

“Oh my god,” you scowl, tearing yourself away from this breathtaking moment with Eddie to pin Gareth in a withering glare. “If you would shut your fucking mouth for two seconds, you’d be able to hear me just fine.”

Eddie lets an amused huff escape as he leans in, plush lips ghosting the shell of your ear.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve got a little crush on my drummer.” Reactively, your nipples pucker at his accusation, moreso as his tone drops. “Be nice, now.  He likes ‘em sweet.”

Usually, you are.  So kind and affectionate.  There’s just something about Eddie that has you acting out, wanting and needing to be abrasive and defiant.  Like he wants it that way, like he’s guiding you into a realm you’ve rarely explored.

So it feels right to stay vigilant, angling your set jaw towards him as you vow, “I don’t plan to be sweet tonight.”

The chuckle that slips through his plush lips is downright villainous.  “Atta girl.”

Dropping your chin, the taller man slinks away to flip on a lamp at the bedside.  Gareth materializes next to you, nearly startling you with how softly he croons your name.  

“Here, honey.  Follow Eddie over to the bed and I’ll take this for you, hmm?”  Warmth from his fingers caresses your hand where you’ve protectively gripped the handle of your carry-on.  The smile he gives you is strangely genuine, soothing any lingering unease once you’re over the initial shock of his kindness. “S’okay,” he murmurs.  “You can trust us.  You say stop and we’re gonna stop.  Okay?”

You warily search those ice-blue depths for any signs he’s messing with you.  The other shoe doesn’t drop – those crystalline eyes sparkle with sincerity.  Your grip slackens; silent permissions are granted with a tiny curl of your lips.  

Letting your wanton stare linger on his lips, you run your tongue along the edge of yours before affirming, “I’m not gonna want you to stop.”

“Fuck.”  Sandy-blonde curls dance around the apples of his cheeks with a smart shake of his head, swearing again under his breath as he picks up your luggage.  “Good girl.”

Gareth’s praise sears hot through your system, pooling at your core.  You keep a coy eyebrow raised while he carries your bags to the hall closet, watching how the muscles of his shoulders and back ripple under his charcoal gray tee as he maneuvers the heavy tote.  Staring longer than intended, there’s mirth in how Eddie breaks the spell with a gritty call of your name. 

Summoning you over with an intentional waggle of his middle and ring fingers, you fight a massive eye roll before crossing the spacious room to where he stands near the king-size bed.  He wastes no time, using those long arms to pull you flush against his body.

“Last chance,” he’s panting, the thrumming of his heart can be felt under your palms that are mashed against his chest, “you want this?”

You don’t hesitate.  “Yes.”

“Good.”

Bracing yourself for impact, you tense.  The expectation is for him to be rough, unbound with his passion that has smoldered in his dark chocolate eyes since you walked through that door.  Instead, you’re met with intention, with care as Eddie cups his hand around the back of your skull and slots his impossibly plush lips against yours.  

It’s soft and sensual; there’s passion, only different than you expected.  He’s careful in how he moves, how his free hand wanders over the material of your hoodie; up your arm, down your spine, across your waist in such languid, teasing strokes that you almost wish he’d be more aggressive.

Almost.

Because this?  It’s heaven.  It’s fireworks and bliss and a whole different level of contentment that has you sighing deeply as your fingers tangle into that beautiful mess of curls.  Groaning deep in his chest, Eddie deepens the kiss, licking at your lips to allow him to explore the honeyed recesses of your mouth.  

And explore he does.  

You feel his presence a fraction of a second before you feel his first touch.  Gareth brackets you against Eddie from behind, his hot breath fanning over the dewy skin of your neck before you’re treated to the softest press of lips over your flesh.  His kisses draw a current from his mouth to your center, made all the more intense as he runs both hands up, up, up and into your hair.  You groan as deft fingers unwind your hair tie, and again – louder for Eddie to swallow – when they settle against your scalp, rubbing tired strands into relaxation, coaxing them to cascade in untidy waves over your shoulders.

He’s so good at this.  He’s too good at this.  Dueling sensations mix in a homogenous blend of pleasure so deep you’re dizzy while you stand.  Where one kisses you senseless, the other makes you senseless – his blunted nails dragging over your scalp again and again until you’re nothing better than putty in their hands.

Fuck orgasms, you think wryly to yourself, just do this all night and I’ll be happy.

Undressing you is a dance, a cool coordination of flawless effort.  Shoes and socks are shed by one while the other occupies your mouth with his lips, only to then be guided with the gentlest of touches to the other while the zipper of your hoodie is slowly slipped down and away.  Push and pull, back and forth; the two men are perfectly in sync like they’ve often done this together before.  It should bother you, it should make you feel cheap or unspecial.  As Eddie directs you back to Gareth’s lips, you expect insecurity to trickle in, especially as he hooks those ringed fingers into the band of your leggings and tugs them over your thighs.  No doubt you’re a dime a dozen for these two – merely another groupie, looking for a quick fuck – just like they said.  

Insecurity never comes; it’s as absent as your shame.  Even though you know in your heart it’s a one-off, you’ll go back to your life and they’ll go back to theirs – the reverence in every grasp, every stroke, every caress says otherwise.  You don’t feel cheap or used as Eddie’s hands ghost over your curves, or when Gareth’s lips tickle the skin on the back of your neck.

Sighing when you’re once again led to Eddie’s mouth, you concede you’ve lost the bet before it’s really even begun.  In this moment, you feel cherished.  Sensual.  Desired.  A goddess meant to be worshiped.  It’s been so long since you’ve felt lust like this ignite in your belly, pooling arousal slick and hot between your legs.

It’s foolish and it’s atypical for you – but fucking hell does it feel so good.  

You crack a small smile into his plush pursed lips, wiggling while Gareth’s fingers run a blazing trail under the path of your tee – up your sides, down the slope of your chest, over the expanse of your waist and hips and back again.  It tickles, but in the best way – pleasure sparks hot and bright, concentrating to heat the desire that licks at your core.  

Finally, Gareth pulls your shirt over your head, and you swear you hear him snicker as it comes off.

You’re more breathy than you realize as you ask, “What?”

“Nothin’,” he muses with a smirk as he folds it with surprising care and sets it on the dresser.  “Interesting choice.”

“I like Tool,” you breathe, sighing airly as the sultry warmth of Eddie’s mouth explores every dip and valley of your chest that’s now bared to him.  

Gareth settles in the chair in the corner, his piercing baby blues remain fixed on you.  “Sure ya do.”

Ire and pleasure roll to a boil in your belly, the heat from the two distinct emotions nearly indecipherable.  “Oh, are you gonna be that douche that tells me to name five songs because I’m we-ear – oh, fuck –” you lose yourself properly when Eddie ducks his head to close his lips over your nipple.  Your tone swings up an octave as you finish, “their band tee?”

The gravel in the drummer’s tone baits you further.  “Nothing would delight me more.”

“You asshole –” 

Stealing a sharp glance at Gareth, you’re immediately rewarded; pride prickles in tiny puckered dimples over your skin.  The sight of you, nearly-naked in just your underwear, body bowing to Eddie’s tongue and teeth and hands has affected him tremendously.  His face is flushed, hips canting of their own accord for relief as he palms over his denim-covered cock.  

Eddie senses your distraction and immediately puts an end to it.  “Gareth,” he grits, “shut up and just watch.”  

Spinning you where you stand, he holds you tightly against his frame, the surprising strength in the arm over your collarbones renders you immobile.  The anticipation is thick and heady, sawing the breath in and out of your lungs as you wait for his next move.  Gareth watches it all, every rise and fall of your chest, every reflexive shiver Eddie’s touch sends through your core.  Lust clouds the vibrant blue of his irises, staining them gray.  It changes his whole appearance; he almost looked boyish before, but now?

Sitting in that chair is a man – a primal, wanting man that is wound so tight you think he might explode.  There’s no hiding how turned on he is, and with a wave of satisfaction, through the haze of desire you recognize it’s you that affects him this way.

It drives you crazy, especially as Eddie runs his free hand over your breasts, roughened pads of his agile fingers pinch and flutter over pert nipples with such precision that your head topples back to rest against his shoulder.

Though your eyes slip closed, you can feel his smile as he nuzzles your temple.  “Feel good, sweetheart?”

“Mmmhh,” you hum, not so lost to his erotic ministrations that you can’t feign some indifference, “feels fine, I guess.”

Tandem scoffs tickle the newfound part of your brain that’s so intent on pushing buttons.  It thrills you, how Eddie reacts with a firm press of his forearm against your chest and a rut of his erection over your ass.

“Feels fine, I guess,” Eddie mocks in a soft soprano rendition of your voice before dropping his timbre to roll like thunder.  “We’ll see about that.”  Dipping his hand over the soft of your belly, he toys with the elastic of your underwear before dragging his hand lower to cup over your pussy.  Fingers explore the wetness gathered here with tantalizing accuracy, his touch over your aching core so exquisite it’s a tremendous effort not to moan out his name.

His index swipes along your seam, pressing at the apex just enough to send a shock of pleasure coursing through your veins.  Crooking the soaked fabric at its hem, he pulls it aside and runs that same digit through your folds.  

“Fuck, she’s so wet, Gare,” his murmur is tainted with a sandpaper rasp. “Christ, sweetheart, this all for us?”

Gathering your slick, he runs it back and forth with a touch so light drives you wild.  To keep the noises that beg to pour from your lips, you sink your teeth into the plush of your bottom, hard enough a coppery tang bursts over your tongue.  Your pussy betrays you, the slick sounds Eddie makes as he dips his pad at your entrance are obscene and present and loud.

“Can hear her pussy from here,” Gareth flashes a wicked grin in your direction.  “You’re gonna come in record time, honey.”

Words elude you at a time like this, all you can give him is an abrupt shake of your head.  

“Gonna be so easy for ‘im,” he goads, “Eddie’s fingers are magic.”

As if on cue, Eddie’s longest finger locates your clit and weaves the gentlest figure eights.  He doesn’t even flinch as your nails dig into his forearm, clinging harder to his hold to stay upright.  It’s all at once so much and not enough, and your hips buck reactively in search for more.  Adrenaline crackles through your veins as you tip Gareth a sardonic smile.  “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Gareth grunts, a pause before he retorts an equally wry, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You’re cute,” you huff, desperately trying to wash the bliss out of your tone as Eddie firmly presses tight circles over your bud, “confusing me with someone who actually gives a – ohhh shit –”

A pornographic moan spills over your slackened lips as Eddie sheaths two thick fingers deep inside your cunt.  They slide in with no resistance, satisfying that throbbing ache with the most delicious of intrusions.  He fills you, stretches you, massages your walls like he knows already what makes your blood run hot. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, setting a torturously slow rhythm.  “You taunting my drummer again?”

You couldn’t answer him if you tried.  Eddie taunts you instead, dragging his fingers in and out of your needy hole, the heel of his hand providing pressure over your clit as he bottoms out.  “I think that gets you hot, thinking you can rile him up.”  A deft crook of his fingers against your front wall has you keening.  “And maybe you can, but baby… right now, you’re mine.  I’m the one knuckle-deep inside this cunt, playing you like a fiddle.  I’m the one that’s got your pussy clenching around me, around my fingers.”  

There’s no lie – you could hate how right he is if it didn’t feel so goddamn divine.  “Already have you so far gone.  Christ, look at you.”  Pausing the thrusting of his digits, he opts to keep them buried, scissoring and driving into that oversensitized spongy wall that makes you see stars.  “Yeah, that’s it, huh?  Do I have it?  Do I have you all figured out?”

You figured you had time, that standing practically naked with an audience would distract you from your orgasm well enough to draw this out.  The fact is, there is no time – Eddie’s fingers are honed in on your pleasure, careening you towards release embarrassingly fast.  High and tight sighs fill the room at the end of every precise press of pads over where you need him most. 

Eddie almost sounds bored while his fingers vigorously send you to the edge.  “I know I do.  I knew I would, and here you are – reduced to a sloppy mess on my hand.”  

Labored breaths puff from your nose, your lips clamped shut in an attempt to stifle all the whines and whimpers that beg for release.  “Go on,” Eddie whispers lowly, “say something.  Tease my drummer.  Look at him; look at Gareth for me, sweetheart.”  Your eyes open of their own accord, locking in with steely blue like they’re compelled to obey.  “Keep those eyes open, now.  Want you to look at him, want you to just relax and feel me work you over.  Fuck, that’s right,” he chuffs as a pitchy ahhh involuntarily escapes, “make all those pretty noises for him as I make you come.”

If it hurts him with how deep your nails sink into the sturdy sinew of his arm, he doesn’t show it.  Instead, he keeps his cadence steady, drumming those magic fucking fingers against that spot, spreading molten pleasure like wildfire.  It climbs, the pressurized release within reach – 

Until a familiar rasp from the chair slices through, yanking you back from the edge.  

“She’s closin’ her eyes, Ed.”

Your upper lip curls in disgust, but before you can snark the retort Gareth knows is coming, Eddie’s hand moves swiftly from its grip on your shoulder to grasp along your jaw.  “Now, now,” he growls, adding the most delicious pressure and squeezing your cheeks as he rips your gaze from his bandmate.  “I said keep ‘em open.  Be my good girl and listen to me.”

Umber eyes flash when he feels your body bow to the promise of your orgasm.  Gently, he cradles your chin and returns your fucked-out stare to his friend.  Those fingers never slow, but the heel of his hand shifts, adding just what you need to reach your peak.

“Ohhfuckk,” you fight to keep your eyes trained on baby blue as that white-hot coil winds close to detonation, “fuck, I –”

A choked cry is wrenched from your throat as Eddie pistons his two longest digits with expert precision, adding the perfect balance to the friction he provides against your clit.  Your body submits with the fiery snap of pleasure, pouring it rich and honeyed through your core in waves.  Jaw hanging slack, muted huffs and whines tumble from your lips on the heels of your gasping breaths, not once breaking eye contact with the one who sits stock-still in his chair.  Eddie mercifully keeps up the subtle pump and grind, whispering praise in your ear as you ride out your release on his hand.  

It’s the hardest anyone has ever made you cum, but you’re not about to tell them that.  There’s a good chance the one whose well-inked arm already knows, as he’s now decorated with reddened little half-moons from your nails.  Your head is just as fuzzy as your body, lolling forward to rest against the firm, muscled flesh.  You realize it may be the only thing keeping you upright with how your legs and your insides have turned to jelly.

Between panting breaths, you manage to stammer, “You – you –”

Eddie snickers, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your still-fluttering pussy.  “Yeah?”

“You, Gareth,” throwing all of your remaining fire into lifting your head and finally tossing back a snarky retort that burst into your brain before Eddie’s fingers incinerated it with that orgasm.  “You are such a little bitchboy.  Tattlin’ on me to your daddy like that.  Nearly didn’t come because of you.”

The lines around Gareth’s bright blue eyes crinkle in delight; he throws his head back and matches the booming cackles emanating from Eddie.  You can’t help but grin as well, pride swells in your chest at the way you’ve got both of them to laugh so carefree as they are.  

Gareth pushes off from the chair, stealing you from Eddie and backing you up to the bed.  “God damn, you’re a pain in my ass.”  One playful push has you willfully toppling into the duvet, body sinking into covers so downy soft.  The bed jostles lightly as Gareth crawls up to hover over your frame.  “I fuckin’ love it.”

Kiss-bitten lips connect in a flash with yours, the heat from his mouth so searing it ignites you from the inside.  You match his every move, every twist and tangle of his tongue against yours is met with one of your own.  His taste is divine, so different from Eddie’s but yet just as desirable.  It spurs you on, drives the confidence needed to lick over that silver hoop along his bottom lip and capture it between your teeth.  Gareth moans into your mouth, answering with a teasing nip of his own.  The sting is wanton and your body is begging for more, but before you’re given a chance to revel in it, Gareth moves off of you.  There’s a brief pause in his affections as he shifts, tugging you up to the head of the bed as Eddie settles to kneel on the floor at your feet.  

Gareth cups your face in his hands.  “Open those legs for us, honey,” he rasps into your parted lips, “Eddie wants to make you feel so good.”

You don’t need those hands to help spread you wide, your legs fall apart all on their own.  Humming contentedly as Eddie’s palms run a soothing trail over sensitive skin, you steal a glance at where he lies so close to your sex.  His dark chocolate curls frizz in disarray around his face while heavy-lidded eyes oscillate from you to the soaked middle of your panties.  It’s infuriating how slow he takes it, running the bulb of his nose over your covered slit, placing tender kisses on the trembling flesh of your inner thighs, deliberately delaying the inevitable.

You wish Gareth’s own fingers would work their magic, touch your chest, your nipples, your ribs, anywhere but where he has them tenderly clasped along your jawline.  

Arguing for it isn’t an option.  Your mouth is occupied, your voice lost in the depths of Gareth’s kiss – a would-be distraction if you weren’t so in tune with every sultry puff of breath against your sex.  

As if he timed it, Eddie licks a long, wide stripe over your clothed cunt at the moment your mouth opens to accommodate Gareth’s wandering tongue.  It shatters you in the best way, tearing your lips from his to belt a wanton moan to the ceiling.  You steal the air right from Gareth’s mouth with your gasping inhale, succumbing to the warm, wet heat of Eddie’s tongue as he drags it over the soaked gusset of your panties.  He’s a rascal and you’re sure he knows it, your hips chase that sinful muscle after he makes a show of swirling the tip around your clit before he stretches the thin, silken material of your underwear north with a sly pinch of his fingers.  

That pressure, that gentle rub of fabric against your sex carries such a surprising intensity your hands clench at your sides.  

“Oh, look at that,” Eddie coos, pulling it even tighter over your pussy, “she’s so pretty.  Practically swallowing up your panties, baby.”  Another hot rush of arousal coats the fabric when you hear him rasp, “Gare, come look at this.”

Gareth throws you a wicked look before rolling from his position on top of you to flank Eddie’s side.  Peering over your body, you watch how his chin drops to his chest at the sight of you.  “Fucking Christ,” Gareth unleashes a shuddering breath full of reverence and lust, “give ‘em to me, Ed.”

“Gladly.”  With enviable dexterity, Eddie rips your panties down your legs.  Gareth snatches them from his grasp, shoving his nose directly into the sodden crotch.  The moan he belts is downright vulgar – you’re surprised you haven’t burst into flames.  

While your stare is trained on the man face-deep in that ruined scrap of fabric, Eddie coaxes your thighs wider.  “Oh, sweetheart,” he husks with white-hot vehemence, “I’m gonna fuckin’ devour you.”

You have no time to react to the heat in his words before he’s doing just that – making a mess of your cunt in a blur of mouth and lips and tongue.  It shocks the air from your lungs, the pleasure he builds, lapping and licking every intimate inch of you.  He does it like he’s known your body, like he knows you – and Christ, perhaps he does.  There’s no question in your mind he’s the best you’ve ever fucking had – each wicked undulation of his tongue is met with just enough suction from his mouth and vibrations from his throat, you find yourself tensing against the inevitable.  

Just as before, your orgasm slams into you regardless of how you try to fight it off – the moment Eddie flattens his tongue and rubs the ball of his piercing against your clit, he has you seeing stars.  Every part of your core seizes in effervescent waves, needy walls clamping down on nothing and only intensifying the ache that burns deep within you.  In an effort to mask your pleasure, you hide as much of your face as you can in your pillow, willing Gareth to be looking anywhere else but how your body convulses and spasms against Eddie’s mouth.

As luck would have it, you’re not that fortunate.  Gareth’s whole face ignites as he recognizes what just happened.  

“Holy shit, did you come already?”

You’re hardly yourself, panting and twitching and squirming while Eddie’s tongue dives inside your entrance.  “N-no –”

“You liar,” he half-laughs, feathering the skin near the corners of his eyes with delight.  He snickers as you whine, snatching your hands from where they try to push Eddie’s face out from between your thighs.  “Well, if you say so… Ed, I think you need to suck a little harder on her clit.  She says she hasn’t come yet.”

A knowing rumble emanates from Eddie’s chest.  Without losing his pace, his heavily-lashed lids rise to half-mast, a blackened gaze hones in on how your chest heaves under every deft swipe of his tongue.

“Liar,” he mutters with a mouthful of pussy.

The buzz from his gravelly tone nearly sends you into orbit.  “Fuck, I –” There’s no point in begging, not when Eddie’s swollen lips seal over your swollen clit.  “No – ohh–” 

All higher brain function ceases.  He’s dead set to prove you wrong, make good on all of his promises as that tongue works in perfect tandem with those stupidly plush lips.  There’s nothing left to do, nothing to dampen the overwhelming surges of electric lust that lightning through your cunt.  Ripping your hands from Gareth’s, you do what instinct tells you to do – wind your fingers tight into Eddie’s curls, pull his face closer and ride out the overstimulation on his face. 

It’s still so much, your mouth drops slack from the barrage of sensations.  “No, no, no,” you protest, a mere whisper beneath the lewd, slick sounds of your sex.

Though you’re quiet, Gareth hears it all.  “No?” he feigns concern, “Why’re you saying no?  Is that not enough, you little brat?”  

It’s so utterly enough it’s almost too much.  You feel as if you could levitate with the way Eddie drives you straight into another climax; the pressurized heat of release sears every fiber of your being and has you hoarsely bawling out a string of nonsensical words.

It’s loud, it’s messy, and it’s so fucking hot – and all the while there’s still an awareness deep in your subconscious that knows your every expression is being watched.  How that elevates you further – you’re not at liberty to understand, not right now, anyway.  Not while Eddie’s two longest fingers toy at your entrance, gathering ample amounts of your arousal, pushing in to tease at your hole before withdrawing completely.  The heated anticipation is so divine you can’t help but whimper and moan for more.

Apparently, Gareth can’t get enough.  “God damn, listen to you,” he groans reverently, “listen to those sweet little noises – couldn’t hold those back if you tried, huh?  Eddie’s mouth is just too fuckin’ good, isn’t it?”

Thrashing about the downy soft bedding on the cusp of your release, all you’re able to offer are pitchy little ahh, ahhs at the end of your gasping inhales.  

“I asked you a question, honey,” Gareth directs your face out of the pillows and into his gaze that sizzles with desire.  “Answer me.”

You don’t even remember the question at this point.  “I – yes, yes –”

A firm grip cradles your jaw.  “You gonna come again?”

It’s right there, a molten implosion of your being, teetering on the edge.  The white-hot pleasure borders on painful, the answer for that ache reached as soon as Eddie’s fingers found purchase against your sweet spot.  Every muscle in your pelvic floor is bound tight, held fast in a limbo that fights to keep your impending orgasm from wiping you from the face of this earth.

Yeah – it sounds dramatic, but with the way Eddie has your pleasure mounting regardless, you’re not sure you’re going to survive.  Your lips roll inward, your eyes screw shut as that coil wraps and winds to its breaking point.

Gareth chuckles, dark and with intention.  The pad of his finger, smoother than Eddie’s, taps lightly at your cheek.  “Eyes on me.”  

“N-no,” you whimper, knowing that they both have wholly ruined you with this last push over the precipice, “noo no no – ohfuck –!”

Your entire body draws on itself with the sheer force of your orgasm, thighs slamming shut over Eddie’s face.  It isn’t even a wave, it’s a violent shattering of your existence, bowing your back clear off the bed with how hard your muscles contract.  

Gareth is quick to brace one of your legs, while Eddie palms the other.  “Keep them open, baby,” his command sounds almost like it’s spoken underwater, “wanna see you make a mess of him.”

You’re suddenly very aware of a sizable, slow gush of fluid, leaking from between your thighs and the source of the obscene sounds of Eddie’s fingers fucking up into your core.  The lewd, wet squelch of your orgasm drowns out all other sounds.  Or perhaps, it’s the roaring of blood in your ears – you’re not in any state of mind to figure it out.

Eddie lifts his head without stalling his efforts, a self-assured grin befalls his face that’s just soaked in your release.  A mental image of him slathered in your cum is seared into your memory, suspended in time before he dives back in, replacing his tongue at your entrance to lap up every last drop.   He’s loud – so fucking loud – moaning into your pussy like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.  You’re certain he’d keep going, too, if it wasn’t for Gareth.

“Ed,” he rasps, clearing his throat loudly to grab his friend’s attention, “why don’t we get more comfortable before you fuck her brains out?”

As if Eddie hadn’t done that already with his godforsaken mouth. If you weren't still trying to catch your breath, you’d laugh at the irony of it all. 

Eddie huffs a stilted groan into your pussy, making you twitch from the vibrations.  “Splendid idea, Gare.”

The blue-eyed man snorts.  “Such a fuckin’ nerd.”

Eddie hauls himself up from between your legs, his face a shimmering, shining mess of you.  He cocks a grin at his bandmate.  “Just the way you like it.”  Taking his two fingers that were just buried in your pussy, Eddie runs the pads along Gareth’s lower lip before shoving them in his mouth.  “Now suck for me, big boy.”

Gareth grapples at Eddie’s wrist, eyes rolling back as those thick digits disappear between his lips.  Your lids flare as you watch Eddie’s two middle fingers slip and slide between his reddened pout, ridding them of any evidence of you.�� 

“God damn,” Gareth pops off Eddie’s hand and hones in on your blown-out stare, “you taste so good.”

“Yeah, she does.”  

Eddie moves behind Gareth, slotting his long, lean body against his bandmate’s back.  He’s taller – moreso than you realized, to the point where Gareth rests his fluffy head against Eddie’s collarbone while those magic fingers put on a show, just for you.  Eddie all the while is watching you map his every move – the pop of a button, the slow, southward drag of a zipper, the squeeze and press of fingers into flesh as he takes his time removing those skintight jeans.  Gareth’s thighs are bared, then – so irritatingly thick and defined and smattered with ink.  The intricate designs weave through the soft collection of hair that covers his skin, the sight of it so arousing you feel your need throb traitorously through your core.  

Especially when his shirt comes off, revealing more hard planes of inked skin.  Too distracted to focus on one piece for too long, your eyes hungrily dart and study as much of him as you can before he turns, guiding Eddie into the spotlight of their tandem striptease. 

And tease you, they do.  Delicate touches, heated glances – at you, at each other; they’re sure to draw it out as long as possible.  The desired effect is achieved – you’re sure you’ll wither away with how fucking hot the room has become.  Eddie’s belt, his chains, his jeans – all end up in a heap at his feet.  Gareth has his own set of talented fingers, he tugs at the hem of Eddie’s shirt with one hand while the other draws lazy lines over the tattoo of a beast you can’t quite make out – much of it is lost under the band of his boxer briefs.  Your mouth parts, watching with rapt attention as Gareth’s longest finger traces the art like he’s memorized it.  

You know what he’s doing.  You know Gareth’s intentionally provoking you, an iron prod your desire to stoke it until it roars.  And it is.  He knows it is – fuck that smirk that dances over his perfect lips, because you can’t tear your eyes away from this sensual display of lust if you tried.

The only solace is that this is affecting them just as much as it is you – the cotton of their boxers does little to hide what’s beneath.  Maddeningly impressive bulges protrude to tent the material in wide arcs, straining against their thick, flared tips that barely stay contained beneath barriers of elastic.  

It figures they’re both packing.  It would piss you off if it didn’t make you so goddamn excited.

Once Eddie’s shirt is tossed with the rest, a need digs its claws into your superheated skin.  “Wait,” your sudden interruption stops Gareth’s wandering fingers from slipping beneath Eddie’s waistband.  “Can I?”

Two sets of eyebrows fly beneath matted fringe for the second time tonight.  “Hmm,” Eddie drawls in faux contemplation, shivering as Gareth’s hands suddenly change course to trail between sparse patches of chest hair.  He’s notably a little breathless as he asks, “Think you deserve to unwrap your present, sweetheart?”

Your lips twist into a smirk, shifting to sit on your knees.  “Moreso than Gareth.  He’s not the one getting fucked tonight, is he?”

“Oh,” Gareth’s tone is roughened as he leers at you, “she thinks she’s gonna talk dirty to us, huh Ed?”

“Sounds like it.”  The taller man saunters over to the bed, purposefully angling himself so he’s towering over you.  “Think you can keep up?”

You’re proud of how confident you sound.  “Yes.”

“I’d like that,” the way he bares his teeth is downright sinful. “Wouldn’t you, Gare?”

Gareth joins his bandmate, the ice in his irises is white hot as he replies, “I would.  Open up, honey.”  

It’s only a moment’s hesitation before it clicks; your tongue lolls out past your lips, knowing now precisely what he intends.  A long string of saliva falls from Gareth’s pursed pout, coating your tongue before you make a show of swallowing for him.  “Gotta get you nice and filthy,” he rasps, wiping away what leaked from the corner of your mouth.  

You’re drunk on his touch, not realizing how much you long for more until he pulls his thumb away.  The rest of him follows, allowing you to rake your heavy-lidded gaze down, down, down – unabashedly mapping the outline of his cock as it tests the cotton limits of his boxers.

“Like what you see?”  He rolls his eyes when you try for an unbothered shrug.  “Go ahead then, honey.  Take ‘em off.”

Eddie throws an exaggerated scowl Gareth’s way.  “Thought I was going first.”

“You get to fuck her,” the sanpaper in his tone snaps playfully.  “Don’t get greedy.”  Gareth’s softer as he angles his hips toward your hands.  “You, on the other hand… you can get greedy.”

“Saving the best for last, I suppose,” Eddie sighs dramatically, a pucker of his full lips doesn’t hide his smirk.

“God,” Gareth bites back, “you’re such a dick.”

“Just for you, sweet cheeks.”

Their exchange is hot, but you’re starting to get antsy.  “Um, excuse me, but if I don’t see dick in the next few seconds, I’m gonna leave.”

Gareth barks a laugh.  “No, you’re not.  You’re practically vibrating, you’re so eager to see our cocks.”

Swallowing down your nerves, because of course, he’s right, you tilt your head to the side and will forth some sass.  “Y’just gonna keep talkin’ about them, or show me what you got?”

Baby blue eyes smolder with cocksure intention.  “What I’ve got, you can’t handle.  Why d’ya think Eddie’s the only one fucking you tonight?  My cock would have you crying, honey.  S’okay,” he coos, patting your cheek, “maybe we’ll work up to it someday.”

Your lips pop open in surprise, prompting Eddie to push the metaphorical envelope. “Or work up to both.”  

A thrill shivers up your spine at the thought of that, making your composure falter.  A subtle heat creeps into your neck, your cheeks – and though you try to hide it behind a facade of confidence, even you know that’s crumbling.  Fast.  

Eddie notices immediately.  “Oh, you like that, don’t you?  Fuck, that’s a nice thought, but for today, it’s all me.  I’m the one that’s gonna have you so fucked out you won’t be able to remember your name.”  Eddie’s curls brush lightly over your cheek as he dips low to whisper in your ear.  “Or his, for that matter.”

There’s a possessive edge to his tone, exhilarating to the point where that waning confidence surges.  Your expression changes, melts into a sanguine curve of kiss-bitten lips.  “We’ll see if you can even get me to say yours.”

Eddie’s incredulous huff swirls hot against your skin, prompting you to shiver when his lips make contact.  “That a challenge?”

Your nipples pucker as he runs a path of kisses along the slope of your neck.  “If you’re up for it.”

Gareth chuckles.  “Oh, we’re up for it, all right.”  Eddie straightens then, tipping a crooked smile at his friend’s innuendo as Gareth guides your hands to the elastic at his hips.  “You wanted to.  Take ‘em off, sweetheart.”  

Admittedly, it is a bit like unwrapping a present – unbridled excitement thrums through your veins and has your fingers trembling, making it a struggle to hook them under his band.  Gareth’s expression softens, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze while Eddie steps close enough to brush his thumb over your cheek.

“We can stop here,” Gareth offers sweetly, and part of you wouldn’t have believed he said it if you didn’t watch the words spill from his lips.  

Eddie echoes the sentiment as dark honey swirls in his doe eyes.  “Say the word if it’s too much, sweetheart.”

“It’s not too much,” you promise, projecting this truth into your gaze as it oscillates between the two men.  To prove your point, your now steady hand cups over Gareth’s impressive erection, swiping your thumb over a damp patch at his tip.  “I don’t want to stop.”

Your assurance satisfies them, allowing you to disrobe one, and then the other.  Your heart hammers in your chest at the sight of them, overwhelmed by how attractive they look under your lustful gaze.  You make no secret about studying them, and they make no effort to move. 

Eddie languidly strokes his cock in his broad hand, displaying his ample length from root to tip.   He’s definitely longer than average, certainly more than you’ve ever had — including the dildo you have stored away at home. Maybe as thick, too.  But it’s that curve – that gracious, veiny, upward curve that lists slightly to the left – you know that’s going to ruin you in the best way, much more than late nights with that silicon cock in your nightstand ever could.  

Gareth, unsurprisingly, is built just like his frame – ruddy and solid and a little bit formidable.  He’s nearly as long as Eddie, which is impressive in and of itself, but it’s his sheer girth that takes you aback.

And the way he handles it, smearing precum down the stocky length just does something to you.

Part of you is thrilled they’re as endowed as they are – that they physically can back up the filthy promises they’ve made tonight.  The other part is wondering what in the actual fuck you got yourself into.

A little too late, yeah.  

“Aw look,” Gareth coos before he flashes a toothy grin to the taller man, “already so cockdrunk just lookin’ at us.”

The taller man snatches his jeans from the floor, rummaging in the back pocket before pulling out a foil packet.  Long, lean lines of his body remind you of a cat as he slinks up the bed, his cock bobs heavily between his legs as he hovers above you.  “Just wait until I pound you into this mattress,” the condom wrapper wiggles where it’s mashed between his lips, “so ready to fuck you dumb.”  

You know it’s meant to be intense, said with the same sort of vigor as when he suggested it in the first place, but it’s not… not when he gives you an exaggerated waggle of his thick eyebrows. Rolling your mouth inward, you stifle a giggle, especially when he fails to tear it open with his teeth.  Heartstrings twang deep in your chest as you wonder if it wasn’t to dispel some tension you’re still carrying in your shoulders.  That Cheshire grin is back, bright and wide as he rolls the condom down his length and secures it at the base.  

Eddie winks as he watches you catch your breath.  “Y’ready, sweetheart?”

Your nods come swiftly as you trail off, “Please...”

Ducking his head, he murmurs into your ear soft enough for just the two of you.  “I’m gonna make you feel so, so good.  Want you to tell me exactly what you want.  Can you do that for me?”

Now your head bobs vigorously, just in case he can’t hear your wispy Yeah that you breathe to the ceiling.

“Don’t hold back, you understand?  And if it’s too much –”

“I’ll tell you.”

A hum of approval vibrates his chest.  “That’s my good fuckin’ girl.  Wrap those legs around me, baby.”

Cinching your ankles around the muscles of his low back, you adjust your hips, your inhale hitching as his cockhead splits your folds.  When he catches the tight rim of your entrance, you hold your breath, awaiting that first aching stretch of his thick head through your cunt.  Eddie shifts, guiding his cock at the base with his thumb, and just when you think he’s about to drive home in one swift thrust – he tosses a look to Gareth, who swiftly shoves a pillow under the plush of your ass.

“Oh!” you squeak at the unexpected move, words of thanks die on your tongue as Eddie sinks slowly in.  There’s no holding back your moans, not when it feels like he’s splitting you in half.  “Oh, my god – oh, my god ohmygod –”

“Christ,” Eddie grits, almost halfway sheathed, “fucking hell, sweetheart –”

Your walls protest the utter volume of Eddie’s cock, and you can admit as you whine and cry out in monosyllabic nonsense that he’s definitely bigger than your dildo at home.  It’s truly a piece of heaven and hell with how torturously deliberate he is, pushing in barely an inch before withdrawing to the level of his thick mushroom tip and back again.  Over, and over until your pussy finally stops clenching to accommodate his whole length.   

It’s then that you think he’ll truly begin, surely he’ll start making good on his word and fuck you senseless into this duvet – but he starts the process over, punctuating each deep thrust with a grind of his pelvis against yours.  

Granted, you’re a little grateful – he’s allowed you to recapture some air in your lungs, and that sting and burn initially brought about by his size has melted away.  It’s all molten pleasure, hot and slick and filthy and raw.

And now, you need more.

“Thought you,” you begin as the breath is punched out of your nose at the tail end of another roll of his narrow hips, “thought you said y’were gonna – mmmnnh – gonna –”

An egotistical snicker interrupts your babbling. “C’mon honey,” Gareth commands wryly, “use your words.”

You huff an airy laugh, wild eyes flashing at the devil of a man kneeling next to you on the bed.  “Fuck off…” your train of thought derails for a moment with the lazy flick and twist of Gareth’s wrist over his length.  Licking your lips, you pose your intended question to the man inside of you.  “I thought y’were gonna fuck me into the mattress.”

Eddie scoffs, a derisive and dangerous sound.  “I am – fuck, just gettin’ this pussy warmed up. Christ, you’re that greedy for this cock, huh?”  A fire ignites deep in those chocolate depths, and hauling himself up onto his knees, he drives his hips into yours, a cautious build of intensity and pace.  “This whatcha want?  Fucking – uhhyeah, this what you need?  Huh?”

“Yes,” you whimper, screwing your eyes shut against the liquified warmth that coils tight in your belly.  The fullness is exquisite, both satisfying and maximizing that carnal ache for every last inch of him. “Yes, yes –” you cry again, louder and pitchier than before, “fuck, Eddie –!”

The dam breaks; all control Eddie had evaporates with a sensual belt of his name.  “Oh fuck yeah, say my name.”  Your legs nearly lose their grip around his back with how fast and hard he ruts into you.  “Again,” Eddie rasps harshly, “say it.”

Your mind is an open pit of all things Eddie – how he sounds, how he feels, how he makes you feel with every snap of his hips, every drive of his cock into your sodden core.  He’s more than deserving of how you chant his name, a high and rough and repetitive bawl of your pleasure to fill his ears like lyrics to a new song.

“Ed,” the sound of Gareth’s husky ask has your eyes fluttering open, “how does she feel?”

“So fucking good,” the apex of every thrust is punctuated with a puff of air through Eddie’s nose, “so hot, so fuckin’ tight –”

His praise goes straight to your cunt.  Heat unlike anything you’ve ever felt creeps over your skin like it’s aflame.  Pleasure burns, churning and boiling your inside under the scorching gaze of these two gorgeous men.  It’s their attention and the constant pounding of Eddie’s cock against your deepest parts that has you racing towards completion.  Again.

This time though, you feel as if you can hold it off.  You tense and clench, worrying your teeth through your bottom lip so hard it blanches.  It almost works, too – the otherworldly sensations that lick at your insides plateau.

Until Gareth opens his stupidly sexy, lip-ringed mouth.

“She looks so pretty like this,” he murmurs to Eddie before zeroing in on how your breasts bounce with every hard slap of skin against skin.  Gareth grunts lowly, keeping the pace of his hand up and down his length.  “You do, you look so pretty taking Eddie’s fat cock.”  A sinful grin splits his face, makes that silver ring sparkle as you whine.  “He feel good?  He does, doesn’t he?  I know, I know…” he croons with a condescending sympathy that makes your walls flutter, “practically in your guts, pounding that pussy. Christ, listen to how fuckin’ wet you are –”

A wanton moan, high and feminine, is wrenched past your lips as your chin tips to the ceiling.  Any ounce of authority you thought you had over delaying your orgasm has been torched, turned to dust by the white-hot passion that spills from Gareth’s mouth.  Granted, they both have equal parts in elevating your pleasure, electrifying your senses – but the way they talk to you, Gareth in particular, is what’s ruined you the most.

“Oh, our little lady likes that, huh?  C’mon Ed, tell her how wet she is.”

“So fucking wet,” the liquid lust in Eddie’s tone has roughened his voice to a mere husk, “Jesus –”

“Pussy is just sucking you in.  Fuck, put her leg up so I can see.”  

An obedient arm hooks under your leg in a flash, driving that knee into your chest as Eddie relentlessly bullies your cunt.  The sight of your soaked outer lips gripping his girth makes Gareth swear under his breath, shuddering as his cock offers a substantial bead of precum.  It leaks over his angry tip, so red and swollen and neglected; if you were closer, you’d reach out with your tongue and taste it.  He’s quick to smear it down his shaft, fighting his own pleasure as he keeps up the erotic narrative.  

“So greedy, we shoulda known. Haven’t even come on his cock yet and he’s soaked.”  

“Goddamn right,” Eddie buries his face in your neck, sucking a mark behind your ear.  “Could fuck you all night if you let me.”

Whines and whimpers are almost continuous at this point, each draw of breath is a reedy, wordless keen or a garbled version of Eddie’s name.  It’s becoming harder and harder to hold off your release, especially as Gareth keeps spewing filth from those cherry-red lips.

“Y’ever been fucked like this, honey?” he asks, and on cue, Eddie slows down his frenetic pounding of your pussy to languid, easy strokes, palming the inside of your thighs to part them wide.  The sight drops Gareth’s jaw slack while Eddie’s stays clenched in concentration.  “Look at that, he’s gonna drag it out, go nice and slow.” Inked fingers clasp over Eddie’s hand with enviable tenderness, dragging his palm over your leg to press low on your belly.  Gareth holds it there, keeping you open with his other while his unattended cock juts into your side.  “Wring an orgasm out of her right now, aren’tcha Ed?  Go on, big boy,” he says lowly as he moves to hover over your exposed cunt, directing a string of saliva to land at Eddie’s thumb as he finds your clit, “make her come.”

You’re soundless in how you scream, your shallow, reactive respirations don’t allow for enough air to make a proper noise.  If it did?  You’d tell them just how fucking hot that was, how that slick pressure provided by your arousal and Gareth’s spit is exactly what you need.   

“The charade is up, we know we’ve won,” Eddie’s rhythm doesn’t falter as his thumb tightens its ministrations over your clit.  “Might as well let go.”  

“Get loud, honey,” Gareth echoes his friend’s sentiment, “we wanna hear you.”  Answering with a musical whimper, and then another, you set them free, spilling into the sex-drenched air around you. “That’s it, lemme hear you, lemme hear all those sounds you’ve got pent up.  C’mon, fucking give it to me, let go.”

“Ohhhyes – Eddie, that’s it — yes, I’m coming, I’m coming –”

The incessant writhing comes to an abrupt end as your muscles seize and pulse under the strength of your orgasm.  You feel like it caves inward, a black hole of pleasure before it explodes in a wild, electrified constellation of prickling heat and want.  Your pussy clamps around Eddie’s cock, coating that thin latex barrier in a fresh wave of your slick.  

It’s the first time Eddie loses his rhythm.  “Shit, fucking shit – she’s clenching so hard –”

You hear the delight in Gareth’s voice, his sandpaper rasp closer as he trails a blazing set of kisses over your temple.  “Oh yeah?  She get tight after she comes?”

“So fucking tight –” 

A sultry whisper dances at your ear.  “Good girl.”

You’re still drifting back to your body when Eddie drops your legs, using latent strength in those slender arms to flip you over onto your belly.  You land with a muted oomph, unable to even enjoy the feathersoft comfort of the bedding before he hauls you up on all fours.  Entering you swiftly this way sends him deeper, feeling full and spread as he regains his cadence.  He groans your name, and you answer with a pornographic moan of your own as he redoubles his efforts, grabbing at your waist to slam you back over the length of his cock.  

The new position is everything – never in your life have you ever been fucked so hard and needed more.  Eddie’s crazed as he works you over, the rocking of his entire body enough to shake the bed and knock the headboard into the wall in loud, repetitive bangs.

You’d be embarrassed if you could be anything but blissed-out, a complete slave to every last fiery burst of pleasure as that thick cockhead drills against your sweet spot.  It makes your head swim, how deeply you’ve fallen victim to his pleasure, and you drop to your forearms to try to regain your balance.

Almost immediately, you feel the heat of a hand at your bicep. “No, no – stay upright, honey.”  A gentle tug guides you back up on your hands. “Come on, you can do it.  Wanna see him fuck you stupid.”

Panting breaths escape in short bursts through your nose.  “Oh, I – hmm –”

“Feels so good, doesn’t it?  Tell me,” Gareth commands softly as you palm the headboard to keep steady, “tell me how good you feel.”

“S-so good,” you slur, eyes rolling back as Eddie fucks into you harder, “feels so good –”

Eddie huffs, one gravelly breath after another when he feels you start to push back on his cock with every thrust.  His fingers find purchase on the flesh of your hips, aiding in your rhythm before clapping your ass to his pelvis.  Then he changes pace, holding you here, pressing in with the most subtle roll and grind, hardly moving his cock an inch or two each way.  

“Pussy is so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.  Couldn’t be deeper if I tried.”

Gareth groans.  “Y’have no idea how good you look right now.  Being so good for us, so good for Eddie.”

“That’s right,” Eddie gruffs, “taking my cock like she was made for it.”  

In your lust-laden haze, you trail your eyes down Gareth’s frame as he lies on his side next to you.  Your free hand wanders over the sea of covers, reaching towards where his fingers stroke over his shaft in rhythmic pumps.  His cock is so close – you’re overcome with the need to help him, to give him something other than his hand to work with.  There’s been no indication he needs it, other than the obvious dynamic imbalance.  At least, that’s how you see it.  Eddie’s fingers, tongue and cock have been buried inside of you almost continuously for the last… however long it’s been.  In reality, all Gareth’s done is watch.

And look stupidly sexy as he fists his own dick.

Need rolls to a boil in your blood.  He clocks your movements and somehow, your intent; as he angles his hips away, a slow smile stretches over his lips while he watches yours twist into a pout.

“No baby,” he scolds, chuckling softly as you protest with a petulant whine.  “You just worry about you.  Let Eddie and I take care of you, okay?”

Your eyebrows pinch as you argue.  “But –”

“No,” he reiterates firmly.  Gareth’s smile widens, and planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth, he rolls to his back and situates himself almost completely under you.  “How ‘bout you put on a show for me, yeah?”

A strong forearm slithers across your chest, hauling you upright.  Plush lips press against the sensitive skin behind your ear.  “Y’wanna use that pretty mouth, baby?” Eddie asks as his hands roam over your front, cupping your breasts.  “I know how you can.  Why dontcha spit on his cock for him?”  

That affects Gareth in the best way, lips parting in a gritty grunt as his hips thrust a little harder into his hand.  “C’mon, sweetheart,” Eddie’s grip loosens over your collarbones to encourage you to lean forward, “give him more to work with.”

The man burns you with the fiery need in his stare, making you feel more sensual than you ever have.  Your confident stare never once leaves Gareth’s.  Allowing an ample amount of saliva to pool on your tongue, you hover over where his hand glides over his length.  Gareth’s chest expands, holding his breath as a long, slow dribble slips past your lips to land with accuracy over the flared tip of his cock.  The sound that is punched from his lungs could be called a whimper.  You file that away in the depths of your brain, intent on revisiting it again and again when nights get lonely in your bed at home. 

Eddie guides you against the hard sinew of his chest with ease. “Gonna make you come this way,” he promises as his cock bullies deeper in your core, “go on, play with your clit.  Give our boy a show.”

Your body jerks in time with every hard snap of Eddie’s hips, making your fingers fumble as they slide over the slick skin between your legs.  Circling above your hood, your touch is featherlight, jolting that crackling bundle of nerves awake.  Despite your intentional tenderness, you’re still so sensitive it’s like you’ve gone numb.  Not daring to increase the pressure just yet, you focus back on Gareth, nearly losing her mind at how downright sinful he looks stroking his cock to your every move.

Steel-gray eyes, long lashes, blazing stare – the heat is palpable, the tension so thick you could bite it.  You shimmy your knees apart, widening your stance so he can better see how Eddie’s cock is gripped and swallowed by your greedy hole.  The unfiltered lust smolders and builds intensity with every passing moment as heard in every breathy groan and desperate whine. 

Soon, you progress to more direct swipes over your swollen clit, sucking that bottom lip between your teeth when oversensitivity threatens to spark pain instead of pleasure.  The scale tips, a strong favoring of the latter, and that familiar band starts to wind and tighten in your belly with such force that your legs begin to shake.  

Gareth takes notice, the effort to keep the cadence of his fist slow and measured is an obvious strain.  “Almost there?”

“Mmmh – ye-yeah, yeah – so close, so close –”

“Hmmfuck,” he pants as his hand twists over the crown so angry it blooms a desperate shade of violet.  “That’s it, honey.  C’mon, keep workin’ your clit for us.”

Teetering on the edge, your release builds to its breaking point with edges so hot and sharp it almost hurts.  “I – ohhgod, I –”

Your legs quake as your body gives way, orgasm ripping through you like you’ve been struck by lightning.  It’s quick, an explosion of light behind lids slammed shut, flooding your system in molten, electric currents that have you curling in on yourself despite Eddie’s hold around your chest.

The shockwaves haven’t even begun to subside before you’re upended, flat on your back next to Gareth as your knees are shoved into your chest.  Draping himself over the backs of your legs, Eddie practically folds you in half as he sheaths his cock to the hilt in one stroke.   

That beautiful, brown-eyed man is everywhere – the fulness maximized in this new position as you belting a sweet cry.  “Oh, fuck – Eddie!  Eddie, yes – yes –!”

“God damn, Ed – that’s it, give it to her,” Gareth husks as his fists tightens over his cock, “come on, get loud for him.  Louder, honey, louder.  Want this whole fuckin’ city to know who fucks you so good.”

Though Eddie’s weight presses you into the mattress, Gareth’s gritty permission splits you wide open.  Never in your life have you ever been this loud, this responsive; clawing at anything within your grasp.  The lewd, wet sounds of skin slapping so loud, echoing off the high ceilings with every pitchy, open-mouthed scream you’re sure to have a noise complaint from four floors down. 

Eddie pistons his hips, using the recoil on the bed to drive inside you hard and fast.  Spewing forth a litany of praise and filth, your vision whites out as he chases his release.  A tuck of his chin against his chest is his tell, and he announces his orgasm with a low, throaty groan.  The pace of his hips never once lets up, even as his cock empties rope after rope of his spend into the condom. 

You feel every twitch, every jolt of his length as it pulses inside you.  Your name has never sounded better as it rolls from his parted lips, like a song full of wonder and awe and yet still drenched in the grit of need and sex.  Eddie finally stills, losing the last of the air in his lungs as his body melts into yours.  

A hitching sigh, and then a rasp of your name through gritted teeth comes synonymous with a dip in the bed. “Ed – m-move, man –”  Gareth’s fist flies over his cock, fast and dirty as he nestles his knees next to your torso.  “F-fuck, gonna – honey, open your mouth – yeah, that’s it –”

Eddie’s shaky as he rises to his knees, leaving Gareth enough room as he jerks himself to completion, painting your chest in thick, white ribbons of his cum.  Eddie grunts his approval, soft and low and still seated inside your pussy, watching as you do as his drummer wrings every last drop of his spend on your tits.

Gareth’s chest is heaving, body shuddering with the final waves of his climax.  His lips are parted in bliss, unable just like you to form proper words at the moment.

“Oh my fucking –” Eddie can’t even finish his thought before he’s smothering every available inch of your neck and cheeks in affection.  His kisses are more like an open-mouthed drag of sticky, wet lips against sticky, wet skin. “Sweetheart, you did so good.”

Gareth hums in agreement, his knees give a telling wobble and he has to palm the abused headboard to keep from toppling over.  Hesitant to slip out of you, Eddie stays buried while you all catch your breath, the return to your body aided by how Gareth’s fingers have found their way back to your hair, weaving in and out of your sweaty strands.  You lie like this for some time, immersed in the heaviness of post-orgasmic bliss, hardly noticing when Eddie finally withdraws himself from your cunt.  The sting of sensitive skin against the tacky rubber of the condom makes you hiss, and Eddie presses another sweet kiss to your mouth, whispering assurances how he’ll be right back to take care of you.

The bed shakes with Eddie’s departure, and immediately Gareth swoops in to hold you close, murmuring in your ear how good you were, how fucking amazing you are – over and over like a song he’s sang for years.  He honors you more with the hard press of his lips against yours, all the while spouting praise you didn’t even know you longed to hear.

“I’ve got you, honey, I’ve got you – Christ, you’re something, you know that?  So fuckin’ lucky to be holding you, so fuckin’ lucky you let us do this.”  

Gareth is swift to press your body to his, you barely have time to react.  “Hey, no wait – I’m all –”

“Dirty?”  Those blue eyes flash, hot and aware.  “Yeah, you are.  That’s my cum, honey.” Chuckling devilishly, he pulls you closer to prove his point.  “Would rather hold you than worry about a little bit of –”

“It’s not just a little bit,” you snort softly, reveling in the heat that radiates from the smooth planes of his chest.  

He barks a laugh, the melody echoes in your bones and you think, maybe, that’s where it’ll stay.  “No, it’s not.”  He makes no effort to move.  The smile lines around his eyes relax as he regards you with intention. “Are you okay?”

The short answer is yes, maybe even hell yes because you are… with one needling exception.  “I didn’t even touch you,” you admit to his collarbones, your gaze pulled away from baby blue to trace the patterns of the vines that adorn the delicate skin there.

“You didn’t have to,” he’s quick to assure, “fuckin’ looked so good, I came just watching you.”

It’s something, but it’s not enough.  You entered new territory tonight in a variety of ways – what novice understanding you have of threesomes is that all parties are involved.  Logical to believe there are variations, but tonight’s just not the way you thought it would go.

Plainly stated, you really thought he’d fuck you, too.  

“Oh,” you breathe, your heart leaps into your throat at how disappointed you sound.  Clearing your throat, you try to hide it by turning it back on him.  “You’re not… um, not mad you didn’t get a – a turn?”  

Your lips purse in a grimace with how you just worded it, but Gareth seems to find it endearing.  “No.”  He genuinely sounds like he isn’t.  “Couldn’t ever be mad at you.”

His sincerity makes your stomach swoop.  “I just feel bad.”

Regarding you through narrow slips of baby blue, you see it as it clicks.  “Ohh,” that maddening smirk is back, “are you saying you wanted to touch me?”  Gareth play-gasps, the ink on his right hand ripples as he splays it theatrically over his heart.  “Are you saying you want me to touch you?”

Yes.  That’s exactly what you’re saying, but the way he’s grinning has you playing into it, and retorting with an unconvincing, “No.”

Pools of seaglass sparkle with mirth.  “You definitely are.”

Your defiance is weakened with the grin that splits your features, but you try for it to keep up the charade.  “No, I am not –”

“You are,” sandy-blonde curls fly in chaotic disarray as he smothers your lips in kisses, making you squeal. “You are –”

“Sorry to interrupt this nauseating little moment,” Eddie smirks, “but I come bearing gifts for our girl, here.”

Even as Eddie attends to you with gentle swipes of that warm cloth, Gareth’s affections aren’t deterred.  He mouths along your jaw, nipping at the lobe of your ear.  “Just admit it, honey…”

You squirm in his hold, though there’s no real effort to get yourself away.  Eddie climbs up the bed, stretching his frame alongside you to wipe the mess from your chest.  “Admit what?” he asks, dragging the cloth beneath your chin to direct your stare to him.

Gareth grins into the sultry skin of your neck.  “She wants me so badly.”

Rolling your eyes, you ask Eddie, “Is he always this insufferable?”

“Always, sweetheart.”  Eddie tosses the rag away and sighs, pinning you in place with an ardent dark chocolate stare.  “How are you doing?”

“Fucking excellent,” you reply truthfully.  You allow yourself to bask in the heat of their presence, to feel the comfort in skin on skin contact before confessing meekly, “I guess I better get going.  I, uh… lost our bet.  Badly.”

Eddie snorts, chasing away the tightness in your smile.  “Oh, you’re not going anywhere.  Stay in bed, princess.”  Kiss-bitten lips twist in a wry grin.  “Wasn’t ever gonna make you leave, anyway.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”  Gareth nuzzles at the back of your neck.  “We’re not complete assholes.”

“You kinda are,” you scoff a half-laugh.  

He draws you closer to his chest with a tug of his arm still loped around your middle.  “Think you like it, though.”

Tired banter bubbles over three sets of lips, slowly fading as the night grows older.  You vaguely make out offers for Eddie to turn on the shower for you, or even to draw you a bath.  Gareth, not to be outdone, tells you he’d brush your teeth before they go if you asked, which has you snickering into your pillow… until your brain catches up with what he’s just said.

“You’re gonna go?” you ask, suddenly wide awake when you notice they’re clothed and you’re very much still… not.  “Where?”

“My room,” Gareth answers, “just down the hall.”  

“We can leave you in peace, princess,” Eddie sweeps his slender arms grandly about his space.  “A room fit for one, yeah?”

You shrug away your disappointment, snuggling further under the duvet, trying to hide the fact you know your face fell as soon as they announced they’d let you be.  Schooling your expression neutral, you give them a convincing nod.

Not convincing enough.  Gareth cocks his head to the side as he regards you carefully.  “Unless…”

Eddie mercifully fills in the blanks.  “You don’t want us to go?” 

“Yeah, honey?”  His bandmate takes a cautious step forward, but you can hear the hope sear through his tone.  “You want us to stay?” But still, your eyebrows tent uncertainly over your nose.  “If that’s okay –”

“Fuck yeah it’s okay,” Eddie launches himself back in the bed, jostling you roughly as he lands at your side.  “We’ll gladly stay.”  A groan full of fatigue rumbles up through his throat as soon as his head hits the pillow.  “So fuckin’ tired –”

Gareth’s already rid himself of his shirt, diving beneath the covers to wrap your naked frame to his.  “He snores,” he whispers in your ear, making you giggle.  “Better stay close to me.”

“I heard that,” Eddie grumbles, turning and throwing a heavy arm around your waist.

A gravelly, “I meant you to, big boy,” is the last thing you hear before your eyes slip closed and you succumb to the warmth of their bodies and the pull of sleep.

*

The next morning arrives swiftly, beginning with smooth assurances and gentle kisses as you still lie tucked in bed.  Satiety hasn’t seeped from your chest, not by a long shot; and the way the two men made sure you felt that way prior to their near-silent departure from the suite.  

Soon, early morning views of crystalline blue waves from Lake Michigan are replaced with spacious, turquoise planes of the Atlantic.  You arrive in Hilton Head at sunset, smiling to yourself as a luxury SUV replaces your complimentary hotel shuttle from the airport.  You feel invigorated, pampered almost as you’re helped in the back by the valet, a lively young woman with a stylish shag and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her dainty nose.  She puts you right at ease, inviting you to imbibe in the iced-down bottle of Rose as she brings the stereo to a comfortable listening level.

“I was informed you liked Tool,” she chirps, blue-green eyes sparkling at your blush via the rearview mirror.

Maybe it’s no surprise, but you’ll swear to your grave it is – the kind attendant at the front desk informs you of an upgrade to an oceanview suite, complete with an envelope addressed to you in a tidy, unfamiliar scrawl.

You can hardly contain your excitement as you ride the elevator to your room for the next week, but it nearly bursts from your chest as you examine the contents of the envelope.

Enclosed are tickets to an upcoming Corroded Coffin show, ensuring an experience fit for the princess you are.  Your core clenches in anticipation, despite the sweet soreness that still lingers from the night before.

Especially as you turn your ticket over and read:

It’s my turn.  See you soon, honey.

a/n: thank you for reading! smash that reblog key or leave me a comment m, if you’re so inclined. i swear every time it makes my heart go vrrrrrrrr

[36924]

gold was the color of the leaves

steddie | rating: t | wc: 1,6k | cw: none | tags: steve pov, silly teenage boys, first kiss, fluff

for @steddie-spooktober day twenty two prompt “leaves”

read here on ao3

Steve wakes up when a leaf tickles his nose– or rather, when someone tickles his nose with a leaf. He scrunches it up, swatting the leaf away with his hand. 

He easily recognizes the snigger that follows so he’s not surprised to open his eyes and find Eddie leaning over him, one elbow propped up on the grass and a devilish grin stretching over his lips.  

Steve lifts his sunglasses to scowl at him. “Are you like, allergic to people relaxing?” He asks in a bitchy tone that only makes Eddie grin wider. 

“Deadly so, Stevie,” he says, long dark eyelashes fluttering as the hand that’s still holding the leaf rests against his forehead like he’s going to faint. “It was either annoying you or dying, and you don’t want me to die, do you?”

“I guess not,” Steve says with a long-suffering sigh, but either the fondness in his voice or the way his lips tick up prove that he doesn’t mean it because Eddie’s grin turns blinding, his dimples popping. Steve is glad he’s already lying down or his knees might’ve buckled at the sight and sent him rolling down the small hill they’re laying on.

“Besides,” Eddie says, tickling Steve’s cheek with the leaf, “you’re missing out on all the fun.”

“Napping is fun,” Steve points out, swatting Eddie’s hand away again. 

“Yeah, if you’re eighty!” Eddie snorts. “Are you an old man, Stevie?”

“Eddie, I’m younger than you,” Steve deadpans. 

“Maybe, but I have a young soul, Harrington–”

Steve smirks. “If by young you mean immature–”

Hand to his heart, Eddie gasps indignantly. “Hey!”

“Dude, you and the kids spent the last hour gathering leaves in piles and jumping on them,” Steve says amusedly. He spent the better part of that hour watching them tackle each other between shrieks of laughter, thankful for his sunglasses and how they let him stare at Eddie as much as he wanted without getting caught.

Eddie shrugs. “Hm, you may have a point.”

When he moves, something in Eddie’s hair catches Steve’s eye. A leaf– proof that he’d spent an hour being tackled and rolling on the floor before he decided to annoy him.

Steve’s fingers itch to reach out and pluck that leaf from Eddie’s hair, smooth the curls down, grab a hold of them and drag Eddie down–

Steve shakes those thoughts out of his head, balling his hands into fists to keep them from reaching out. In the silence that follows, Steve becomes aware of the sudden lack of yells and laughter around them. “Where are the little shitheads?”

“Wheeler sent them to wash their hands so they can have a snack,” Eddie says, pointing at the water fountain where the boys are cleaning up and at Max and El, walking arm in arm towards Nancy and Robin at the picnic table. 

“Not you?” Steve asks, head falling back against the blanket he’s using to lay on the grass. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I told her she’s not the boss of me,” he pauses, “then ran away before she could hit me with her book.” 

Steve snorts out a chuckle.

“Besides, I don’t want a snack. I got one right here,” Eddie says with a playful wink that turns Steve’s cheeks bright red. 

He ignores the heat creeping on his face. “I swear, Munson, if you try to bite me again–” he says, thinking about last week when Eddie said he was hungry and promptly sunk his teeth on Steve’s arm.

It didn’t hurt that bad– he was wearing a thick sweater after all. What did hurt was biting his tongue as hard as he could to keep a moan from slipping past his lips from Eddie biting him.

Eddie sniggers. “I won’t bite you, I promise,” he says innocently before he leers at Steve, his face hovering merely inches from Steve’s face. “Only if you ask.”

Steve grits his teeth together. “Shut up,” he quips, shoving Eddie off of him until they’re both lying on their backs, their sides pressed together. 

They fall into comfortable silence which Steve breaks with a loud yawn. 

Eddie’s head lolls to the side, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Tired, sweetheart?”

Steve’s stomach flips at the petname. He shrugs as casually as he can. “A little, I- uh, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Nightmares?” Steve nods. Eddie grimaces apologetically, tugging some hair across his face. “Shit, I should’ve let you keep napping.”

Without giving it much thought, Steve curls his pinkie around Eddie’s. “No, it’s fine,” he says, waiting for Eddie to meet his gaze. When he does, his eyes are a little wide. Wistfully Steve wishes it’s because of their interlocked pinkies. “I don’t wanna miss out on all the fun just because I’m tired.”

Eddie's eyes sparkle and he props himself up on his elbow again, grinning at Steve. “Does that mean I can tackle you into a pile of leaves?”

“You forget I was a jock,” Steve says smugly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Eddie laughs, something between a snort and a giggle. He drops his head in Steve’s chest, making Steve’s heart stutter. 

From this angle, Steve spots another leaf trapped in the curls in the back of Eddie’s head, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from reaching for it. 

The moment Eddie feels Steve’s fingers in his hair, his head snaps up and Steve’s hand ends up cupping the back of Eddie’s neck. 

Their faces are close– so close that Steve can hear the way Eddie’s breath catches when he realizes the same thing.

“Eddie–” Steve starts, not sure if he’s going to apologize for touching his hair without permission or for the way his eyes keep darting down to Eddie’s lips in a way that he knows is fucking obvious. 

But before he can decide what to say, he hears Eddie make an impatient, needy noise in the back of his throat before he surges forward and presses his lips against Steve’s. 

He lets out a surprised yelp, thinking– holy shit, Eddie is kissing me!

The thought bounces against Steve’s skull like a ping-pong ball as he tries to get his brain working again. But before he can do that long enough to kiss Eddie back, he’s pulling away and out of Steve’s reach. Steve’s hand falls back to his side, empty except for the leaf that he plucked out of Eddie’s hair. 

“You uh– you had this in your hair,” Steve says dumbly, holding up the leaf. 

Eddie’s eyes dart to the leaf and his expression falls as he realizes that is why Steve’s hand ended up in his hair, not because Steve was making some kind of move.

“Shit,” he mutters, his doe-like gaze darting from the leaf to Steve’s mouth. That he just kissed. “Shit, fuck– I– shit.”

He scrambles to his feet, and in his haste, ends up stumbling and falling back on his ass– only to roll down the small hill. 

“Eddie!” 

Steve jumps to his feet and runs after him, careful not to trip and follow Eddie down the hill the same way.

He makes it to the bottom right after Eddie and his eyes dart over his starfished body, checking for injuries. 

“Christ, dude. Are you okay?”

Eddie groans, covering his face with his hands. “Did the fall kill me? Please say yes.”

Steve suppresses a snort. “I mean. It’s barely even a hill, so I don’t think that’s possible. You might end up with a bruise or two though.”

“Oh, you mean apart from the bruise to my ego?” 

“What?”

“You know,” Eddie gestures between himself and Steve with one hand, “because I kissed you and you didn’t want me to.” 

Steve puts his hands on his hips. “Who says I didn’t want you to?”

Eddie’s hands fall from his face, revealing his wide eyes and slack jaw. “You did?” He asks, voice going high-pitched.

“Yeah,” Steve says, a lopsided grin stretching over his lips. He knocks his Nike against Eddie’s leg. “I did, you just took me by surprise, s’all.”

Eddie lets out a tiny, startled, “Oh.”

Steve smirks. “Yeah so how about you get up so I can check you don’t have any cuts or bruises before I kiss you. Properly this time.”

Eddie squeaks and scrambles to his feet with as much grace as when he tumbled down the hill. Steve finds his eagerness fucking endearing. 

There are even more leaves trapped in Eddie’s curls now, and with an amused shake of his head, Steve plucks them out of his hair before checking for any bruises. 

Then, as promised, he leans in and kisses Eddie. The second kiss is also short and chaste and over too soon, but it’s good and Steve has to remind himself they’re in public in order to gather enough willpower to pull back. 

When he does, his brain is a little hazy and he completely misses the way Eddie’s expression shifts from dopey to mischievous so it catches him by surprise when Eddie tackles him into a pile of leaves, laughing maniacally. 

“Ha! Got ya!” Eddie whoops, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, hovering over Steve who wants nothing more than to kiss the stupid smug smile off his face. 

But he can hear the kids laughing at him and cheering for Eddie in the distance and there’s no way he can get away with kissing him even if Eddie’s hair falls like a curtain around them, offering a little cover.

So he grabs a handful of leaves and shoves them into Eddie’s grinning mouth instead.

He’ll save the kiss for later.

[36924]

made for lovin’ you

older!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

A bad Tinder date gets a whole lot better…

18+ MDNI┃9k

cw: age difference (30s/40s), alcohol, smoking, light choking, softdom!Eddie, face fucking, light hair pulling, fingering, piv sex, finishing inside, and aftercare ‘cos we deserve it ♥️

I’ve been in a Mood and now you all have to suffer.

eddie edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Holy shit, was this guy boring.

Not terribly surprising, unfortunately. Your expectations weren’t all that high to begin with. Most of your recent forays into online dating had been yielding overwhelmingly middling results and this one was no exception.

He had seemed perfectly nice on the app, when he was nothing but a handful of generic pictures and a smattering of inoffensive text bubbles. But any appeal he held had been in steady decline the moment he took his seat next to you at the bar.

He looked more scared of you than anything—fumbling his words and constantly having to push up his glasses as they slid down the bridge of his sweaty nose. You did what you could to help him relax, coaxing him into the conversation, asking all of those tedious first date questions.

And every single one, he answered with nothing but curt, clipped responses. Making no attempt whatsoever to follow up or ask you literally one single thing about yourself.

Then you made the fatal mistake of asking about work, and suddenly longed for the wall of silence. As soon as he got the chance, he launched into a long and droning explanation of his research on the behavior of crickets.

Acheta Domesticus, not that you asked. And he didn’t so much as smirk at your gesundheit joke.

You might have called it quits entirely by now…if it wasn’t for the guy at the end of the bar.

He had arrived not fifteen minutes after your date did, and slid smoothly onto a stool directly in your eyeline. Which was good, considering you would have snapped your neck trying to get a look at him otherwise.

In a word, he was beautiful. 

Slightly older, with long dark hair that was wavy and ruffled. A short and scruffy beard that only further accentuated the hard line of his jaw where it met the thick, muscular column of his neck.

He was quite literally littered with accessories—a silver hoop that glinted in his nose, leather cuff and chains on his wrists, chunky rings on his fingers that rapped rhythmically on the bar.

Then there were the more permanent accessories in the form of black ink tattoos that covered both his arms and scrawled upwards to peek out from underneath the collar of his t-shirt. A mix of all different styles and designs, ranging in quality from the kitchen scratcher bats on his elbow to the larger and more artful pieces clearly woven in later to complete the tapestry.

You’d certainly never seen him here before, and that was sort of a feat for this place.

West End was one of your favorite places for this sort of date. It was close enough to your place to be convenient, yet far enough that there was no chance of a guy trying to invite himself over to “use the bathroom” or “wait for an Uber” or whatever other excuses they dredged up.

It was actually two businesses in one, sharing the same name, running out of opposite sides of the same building. Causing only mild confusion.

To one side was a wine bar with cozy seating nooks furnished with plush loveseats, sofas and overstuffed armchairs, all a mishmash of vintage styles from thrift shops and flea markets.

But the other side was all modern and industrial—a billiards hall with high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and a large, glossy horseshoe bar that surveyed the tables from the center.

You tended to frequent the wine bar with your roommate Robin whenever you found yourselves in need of a moody atmosphere and some low, soft lighting, your evening scored by the crackle of some great vinyl record. But the other side was better for dates because it automatically gave you the out of an activity in case you found the conversation lacking.

And boy was it lacking tonight.

He regarded the pool tables more like they were live alligators and quickly dismissed your offer to play before launching right back into his overly-detailed explanation of the differences in the eating habits of crickets and grasshoppers. You sighed, no longer attempting to disguise your boredom as you propped your elbow on the bar and rested your chin on your hand.

It wasn’t just that his research was boring—though it was. Really, the problem was all of his technical explanations were so dry and devoid of any emotion that it made you wonder if he even enjoyed it. You had more stimulating interactions with the bartender, for crying out loud.

He was new to you too, but he moved behind the bar with such ease it seemed like he’d worked there for years. He’d introduced himself as Steve, a row of pearly white teeth winking at you as he flashed a smile you were sure had won him his fair share of superlatives in high-school. 

His look read more upscale mixologist, sporting a dark gray vest over a crisp white button down. Sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms that flexed with the pour of every drink, and the collar left open to reveal the glint of a gold chain resting on the soft down of his plentiful chest hair.

The hair on his head was shorter and lighter than the other man’s, but it was long enough to curl slightly around his ears and along the nape of his neck. The ends of it were kissed with caramel highlights that shone in the light when he flipped his head back or ran his large hands through the feathered locks whenever a piece fell forward into his bright hazel eyes.

Most importantly, he also seemed to be friends with your current fixation.

They had greeted each other jovially, hands meeting in a tight clasp over the bar before Steve grabbed a bottle of whiskey and started to pour without the other man even having to order. You watched with morbid fascination as those plush lips wrapped around the rim of his glass and his eyes fluttered closed as he took his first sip, the tattoo on his neck bobbing with the swallow. 

Jesus Christ on a cracker…

Suddenly, as though he could sense you watching, his eyes popped open and immediately locked on yours. You started at the sight of the deep brown, almost black, vortexes in the middle of his face, nearly choking on the sip you were taking of your own drink—an excellent Malbec Steve had recommended when you first arrived.

A rush of warmth exploded on your face and you looked away, doing your best to pretend like he hadn’t just caught you blatantly staring at him.

Or that you hadn’t felt that egregious burst of excitement when he did. Did he care that you were looking? Was he looking at you now?

Doesn’t matter, you reminded yourself, trying to return your attention to the man in front of you.

The one you had made an actual plan to come here and meet; the one who was…still talking.

The next bit of your date felt like it took an entire year. You mostly phoned it in, reluctant to admit defeat too quickly. But over and over again, you found your focus drifting either to the stranger at the end of the bar, or to the bartender. And often, those two went hand in hand.

Again, they were either very old friends or both of them were extremely friendly. They talked and joked back and forth in between Steve helping other customers, bouncing from end to end of the bar with ease, charming smile never faltering as he enchanted every person he served.

As for the other man, you’d caught his eye enough times by now that there was no mistaking he was watching you. Though, you suppose that meant he knew you were staring at him as well…

At the end of your first glass of wine, you excused yourself from the bar—needing a break from this guy’s droning voice more than anything.

He nodded, finally taking a sip of his beer he’d barely made any progress on he’d been so entrenched in his recent soliloquy.

The bathrooms at West End were towards the back, down a long hall that obscured them from view of the rest of the bar. It gave the impression of being in an alleyway with black beadboard paneling that came a little over halfway up the wall and an eclectic gallery of pictures.

There were two bathrooms side by side, just single-room stalls adorned with brass apartment numbers rather than gendered signs, and you slipped into the one with no light coming out from underneath the door. And maybe you took a little longer than you probably needed, milking your break for all it was worth. Not stalling, just…taking care of some things.

Things like touching up your lip gloss that needed no touching up since you hadn’t said more than two words in the past half hour. Or like pulling up Tinder on your phone and setting your location to the absolute minimum distance. You know…just on the off-chance someone in the immediate vicinity happened to also have the dating app installed.

No such luck, you found.

A bit more deflated than you had any right to be, you tucked your phone back into your bag and rolled your eyes at yourself as you reached for the doorknob. You didn’t look up until you were almost at the end of the hall and when you did, you found brown eyes looking back at you.

He was headed for the bathroom as you were coming back and he caught you at the start of the long, narrow hallway leading to them. Your eyes met his as you approached and you paused, already anticipating that awkward shuffle of both of you trying to get out of the other’s way.

There was no awkwardness, though. 

Heat pooled low in your belly as he held your gaze, and rather than breezing right by when you came to a stop, he stopped as well and leaned against the wall to let you pass. He was close enough now that you could see his hair was streaked with slivers of silver and more grays tinged the edges of his beard, particularly under his ears behind the hinge of his jaw.

Your shoulder just barely brushed his chest as you passed, eye contact holding until you were looking back at him over your shoulder as you returned to the bar.

He stood there, watching until you’d rounded the corner and were out of sight before he moved. Pulse thrumming, you slid into your seat with his cologne still in your nose, tickling your brain.

By the end of your second glass of wine, you were more than ready to go. Frowning as you took your last sip, you gave Steve a regretful shake of your head when he asked if you wanted another.

And beside you, Dale just requested your checks as he pushed away his beer.

You didn’t bother with feeling annoyed he hadn’t offered to get even one of your drinks. To be fair, you had not been remotely good company as it was, and especially not once the guy at the far end of the bar decided to call it a night.

Your heart sank just a little as you watched him stand and pull on a creased and faded leather jacket. He then headed for the door, his eyes locking with yours one last time as he went.

Beside you, your date cleared his throat loudly to get your attention and your head jerked up as you realized Steve had placed your receipt in front of you to sign. If Dale—wait, was it Dale or Dave?—noticed your fixation, he was too polite (or too chicken) to mention anything about it.

Tabs closed and coats thrown back on, you followed Dale (Drew? Dirk?) outside. The wintry air cut through your tights and you hugged your coat a little tighter around you.

“So, which way are you headed?” you asked, rushing out the words before he could ask the same thing and float the idea of sharing a ride.

“Uptown?” he replied.

“Ahh, I’m the other way.”

A derisive snort made your head whip sideways and your eyes darted to the source, landing first on the glowing orange dot of a cigarette and then on the plush pink lips wrapped around the filter at the other end. The snide comment locked and loaded on your tongue abruptly stalled.

It was him.

He leaned against the brick facade, foot kicked up behind him, watching your whole interaction. It made your cheeks burn with indignation, but the hungry look in his dark eyes made your entire lower half throb. His lips curved like the blade of a knife into a smirk as he stubbed his cigarette out on the wall and dropped it in a planter filled with sand next to him. You stared at him, your mind sort of blank, and his eyes remained fixed on yours as he strode back inside the bar.

“Okay, well…I guess I’m gonna go,” Dale sighed, a little petulantly.

You brought your eyes back to him and plastered on your most professional smile, shaking his hand formally like this was the end of an interview for a job he was never gonna get.

“Sounds good,” you said. “Nice to meet you.”

He frowned as he turned away, but you felt relatively certain you’d navigated that fine.

Surely he hadn’t felt the date warranted any other sort of follow-up or lie about doing it again—you certainly hadn’t been on your A-game. And you shuddered to think that was his.

Once he’d gotten in his Uber, alone, and you had assured him the one you had yet to call was on its way, you tugged your phone out of your coat pocket and checked the time.

Right now, you had two choices. It was still early enough that Robin could probably come pick you up with minimal begging required.

Maybe you two could get fries and milkshakes and watch some garbage reality tv before falling asleep in a little cuddle pile on the couch.

It was the reasonable option.

The logical, safe choice.

But all your dates lately had been so painfully reasonable and logical and safe. There had been no horror stories to regale Robin with at Sunday brunch, nor any explosive sexual exploit the two of you could squeal and giggle over while curled up on your overstuffed sofa.

It was downright boring. And you were growing pretty weary of it.

You glanced down one more time at your phone, still thinking. Your thumb hovered over Robin’s contact info, needing only a single tap to dial, while your index rested on the lock button.

With a subtle flex of your hand, you clicked the screen off and headed back into the bar.

One more drink couldn’t hurt…right?

“Back so soon?”

Steve was already smiling smugly at you as you approached, his eyebrow cocked as you slid back into your original seat and returned his smile with one of your own.

“I decided I couldn’t live without another glass of that Malbec,” you sighed dreamily. 

He nodded, amusement still tugging at his lips as he uncorked the bottle you’d been steadily draining all night and took down a clean glass from one of the wire racks suspended overhead. You pulled your card from your bag and held it out for him to reopen your tab, but Steve waved it off as he placed down the newly filled glass in front of you and slid it smoothly across the bar.

“It’s taken care of, honey,” he said.

“Oh, really?” you chuckled. “By who?”

Steve smirked at your incredulous tone, his muscled forearms flexing as he leaned on them.

You leaned forward as well, crossing your arms under your chest, knowing how nicely it propped up your cleavage. It made the bartender’s eyes flash as he lowered his voice to a leading hum.

“The dirtbag at the end of the bar.”

He nodded his head backwards, making those caramel-kissed locks of his flop across his brow. Your gaze followed Steve’s nod, landing on the wild head of hair and all-consuming brown eyes you’d been distracted by all night. The “dirtbag” in question was staring straight back at you, the corner of his mouth curled as he raised his rocks glass of brown liquor and tipped it to you.

“Is he really a dirtbag?” you asked him, your eyes never dropping the stranger’s gaze.

“Nah,” Steve shook his head. “Just looks like one.”

“Good to know.” 

You hummed to yourself, feeling almost a little cocky as you brought your glass to your lips and took an excruciatingly slow sip. The eyes of the man across the bar watched you intently, a fire burning in them that ignited your very being.

As Steve moved on to another customer, you pulled your eyes from those of the handsome stranger and let them fall briefly to the empty stool beside you. It was about as bold as you were willing to be at the time, but it did the trick. He promptly swiveled in his seat to slide off it and you smirked to yourself as you looked down, pretending to be fascinated by the garnet liquid swirling in your glass as he came around the bar.

“That’s a great Malbec,” he said.

God, his voice.

It made your cheeks (among other things) tingle, smooth and smoky as the whiskey in his glass you could smell as he placed it down beside your wine. The scent of it mixed with his cologne that was dangerously close to becoming your new favorite aroma—something woodsy and heady with a tinge of lightness like a salty sea breeze.

“It is,” you agreed, brow arching as he took the seat beside you. “You’ve had it before?”

“Nah,” he smirked. “You made it look so good, I had Stevie give me a taste. I told him to put your next one on me.”

Both of your brows raised at that. “And how’d you know I was coming back?”

“I didn’t,” he said, taking a cheeky sip of his drink. “I just hoped.”

You felt a smile burgeoning on your lips and pulled your bottom one back with your teeth trying, unsuccessfully, to fight it. He watched it spreading, the tip of his tongue running over the edges of his teeth as he offered you his hand.

You slid your own into his, feeling the exquisite pressure of chunky silver rings pressing on your fingers as he gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” you purred right back, offering him your name after a beat.

He repeated it once, all low and rumbly, taking his time with the sound of it in his mouth like it was a piece of chocolate melting on his tongue. Holding your hand a bit longer than necessary.

“So I’m assuming Desperate Dan out there wasn’t your boyfriend?” Eddie asked, chuckling into his next sip. The sound of it spiraled down your back, electrifying your spine.

“Nope,” you sighed heavily. “Just another drop in the Tinder bucket.”

Eddie’s dark eyes gleamed with something like mischief and he made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Well, if that’s the case, I sincerely apologize, sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smiled at him. “What for?”

His eyes flickered again, this time taking a long moment to do a sweep up and down your body. Landing on your knees in your tights, flitting back up to your face as she shook his head.

“If someone like you has had to resort to dating apps…we’ve clearly failed as a gender.”

You actually shivered at the words, forcing your shoulders still not to show it as you propped your elbow on the bar and swiped the tips of your nails across your chin and along your jaw to play with your earring. Deepening your voice to a sultry murmur he had to lean in close to hear.

“No argument there.”

You rushed into the bathroom, flapping both your hands back and forth to fan your face and then under your arms. Safely hidden behind the door, your air of detachment could fall away and you could finally let out all the patently un-cool reactions you had been fighting the last hour.

With trembling hands, you pulled your phone out of your bag and fired off a text to Robin.

hey, I’m gonna share my location with you the rest of the night.

wait WHAT? Losera Annoyingus is getting a bang pass?

no he left…

…about an hour ago.

A blue bubble with three blinking dots immediately popped up on the thread and you imagined Robin’s thumbs actually smoking she was typing so furiously fast. But she must decide to abandon her message, because within a split second, a picture of you and her with your faces smushed together came up on the screen as she called you instead.

“Hey,” you whispered, praying your voice didn’t echo too much off the tiled walls.

“Explain,” she demanded. “Now.”

The excitement in her voice only increases your own, your cheeks still impossibly hot as you stand over the sink and fan yourself some more before another layer of sweat can form on your face.

“It’s this guy I met at the bar. He was like, making eyes at me while I was on my date and we started talking after and I just—I don’t know for sure, but it feels like he’s gonna take me home.”

“Is he hot?”

“Yes,” you breathed out a heavy, lustful sigh. “He’s so hot I wanna rip his appendix out.”

“Holy shit,” Robin whistled. “What’s he look like?”

“He’s…I don’t know,” you laughed. “He kind of looks like a Harley that came to life.”

“Alright then, you better go ride him.”

Robin’s snorted laugh makes you cover your own face with your palm. It’s searing hot now, your blood pumping furiously beneath the surface of your skin.

“Well, I have to get back out there to make that happen.”

“Go, go, go—have fun, use protection! Wait, hang on, not in that order!”

You laughed at her warning coming through faintly over the receiver as you mashed the button to end your call. With one last steadying breath, you leaned on the sink and nodded decisively.

“Okay,” you exhaled. “Let’s do this.”

Sage and sea salt filled your nose as you yanked the door open and nearly ran straight into the source of the scent. Eddie leaned against the wall across from the bathroom doors, shoulders shifting subtly as he twisted one of the large rings on his fingers. 

You stood face to face now, hands hovering at your sides as you edged into the hallway.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, tucking his chin to his chest as he looked up at you from under long lashes. “Someone’s in the other one.”

You glanced suspiciously at the second bathroom door, seeing no light coming from underneath it. Eddie winced, still smirking adorably as you turned the knob and pushed it open to reveal it was empty on the other side. He chuckled, holding up his hands in a mock surrender.

“Fine,” he sighed. “You caught me.”

“Thought I was making a break for it?” you asked, pulling the door shut. Eddie’s tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek, his eyes roving over you slowly.

“I’d hate to think I scared you off,” he said as he kicked off the wall to stand up straight.

You crossed your arms under your chest, giving him a smile. “I don’t scare so easy.”

He nodded at that, his eyes still taking you in, scanning you like he was reading invisible stats. They lingered a few places you expected, like the curve of your hips and the swell of your chest. But then they landed on other things too, things you weren’t used to people noticing. 

Things like your shoulders, or your calves in your boots, even your fucking ears.

“So…everything alright?” he asked, his voice lowering as he took a step closer.

“Yeah, I was just letting my roommate know I might be gone a while.” You held up your phone and tucked it back inside your bag with another coy smile. He chuckled.

“A while, huh?” Step.

“Yeah, you know...it’s pretty late.” Step. “Might be tough to get an Uber.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie shrugged. “I live close.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were nose to nose now, barely a whisper of space between you, the air thick with the heat radiating off your bodies in the narrow space.

The well worn leather of his jacket sleeve creaked softly as his hand came up to rest on the wall, caging you in with his arm.

“How close?” you asked, breath shuddering as you leaned on the door for support.

“Up the street,” he sighed. “But it’s still too far.”

His warm breath ghosted over your lips as they parted, the smell of the liquor coating his tongue making you feel woozy. Or maybe that was just the effect he was having on you.

He was so close now you could hear the bristly sound his beard made as he scratched at it with blunt fingertips. He’d barely inhaled to ask if he could kiss you when you surged forward to press your lips to his—the roughness of his beard on your chin a welcome abrasion.

Scratching the itch that’s plagued you all night.

It’s a hungry, lawless sort of kiss. Quick and clashing and difficult to tell if it’s actually mean or not—like two dogs play-fighting, both trying to see how much they can get away with before light snarls and soft snaps of their jaws turn to whimpers and whines.

Eddie parried with you for control, his tongue darting in and out of your mouth as he plied you with teasing, playful kisses you fought to deepen, tugging at his shirt. He pushed off the wall and reached down to grab your wrists, pinning them over your head to keep them in place.

The thrill of him trying to restrain you only made you unravel further, straining impatiently against his grasp. Breathless, you stretched out your neck and pushed your face past all his hair to place your lips beside his ear and pant into it.

“Can we go back to—”

“You wanna come back to—”

The both of you chuckled and exhaled with relief as your words and his overlapped, and you felt a sudden rush between your legs from the way Eddie’s eyes blazed with intention.

He released his hold on your wrists and your arms fell limp at your sides. In an instant, he had your hand wrapped tightly in his and was pulling you along as he angled towards the exit.

As you hurried after him out of the hallway and across the bar, you distantly registered music playing, picking out the chugging guitar and bass riffs of some 80s dance song. From behind the bar, Steve caught Eddie’s eye and you saw him offer his friend a two finger salute as the two of you burst through the door, your departure narrated by Paul Stanley’s deep, silky croon.

And tonight, I want to lay at your feet. Cause girl, I was made for you, And girl, you were made for me…

Eddie wasn’t kidding about living close.

Your boots clacked on the sidewalk as he ushered you along under his arm, the quick pace of your walk driven both by the chill in the air and the desire to resume what you started at the bar.

“This is me,” he said, indicating a four-story brick building just a block away from West End.

His place was on the top floor. It was a large studio with high ceilings and many features similar to the bar you’d just left. Half of the space was raised like a platform with a steel wire railing running along the edge. He had his bed up there and what looked like an office, but he’d created a divider of sorts with cube shelves filled with sweats, hoodies and t-shirts.

Promptly, you recalled him telling you he owned a company that designed and distributed merch for independent artists, and how he was constantly receiving samples from suppliers.

The kitchen was simple, sleek cabinetry and stainless steel appliances without a single smudge. A massive butcher’s block with a wooden top and wire racks underneath serving as an island. And a steel rack hanging down from overhead laden with cast iron cookware.

You took a few more careful steps inside, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath from being kissed stupid in the elevator while Eddie flipped some switches that illuminated the space with recessed lighting. Large black-paned windows revealed a view of the city and the night sky outside, some amber light from the street filtering in and casting across the oak floors.

In his living area was a massive brown leather sectional with extra-deep cushions and a chaise at both ends. It faced a plain wall with a screen you assumed went with the projector hanging down from one of the exposed beams overhead.

Every inch of your skin crackled with excitement as he came up behind you and reached around to grip the lapels of your coat and help you out of it, letting his fingertips skim your bare arms as he did. It made you shiver in spite of the warm air you could feel pumping out of the vents.

He hung up your coat next to his on a hook by the front door and you turned to face him as he sauntered back over. His gait was relaxed and casual, like he had all the time in the world. 

Like he wasn’t driving you up the wall with every second you went without his mouth on yours.

“Did you want another drink?”

He gestured in the direction of a liquor cabinet, glass shelves lined with a modest array of wines and spirits, but you shook your head at the offer.

“Not particularly,” you said with a coy grin.

Reaching out and hooking a finger in his belt loop, you whirled yourself into him and slotted your mouth against his, licking into it to taste the smoky remnants of whisky there. He breathed into it deeply, his broad chest expanding with it and chuckling when he felt your hands on his belt.

“Easy there, tiger,” he teased, your lips breaking apart and taking hold of your wrists to still their efforts. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Hopefully the kind that knows how to fuck.”

You smirked, the tip of your tongue flicking out between your teeth as your face veered in again. Your hips pressed with his and you began to sway back and forth, gently grinding them on him, resuming the dance you’d begun. His face came close, his hands settling on your waist.

“C’mon, honey,” he drawled. “Haven’t you heard good things come to those who wait?”

His lips trailed along the column of your neck, sending a riot of shivers down your spine causing you to release a breathy sigh.

“Sorry, what? All I heard was come.”

Eddie chuckled at that and his breath rushed across your neck as he smiled into your jugular.

“You’re funny,” he sighed. “We’ll see how funny you are when I get done with you.”

It was a miracle your knees didn’t buckle on the spot. Your eyes rolled back in your head, almost seeing the inside of your skull as his hand came up and he placed it around your throat.

“You want this?” he asked, his tone cool and precise, his eyes wandering across your face.

“Yes,” you gasped, all desperate and panting now you were so eager for him to start.

His thumb and middle finger pressed the sides of your throat, slowing the flow of blood just enough to make your head go fuzzy and your body to go just barely limp in his arms. 

“Yes, what?” he growled. You drew a shuddering breath, unrestricted by his expert hold.

“Yes, I want this,” you answered. “I want you.”

Eddie took his time undressing you, softly kissing the new expanse of skin he unveiled with the removal of each piece of clothing.

He nipped lightly at your collar bones as he shed your blouse, canines catching briefly on the chain around your neck. He dragged his lips torturously slow over your stomach as he undid your skirt and it fell to the floor with a soft plop. His breath rush across your thigh as he kneeled to drag down the zippers of your boots, kissing your inseam though your tights all the way down to your ankles.

Every second was a kind of exquisite torture. Your heart hammered behind your ribs, the bones almost rattling with the force of it. And as much as you were dying to grab him by the back of the head and take over, you let yourself slip steadily under the spell of his affections.

You believed what he seemed to be whispering with his eyes in between every indelible kiss he dropped to your buzzing skin. He had you. He would take care of you. You could trust him.

And once you were totally bare in front of him, he held out his hand for you to take and he spun you in a slow circle like a ballerina in a music box, his eyes feasting on every inch of you.

If it was anyone else, you might have shied away. You might have felt some level of shame or concern about being stark naked in front of him while he was still fully clothed. You might have worried he would see something he didn’t like, some flaw or defect you preferred hidden. But the look on his face was nothing short of rapturous.

He walked you over to the couch and kissed you deeply as he removed his clothes. Showing not an ounce of the kind of care and consideration for his own as he did for yours, he stripped them off hastily and discarded them, tossing them away like they were garbage.

Your naked bodies came together in a full press, his arms curling around your form and his hands stroking your skin like he was trying to make sure not a single part of it went untouched.

At last, he sank down onto the sofa and his knees spread apart, his hard cock standing stiff and ready for you. He took your hands in his like he was going to pull you forward onto his lap, but you dropped to your knees instead, tucking your feet under your ass.

You looked up at him expectantly, your eyes darting between his face and his cock, the corners of your mouth curling upwards in a smile as your brows raised with a silent question.

“You sure?” he asked, circling his base with his thumb and forefinger to give a gentle squeeze. “I can take care of you, you know? Fuckin’ love to.”

“Don’t worry,” you said cooly, lashes fluttering as you scooted closer. “You will.”

You placed your hands on his knees and pushed them further apart so you could lean forward to kiss up the inside of his leg. Trying to give him a taste of his own slow, teasing medicine, you worked your way all the way up to the crease of his thigh and turned your head inward.

Eddie’s breath stuttered as your lips met his shaft, poking your tongue out to run it up the length. His head tipped to the side, his ear touching his shoulder to get a better view of you licking at him, halting grunts and gasps tumbling past his lips as yours puckered to kiss it more.

When you were satisfied you’d gotten him sufficiently worked up, you reached out and wrapped your hands around him fully, your fists stacked and twisting gently.

You stroked him off slow and even, your hands squeezing tight around his shaft, mixing your spit and the beginning of his spend that leaked from his tip. He watched you reverently, eyes hooded as he enjoyed your show. And looking up at him, a gooey sort of warmth filled your entire body.

You felt yourself slipping further into that sort of headspace you craved—all pliant and willing, your knees digging into his plush area rug as your legs tingled with numbness.

Your heart raced as you imagined giving yourself up to him completely. 

Letting him take whatever he wanted from you.

As though he sensed it, as though he could read the desperation in your eyes, he cradled your jaw in his large hand and dotingly stroked the side of your face as he tilted his head at you.

“What is it, baby?” he cooed encouragingly. “What do you want? You can tell me.”

“Want you to use me,” you pleaded, fingers still sliding around him. “Use my mouth.”

Eddie gazed at you where you kneeled in front of him, your eyes having gone all big and round and glassy, shining with the tears you were dying for him to make spill down your cheeks.

Begging for it.

“Of course, baby, of course,” he sighed, gripping your chin and swooping in to kiss you deeply.

His firm hold gave you permission to go limp and you let your hands fall from his cock to rest on his muscled thighs, palms coasting over his tattoos and sparse leg hair. He pulled back, keeping your chin grasped in his fingers, holding your face still as he instructed you.

“You slap me three times in a row if you want to stop, okay?” he ordered in a husky rasp. “Do it for me now, so I know you can.”

You obeyed instantly, delivering three strikes to his thigh. His lips curled in a devilish grin. 

“That’s it, just like that,” he hummed in approval. “What a smart girl you are, huh?”

The praise rippled down your back, his words making you tingle all over, much like your calves that were starting to go numb from sitting back on them. He reached around the back of your neck, gently guiding you into position so his cock was pointed directly at your lips. 

His large hands nearly covered your entire head, holding it in his firm grasp, his fingertips digging into your scalp and causing even more shivers. Eyes locked with his, you let your mouth hang open and your tongue loll out fully, reaching almost all the way to your chin. 

Eddie moaned loudly, mesmerized by the pool of spit you’d let collect in your mouth and the way it dribbled past your lips, running down your tongue and dripping onto your chest.

“Fuuuuck,” he chuckled low and rough, touching just the tip of his dick to your wet tongue. “You really want me dead, huh?”

Your eyes danced as you nodded, the motion causing your tongue to brush against his sensitive slit and spread his precum across the flat of it. A sharp gasp punched from his chest, not ready for the sensation, and his whole body shuddered with need. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared as he gripped tighter around the back of your head and thrust fully into your mouth.

Lewd sounds filled the room as he pushed his cock past your lips, your mouth flooded with spit that poured out of you and pooled in the wiry thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You felt your body going lax and floppy as you gave yourself over to him, letting him hold your head up as you melted into little more than a puddle.

“That’s it, baby. Just let go, let me take what I need,” he drawled in that smoky voice, beginning a gentle thrust of his hips that pushed him deeper still into your mouth. “You’re doing so well…”

The salty tang of him covered your tongue as your jaw slackened to accommodate more of him, the sounds you were making coming out garbled.

“Christ, you sound so fucking sweet choking on my cock” he groaned. “What a good slut you are, huh? Giving me this mouth, letting me ruin it?”

You gagged loudly as his cock pushed in further until his tip met the back of your throat. He held the back of your head and your nose was nuzzling against the hair at his base, breathing in his thick and heady musk. Far earthier than his cologne, this was a smell that could only be him.

His eyes flitted to your hand clutching at him, your nails digging into the meat of his thigh.

But you made no move to tap out. Another tight spasm of your throat had him throwing his head back, his eyes pinching shut and his lips falling open in a desperate gasp.

“Shit, that feels so good,” he whined softly, his domineering mask slipping ever so slightly—the broken sound only making you go more feral.

Bracing yourself on his thighs, you began to push your head down to meet his thrusts, fucking your own face with his cock so hard that his grip on the back of your head was extraneous.

“Okay, okay—okay,” he grunted, chest heaving as he pulled you off him before he could blow.

His fingers held fast in your hair, squeezing it at the roots. You drew in air in great heaving breaths, panting from the effort, your tongue still hanging out of your mouth and head bobbing as you tried to chase the cock he had to drag you off of.

“You’re a greedy fucking girl, aren’t you, baby?” he chuckled, yanking your head back sharply so you were staring at the ceiling, eyes straining to look at him over the curves of your cheeks.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped back, chest still heaving.

“You want my cum that bad?” he teased lowly, pushing his face against yours and smearing the wetness of your tears across your cheeks.

“Yes, please,” you whined pitifully. “I need it.”

“Oh, you’ll get it,” he assured you, reaching down with his free hand to rub between your legs. “But only if it goes in this needy little pussy.”

Your entire body writhed as his fingers toyed with your swollen clit and dripping folds, scalp stinging where he gripped your hair with his other hand.

A pleasurable wail burst out of you as his thick fingers thrust inside your warm, wet hole and started to scissor relentlessly.

“YES, fuck—come in me. Please, please…”

More tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you begged him, drip, drip, dripping off your chin and onto your heaving chest, rolling down your naked body, leaving wet trails in their wake.

Eddie had to fight the urge to lick your clavicle. 

He hauled you up onto his lap, scooting down so he could plant his feet properly on the floor. Your knees sank into the worn leather of his cushions on either side of his hips and you used all what little strength you had left to reach down and align yourself with him.

“Don’t you hold back—haah—alright?” he said, hissing softly as you sank down on his length. “I want that fucking loser from Tinder to be able to hear you from here. Understand?”

You nodded, hips beginning to slide back and forth, relishing the way his thick cock prodded at your insides and stoked your desire. Eddie let you keep control for a moment, his hands squeezing at the softness of your stomach, molding it with them. He watched you raptly, mesmerized by the undulations of your body, the way you let it writhe and rock and squirm on him until he thought you might come solely from your own movements.

A loud, exhilirated moan burst out of you as he suddenly thrust his hips upwards, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he slammed into your g-spot on the first fucking stroke—as if he could see straight through your flesh to aim for it.

The room filled with sounds even more lewd than before—the wet clap of his thighs with your ass cheeks, his balls slapping your soaking pussy, your mound squishing into his pelvis.

Eddie threw his head back, overwhelmed by the sight of every part of you bouncing so prettily on him. And as he exposed his neck, everything in the room went hazy except that thick, taught, muscled column. Sending you feeling.

You clawed at it desperately and drew hot, red streaks down it with your nails that trailed all the way to the middle of his tattooed chest.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Mark me up. Show everybody who owns me—”

He slid his hands back to grip your ass, spreading the fleshy globes wide and stretching your holes further open as he continued to slam his length inside you. He let one side go and delivered a single stinging slap that reverberated throughout your whole body. 

The burn made you keen, arching your back until your chest was flush with his. He reached up to grip the back of your neck, taking your earlobe between his teeth and raking them over it.

“Now that that mouth is free, I wanna hear how good you feel,” he growled.

And if you thought you were loud before, it was nothing compared to now. The combination of his words and the perfect pace being set by his cock sent you instantly toppling over the edge, with Eddie’s own release following right behind.

In that moment, you vowed to send a fruit basket to every single one of his neighbors—an apology for making them think that a woman was getting murdered in the middle of the night two or three stories above their heads. The orgasm he brings you to makes you scream, practically sobbing as you cry out in immeasurable relief while searing hot pleasure ravages your entire body. 

It’s an ascent you’ve never dreamed of reaching the peak of, the feeling spreading to the tips of every extremity, filling you with fire. It feels so good, it almost makes you sad to know you might never feel like this again. And if your brain hadn’t already turned to mush, you might have cared.

As you dwindled down from your high, you slumped forward limp and spent—your body still rippling with the effects, Eddie’s arms coming up to hold you against him as he peppered your shoulder with soft, sweet kisses.

“That’s it,” he breathed out in your ear. “That’s it, baby, just feel it…such a good girl f’me…”

He ran his fingers slowly up and down the column of your spine, creating waves of shivers waiting for your trembling to subside.

His length grew soft inside of you, but he made no move to slide you from his lap or to rush you in the slightest. He let you cling on to him, your face buried in his sweaty neck, his long hair tickling your face, losing yourself in his touch.

Slowly, your breathing grew deep and even, your racing heart slowing in your chest. Eddie turned his head and spoke to you quietly with his warm breath fanning across your cheek.

“You ready to move?” he asked.

You gave a weak nod.

Wobbling on unsteady legs, you stood and his hands quickly moved to the curve of your waist to keep you steady. He took you to the bathroom which looked more like it belonged in a spa than someone’s house, sitting you on the toilet.

From a hook hanging on the back of the door, he produced two bright white waffle weave robes, offering one to you. And as you wrapped the soft material around your shoulders, he turned on one of the faucets and held his fingers underneath it to test the temperature.

Once he’d deemed it warm enough, he took a fluffy washcloth from a little pyramid of them that were rolled up next to the sink basin. He held it under the stream, saturating the cloth and then giving it a gentle twist. You watched his hands every step of the way, mesmerized by the way his veins bulged under his skin and the muscles in his arms flexed as he wrung out the excess water.

He rubbed the warm cloth gently across your face, wiping off the residue of tears and spit and cum and what little was left of your make-up until your bare face shone in the soft lighting. 

Once he had finished, he dropped the cloth into a hamper and cradled your face in his hands, his thumbs gliding easily over your slippery skin.

“So pretty,” he hummed, the words so soft you wondered if you were even meant to hear them.

From one of the drawers in the vanity, he brought out a pot of moisturizer and offered it to you with a smile. You frowned up at him, jutting out your bottom lip in a comical pout, not ready for him to stop taking care of you. It made him chuckle and a bemused smile spread across his lips as he tapped the tips of his fingers in the gel and started to smooth it over your cheeks.

“Come lay down with me?” he asked when he’d finished, head tilting back in the direction of the short set of stairs leading up to where his bed sat.

You nodded and he held out his hand to lead you out of the bathroom. You curled up on top of his dark duvet, your head sinking into the softness of his down pillow that held the faint scent of what you guessed was his tea tree oil shampoo.

The thick mattress dipped as he climbed onto it with you and draped a beige knit blanket over the both of you before he sidled up against your body.

It was…nice. More than nice. Shit, it was as close to perfect as you had felt in a long time.

The feel of his chest expanding and contracting against your back; his steady breath on the nape of your neck; the soft robe wrapped around your body and the comforting weight of the blanket on top of you. Not to mention Eddie’s arm curled securely around your waist. 

Your eyes felt heavy, like your eyelashes suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, and you drifted fully into sleep, succumbing to the relief that had washed over you not twenty feet away.

When you woke, it was still dark out. 

The street noise had lessened significantly and if you had to hazard a guess, it might have been close to one or two in the morning. Eddie’s place was darkened, lit only by orange street light that filtered through his windows and a half-dimmed reading light in the corner.

It was an arc lamp, suspended over a leather Eames chair where you could see that your coat and all of your previously discarded clothes were arranged in a neat little pile. But laid out at the foot of the bed right next to your feet were a pair of black fleece pants and hoodie, both about your size and emblazoned with the names of bands you didn’t recognize.

You sat up slowly, fingers hovering over the thick material as you debated. Were they for you? They looked a little big for Eddie, but maybe he had laid them out for himself? Was it a sign he was about to go to bed and you needed to get moving?

In the end, you slid out from underneath the blanket still draped over you and redressed in your clothes. After pulling your tights and skirt back on, stepping into your boots and zipping them up your calves, pulling your coat back on, you looked around the loft searching for Eddie.

From up here, you could see the bathroom door was open and the light was off…eliminating the only place he could actually be. And then your eyes fell on one of the windows that was cracked open with a short step-ladder built into the wall that had been pulled down in front of it.

You pulled your coat around you tighter the closer you got to the window and tentatively climbed the steps leading up to it. You pushed the large glass pane the rest of the way open and poked your head outside to find Eddie sitting on his terrace, resting with his back to the brick, head tipped back as he exhaled a cloud of smoke from his lips that drifted up towards the stars.

“Hey,” you said softly. His head turned at the sound and a wide smile spread across his lips.

“There she is,” he said in a gentle cheer.

You climbed through the window and a breeze carried the scent of the joint he was holding. You took a seat across from him, leaning back against the metal railing and letting your legs stretch out alongside his. He dropped his hand to rub your calf and he frowned at the realization you had redressed in your tights and boots. His brow furrowed adorably.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

He shook his head and took another drag of the joint before passing it into your waiting fingers.

“The clothes were for you,” he said. “Y’know, if you wanted something to sleep in.”

You paused, the joint just shy of touching your lips. “Like…if I was staying?”

“Would you stay?” he asked, a ribbon of smoke curling in the air as he exhaled.

Your mouth hung open, clouds of your hot breath escaping. “Oh, um…I mean, only if you—”

He cut you off with his lips, slipping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling you into a long kiss. Tiny embers scattered from the joint, being taken by the wind that blew and made the ends of Eddie’s long hair tickle the sides of your face. You pulled apart and he answered solidly.

“I want you to,” he said.

wasn't expecting this to be so long (that's what she said), but I hoped you liked it if you made it this far 🩷 love you, mean it!

[36924]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [15K] PART TWO OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

tw: mentions of pregnancy, slight steddie.

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Five weeks. 

You didn’t see Steve for five weeks. Not for lack of looking. The Lake House was astoundingly quieter with the loss of the youngest Harrington and his friends, the bar empty, the Macallan well stocked and poker nights were taken over by the older generation. You didn’t see him on the golf course, nor in the spa. He didn’t frequent the smoking lounge and you didn’t see him at the bar. Gone was his maroon BMW from the parking lot and on the one, stupid occasion where you’d swallowed all your shame, you drove past his townhouse after a late night shift and you weren’t sure if you were disappointed or relieved to see it sitting in the dark, empty.

You hadn’t exchanged numbers that night, still, the radio silence was infuriating. But hey, at least he wasn’t just plain avoiding you. 

Which you realised when he waltzed in one Tuesday before lunch service, more tanned than ever, white shirt sleeves rolled up, tan trousers perfectly tailored. His eyes were on you immediately, his hair longer than you’d last seen him, like he’d been so busy he hadn’t had time to get it cut. Strands of it fell into his eyes and he swept them out of the way with a grin as he approached the bar. More so a smirk, really. And it irked you, his smirk, his pretty brown eyes, his perfectly messy hair, his sunkissed skin and don’t give a fuck attitude. 

He leant on the bar like he owned it, elbows pressed to the wood, hands clasped in front of him so the gold ring glinted in the afternoon sun. He didn’t say anything, he just waited, watching as you finished polishing a wine glass and put it back on the glass shelf. 

You cleared your throat and didn’t bother to smile, but the voice you spoke in was very much reserved for customer service. “Good afternoon, sir. What can I get you?”

You watched as Steve’s eyes flashed a little darker, amused and something else. He let out a soft laugh, like he thought you were funny. Like he thought your cold indifference was hilarious. So he played along, sliding onto one of the suede stools. The bar room was somewhat empty, most of the members either gathering for lunch in the sun room or soaking up the last of the warm weather on the golf course. It was quiet, and the tension between the two of you could fill the entire manor. 

“A Macallan, please,” Steve answered, just as politely. 

He was still watching every move you made, eyes raking over your legs, the fit of your dress over your hips, the swell of your ass when you turned and reached up for the bottle of scotch. You smiled, a sardonic press of your lips that didn’t meet your eyes when you asked him, “would you like ice with that?”

Steve really laughed then, but there was an edge to it that told you were getting under his skin. If he wanted to leave the country for over a month after blowing your mind in his fancy living room like it was no big deal, well— you could pretend you don’t care. Or better yet, didn’t even remember him. 

“No ice,” he said and before you could pour, he waved his hand for you to stop. “Actually, you know what? I’d prefer the forty year. You have that right, honey?”

You did. But it was in the back, behind a heavy, locked door. The forty year old scotch could go for thirty thousand dollars a bottle. You tried not to look surprised, or worse, impressed. So you nodded instead and told him, “of course, sir. Please bear with me.”

But when you left the bar to walk towards the door that was marked ‘employees only,’ Steve was behind you. You watched him lean against the wall as you fumbled with your key card, pressing it once, twice - fuck - three times against the pad before it buzzed. And when you pushed the door open and Steve caught it, slipping in behind you, your cold indifference turned to anger. 

Who did he think he was? Did he think he was that untouchable?

“This is employees only,” you hissed at him, panicking at the thought of someone else - god forbid, your boss - catching you in the hallway with him. 

Like they’d be able to tell you’d gone to his late one night, that you’d stood and stripped for him in front of his big fireplace and bigger TV, like they’d find out he’d put his mouth on you and made to you come harder than  anyone else ever ha—

But Steve just sighed, a long suffering thing that made your hackles rise up that little bit higher. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Honey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He brushed past you, hands in his pockets, walking down the corridor towards the locked room where the high value liquor was kept. “No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Now, come on.”

You didn’t want to obey, you didn’t want to do as he said. But you were at a loss. He looked so good and smelled so nice, clean and like the ocean, like sunscreen, like he’d just stepped off the plane from whatever Italian city he’d been hiding in and came straight to you. So you didn’t say anything, you just straightened up and let the clickclickclick of your heels fill the silence as you edged past him again and walked towards the door. 

He didn’t let you reach it before he started talking again, a lazy drawl that matched his slow walk, an effortless thing that suited his linen trousers and effortlessly rumpled shirt. Even the lock of hair that fell across his forehead looked artfully placed. 

“Aren’t you going to ask where I’ve been?” 

You clenched your jaw. “No.”

You heard him laugh and the sound made your hand slip from where it tried to remember the combination for the door. He was so sure of himself, so sure and so confident that you’d spent the last five weeks thinking of him and where he was and what he was doing and who he was with—

“So rude today, honey. You don’t want to hear about the business deals I secured? The money I made?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. You kept your back to him, body stiff, mind positivity empty as you tried to recall the fucking code. You could sense him getting closer, body heat crowding yours, his cologne, his scent, like he’d bottled an Italian summer and sprayed it all over himself. 

“No,” you repeated. Blunt, short, cold. 

“What if I brought you back a present, wouldn’t you want to know then?”

He was behind you now, a towering presence, intimidating even when you weren’t looking at him. His chest brushed your back, a solid, warm thing that you wanted to melt against. But you kept yourself strong, hoping he couldn’t see your shaking hands as you tried another series of numbers. Steve’s hand came up to your neck, sweeping away the hair there, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin. 

The keypad beeped at you in protest, another denied entry. 

“You’re not like the other girls, are you, honey?”

You braced yourself, waiting for the speech about how you were different from the others, better in whatever way Steve deemed appropriate. Prettier, maybe. Smarter, quirkier, some kind of compliment that was supposed to make you preen for him. 

 Steve tsked and moved closer, his nose brushing the nape of your neck. “No, you don’t want my money. You’re not interested, huh? You don’t want the cash, the presents, no diamonds, no five thousand dollar shoes. You don’t want the cars or the houses or the yachts or the ring on your finger, huh?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer. Steve’s little speech didn’t go the way you assumed. The boy spun you suddenly, backing you into the wall as he took your chin in his hold, heated skin between a finger and his thumb, his nose and lips trailing over your cheek, your temple. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. You waited. 

“No, honey, you just want fucked, don’t you?” 

His lips were at your ear, trailing over the shell of it and you couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered, heading lolling back until it thudded against the wall. You were breathing funny, your body boneless. How did you fucking get here?

Steve grinned even though you couldn’t see, teeth on your jaw instead. He took your hand from where it lay limp by your side and brought it to his crotch, cupping it between his own and his cock, the hard length of him pushing against his slacks and your small hand. “You just want this, right?” His teeth nipped at you and you scrunched your face in pleasure, lips parting. “Tell me.”

You folded, a new kind of girl from the one that stood at the bar, brushing him off and pretending you couldn’t recall the way you came on his tongue. You nodded, brows knitted together, like you were ready to beg. Maybe you were. “Yeah,” you answered breathily. “I want it.”

Steve kissed your cheek, a sweet thing, a sudden and shocking touch. “Want what? Wanna hear it, honey, c’mon.”

Heat rushed through you, clinging to your cheeks, your neck. You squirmed, embarrassed and turned on, even more embarrassed that you were throbbing at his words. You blinked at him. “Want your cock,” you whispered. 

“Smart girl,” he cooed. “Clever girl. Such a good fucking girl.” Steve let go of your chin, used his fingertips to brush your hair back and draw a line down your jaw. He pressed another kiss, to your chin this time, a fleeting thing that you tried to chase. You wanted to taste him. “That’s better isn’t it? So much better when you play nice. Where do you want it? Hm? Wanna suck it for me, honey? Want to feel it down your throat?” Steve tsked, his voice low and controlled despite the filth he was muttering against your cheek. “No, no, you want it inside of you, right? My baby wants fucked, right?”

Baby. My baby. It didn’t feel like a pet name, not really. Not like the way he said ‘honey,’ like melted candy on his tongue. No. This felt like ownership. 

You were throbbing from the inside out, your brain buzzing, a white noise kind of sound that tuned out everything bar Steve’s voice, his words, that awfully fucking pretty cadence that made you feel like you were one step away from getting in trouble. You don’t know why you loved it, why it made your toes curl, your lips part and a whine get stuck in your throat. 

“Fuck, Steve,” you clawed at his shoulders, nails scraping over his shirt, creasing the expensive linen. You didn’t care. “Yeah, please, I want that.”

“Oh, it’s Steve, now, is it?” The boy laughed a little meanly, grabbing at your hips to turn you for him, your chest pressed to the wall as he made sure your ass stayed popped out for him. He traced the pretty arch of your back, rocked his dick against the curve of your ass cheek and squeezed. “I think I preferred ‘sir.’ Made you sound so much more agreeable.”

You just moaned. A sound you’d never heard yourself make, an animalistic thing, wrecked sounding and it made Steve beam. “Oh honey, you’re filthy, aren’t you? You’d let me fuck you right here, wouldn’t you?” His hands found the hem of your dress and cool air hit the tops of your thighs as he started lifting it up. 

You didn’t care. You didn’t fucking care. 

Your cheek was pressed to the wall, Lake House green paint under the press of your palms and you remained pliant for Steve, back arched and legs spreading a little, ready for him to pull your underwear to the side and slip his cock inside of you. You wanted it, you needed it—

“I’m not gonna fuck you here, pretty girl, not yet.” Steve was at your ear again, whispering against the shell of it, his fingers grabbing a handful of your ass under your dress as he squeezed and pulled at the dough of it. “Gonna take my time with you for that. Going to make sure I ruin you.”

Disappointment washed over you like a bucket of cold water. It was sobering and his words made you whine, a desperate noise that the staff corridor of The Lake House should never have heard. You turned on your own volition, gazing at Steve with heavy lidded eyes and you were pleased to see he looked the same. Cheeks pink, lips parted, his chest moving a little quicker than before. You remembered the way he’d taken charge that night, how he’d just assumed you’d come home with him after the poker game, how he’d sat in front of you, sprawled on his big sofa as he watched you take off your clothes for him. 

How he’d told you to. 

And then he’d made you come undone, unravelling against his mouth as he whispered dirty things to you, leaving you fuzzy and hazy as he dropped you home, seemingly unaffected. You wanted that power back, you wanted to see him too far gone to remember how much money he had in the bank. 

So you pressed your palms to his chest and smoothed down his shirt collar before you dropped to your knees in front of him. It should’ve been a submissive thing, most people would assume it was. You, kneeling below the rich man, the man who had wealth and connections and an entire legacy built on just his name. You, the girl who was paid to serve him from behind a bar, pouring drinks that you’d ever be able to afford, on the floor in front of him. 

But when you looked back up at Steve, his cocky expression had changed to one of awe. Genuine surprise showed in his eyes, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he blinked at you, dreamlike, hazy, fuzzy. Just like he’d made you feel. You brought your hands to the front of his trousers, finger teasing the button there before he slumped forward a little and braced his hands on the very wall he’d pushed you up against. He nodded, mumbled something that sounded like ‘please.’

Victory. 

You looked back at the door you’d come through, no windows in the wood, but still thin enough that could hear the grand piano playing in the dining room, the distant tinkling of china teapots against porcelain teacups. Anyone could walk in. You’d get fired. Or worse.

The button popped under your finger and thumb, and the zipper whispered in the quiet when you tugged it down. Steve groaned, a heavy, hot sound that made the slick between your thighs worsen. He was leaning over you, head bowed between the arms that held him up, his full lips pink and parted as he stared down at you. You waited for some sort of instruction, an order, some filthy kind of praise but instead, he just watched. 

Powerless. 

You flattened a palm against his cock, hard and warm under the cotton of his black Calvin Kleins, your other hand braced on his thigh. You looked up, one brow raised, a silent question even as the solid length of him kicked up against your touch. 

“Yes,” he rasped, nodding. “Yeah, honey, go ‘head.”

You worked fast, the rest of the club a far away murmur behind the locked door as Steve’s heavy breaths took over your senses instead. You dragged the band of his underwear down, his cock slapping up against his stomach. He was huge, thick and long and hard to wrap your fingers around and you hated that he had another reason to walk around acting like he fucking owned the world. 

But you wanted the power back and you grasped him in your fist, pumping him against your palm as he tried to stop his hips from bucking forward. You wanted Steve like putty, yours to play with, you wanted him to fall apart as fast and as hard as he made you. 

So you skipped the teasing, leaning forward to lick a broad stripe across the head of his cock, salt on your tongue and he swore, hips jerking when you opened your mouth and let him slide past your lips. You worked quick, heart racing from the adrenline of sucking someone off during working hours, hidden in a place you weren’t supposed to be. This was stupid, it was so fucking stupid but the stretch of your jaw around Steve’s cock was delicious, the sounds he was making even better. He was gasping your name, his voice hoarse, his eyes barely able to stay open but his lashes fluttered and he made sure he watched the way his cock disappeared in and out your mouth, over and over again. 

Your nails scratched at his thighs, making him hiss, your free hand pumping the length of him that you couldn’t nudge into your throat. It was wet and messy, a filthy thing that made his brain malfunction ‘cause you were looking up at him the whole time with big, doe eyes and your pretty, little dress was splayed over your thighs. You looked like sin, you looked like his own personal wet dream and you were tracing your tongue along the underside of his cock as the head of it hit the back of your throat and—

“Oh my god,” Steve growled. One hand fell from the wall to grasp your head, not pushing, not guiding. Just twisting into your hair and holding on for dear fucking life. “Oh, fuck, m’gonnacome.”

It had barely been five minutes and a new sort of determination flushed through you. You were soaked, inner thighs wet from the heat of Steve’s stare, from the weight of his cock on your tongue and god, he was tipping his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned, fingers tightening in your hair as he realised you were doubling down on your efforts and not pulling off. 

“In your mouth, honey, yeah?” His voice was a little higher, breathier, so much less than controlled that it ever had been. “Gonna come in that pretty mouth, that smart, little mouth, hm? Please? Gonna swallow it all for me?”

You hummed in agreement, refusing to take you lips away from him, bringing a hand to cup his balls as you worked your mouth around him, rolling them in your palm. Steve twitched against your tongue, hips jerking forward as he gasped out everything from a prayer, to your name, to a curse. He came hard and sudden, his jaw hanging slack as he stared down at you, watching with a greedy sort of awe as he spilled over your tongue. You made a show of it for him, lips parting and mouth open as you pumped what you could out of him, letting him see it cover your tongue before you swallowed. 

And as he stood, barely keeping himself up, breathless and speechless, you tucked him back into his trouser, soft and spent. You stood primly, caged between his arms as you smoothed down your skirt and met his gaze. He looked a little wild, a little wrecked and he swore under his breath when you licked your lips, using your thumb to politely swipe at the corner of your mouth, like a lady at high tea, not a girl who’d just sucked the fucking life from him. 

Neither of you spoke. You weren’t sure Steve could. So you ducked under his arm and walked away, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as you tried to make sure he couldn’t seen the way your legs shook. Chin high, smile victorious, you didn’t look back before you slipped out of the door and out to the bar. It took a while for Steve to appear, face still a little flushed, but he’d brushed back his hair and smoothed out any wrinkles in his shirt, his trouser buttoned back up but his eyes gave him away. 

They were glittering, trained on you as he came through the employees only door like he owned the entire building. 

He didn’t care that you were serving Mr and Mrs St. Clair there afternoon martinis. No, he walked right up to the bar and tapped his fingers on the wood, vying for your attention. You gave it easily, gaze on Steve instead of the cocktail shaker you were filling with ice. 

“What time do you finish?” He asked, voice still rough. 

You swallowed tightly, eyes flitting to the older couple who weren’t paying you much mind. Not when their drinks weren’t ready yet. “Seven,” you told him.

Steve nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

—————

That’s how it went. 

No labels, not much talking - not about anything too serious anyway, like the future. Just a whirlwind you couldn’t really call a romance because Steve Harrington had fucked you in every room of his house, every car he parked in his too big garage, but he’d never kissed your lips. You’d found that Steve didn’t really do sweet unless it came with some kind of condescending tone that made your toes curl, surprising you on the odd occasion with a sudden fondness that even shocked him. But still, no kisses. He’d kiss you everywhere else, forehead often resting against yours as you both caught your breaths, his cock still inside you. You’d feel his nose bump your own, a soft touch, an intimate thing. But he’d pull back when you’d lift your chin a little, mouth searching for his like he hadn’t just been gasping into it. 

He didn’t really hold your hand or call you his girlfriend but he knew your favourite wine, an expensive Chardonnay he liked to buy you by the crate, along with flowers you hadn’t even seen before, colourful blooms that looked like they belonged in a magazine. He’d place his hand on the small of your back when he took you out to restaurants, cocktail bars full of business men that only he knew. Away from Hawkins, always in the front of one of his cars, each one faster and shinier than the last. Dining rooms with chandeliers and low lights, pillar candles on white table cloths and five forks each. 

He showed you off, surprising you with silk dresses and red bottomed heels that you told him off for, but Steve would kiss your neck, your bare shoulder and whisper how he wanted to take the pretty dress off of you later, how he wanted you in nothing but Louboutin’s. His touch was possessive, dirty, sometimes surprisingly caring, a gentleman that opened your car doors for you, who pulled out your chair for you to sit. 

 But no, he never kissed your lips. 

And when he was spending days and weeks in Rome, Milan, Cannes, New York, Los Angeles, Singapore, St. Martin, well. When was there time to talk about relationships?

Steve Harrington was private jets and brand new Bentley’s. He was a special edition Rolex and had his family's name outside Hawkin’s city hall on a gold plaque. He was silk, leather, polished shoes and freshly ironed shirts. Gold, suede, expensive cologne, yachts in Monaco, a villa in the hills of the French Riviera. But he wasn’t your boyfriend. 

No. He was thousand dollar bottles of whisky, business deals in San Tropez, a private beach club in Marbella. He was parties. He was the party. Cocktail nights with the elite, a grown up rager in someone's mansion, where chandeliers swung from ornate ceilings and the stairs were painted in gold leaf, littered with coked up rich kids who were using daddie’s hundred dollar bills to fill their noses. 

Like the one you were at now, the thumpthumpthump of far away music still managing to reach you three floors up. The entire house was filled with art, a gallery more than a home and twenty something year olds made the place look too messy, black ties loose around men’s necks as girls walked around the marble floors barefoot, bottles of Moët clutched in their hands, each one looking for someone else to fuck. Grecian statues were thrown like footballs, busts of women from too long ago used as something to take a line off of and there were five people in the pool outside, naked, drunk, all taking turns touching each other. 

It was debauchery at its finest. At its richest. 

It was Eddie’s idea. 

He’d invited Steve who’d then picked you up in a car you hadn’t seen before, a deep green Camaro with tan leather seats. It was already late, later than you’d like to have left for the beginning of a night out but Eddie promised a good time and the possibility of a new business venture for Steve.  

The house had been an hour out of town, nestled off into the countryside between a forest and a lake, the long driveway spot lit as it led to the huge brick manor. You’d walked through the door behind Eddie, Steve’s hand on your back as he coaxed you inside and into the chaos. Music, bodies, champagne flutes overflowing on a round table in the foyer, marble flooring, tapestries on the walls, spilled glitter on the stairway and money littering a desk, poker chips on the floor. 

No one greeted you, no one looked at you. But someone slapped Steve on the shoulder and Eddie shook a guy's hand, a bag of white powder exchanged for a rolled up wad of cash. No words were said. So Steve grabbed a mottle of Moët from a tabletop and took your hand, only to lead you up the stairs and Eddie followed, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he winked at the girl on the landing that you all had to step over. 

An empty room, champagne bubbles, two men. 

The bed was huge, a canopy style thing with too many pillows and with gold stitched quilts. Red drapes and low lights, a thick carpet that you dug your toes into when you slipped off your heels and then fell onto the mattress. Eddie followed, tipsy, boisterous, laughing as he did. Steve lazed in an armchair in the corner, long legs splayed out in front of him as he sipped from the bottle, his eyes on the way the hem of your dress slipped up your thighs. 

“How does Steve’s little friend like the lifestyle?” Eddie asked you, grinning. “Is the Moët to your taste, sweetheart?” He was teasing and you knew that, teasing in a lighter way than Steve would because he was smiling and his eyes were kind, his cheek pushed to the bedding as he waited for your answer. 

You took the bottle from Steve and let the bubbles slide down your throat, the fizziness tickling the roof of your mouth and it wasn’t sweet enough. Still, you took it greedily, wetting your lips before you dropped the empty bottle onto the floor with a thud. “I prefer Chardonnay, but it’ll do,” you joked back. 

Eddie laughed and then hummed. He appraised you thoughtfully before his eyes flickered to Steve, dark in the dim light. “Oh yeah, Mr Harrington was kind enough to buy you a whole case of it, huh? I saw the order, sweetheart don’t get flustered.” Eddie reached out to brush a stand of your hair away from your face and from the corner of your eye, you saw Steve sit up a little straighter. “He’s real nice, isn’t he? Likes to spoil a pretty girl like you.”

“Eddie,” Steve’s voice was a warning. 

“Right?” he continued, nodding at you like you’d agreed. You simply watched him from the bed, breath hitching a little when he propped himself onto one elbow so he could look down at you, one finger tracing up and down your forearm. “Jewellery, flowers, nice dinners, nicer dresses,” he trailed off, plucking at the strap of your black dress. “Pretty things for pretty girls. He doesn’t kiss you though, does he?”

The air was sucked out of the room and Steve bristled. “Eddie.”

Eddie ignored him. He tutted sympathetically, pouting at you. “He hasn’t, has he? He never does, some weird rule he has.” You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. But you gasped quietly when Eddie traced a finger over your bottom lip, tugging at it gently until he let it go and it fell back into place with a soft ‘pop’. “Such a shame.”

He pulled away slightly to look back at Steve, who was sitting forward in the chair now, his elbows braved on his knees as he stared at Eddie with a dark expression. Like he was waiting. Warning him. But he didn’t say anything, so Eddie turned back to you. 

“D’you know that Steve and I share things?”

You shook your head, wishing you had the sense to sit up, to collect yourself, to pull the hem of your damn dress down because the warm air that was trapped inside the room - between these two men - was heating up the skin on your thighs. 

“Yeah,” Eddie explained. “Shares, stocks, cars… girls.” He leaned down again, nose bumping against your temple as he whispered theatrically into your, loud enough for Steve to hear. “He likes me more than Hargrove, you see.”

You could hear a pin drop. 

“Do you think he’d let me kiss you, sweetheart? I bet he would.” Eddie was on his hands and knees now, crawling over you, hovering just above, hands braced on either side of your head and he grinned at the way your pupils grew a little bigger, a little darker. Both of you turned your heads to the side, your cheeks pressed to the expensive Egyptian cotton and you both looked at Steve. You weren’t sure what for. For a scolding, for a fight, for approval. 

“C’mon, Harrington,” Eddie broke the silence. “She’s not your girl, is she? You gonna let me taste her? Seeing as you don’t? Bet she’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

Steve let out a huff of breath, his eyes flashing as he gripped the arm of the chair too tight. He sat back into the leather, shoulders stiff and lips in a straight line. “I know how she tastes, Munson, trust me.”

The way they spoke about you like you weren’t there made your skin tingle, an electric current that ran through your bones and you were buzzing, fizzing - but that might’ve been the champagne. But still, Eddie continued, playing Steve until he was flushed in the face with an emotion you couldn’t place. 

“Yeah but those lips look pretty fucking biteable,” Eddie whispered and he ducked his head down, nose brushing yours, lips parting when yours did on instinct. “Could eat her up. Like a little peach, huh?”

Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t stop it. He just sat and stared, cock stirring in his trousers because this is how these parties went and this wasn’t the first time he’d watched his friend take the girl he’d brought on a bed. In fact, this was tame compared to the other nights, lines of coke and whisky on a bedside table, his cock buried in some strange girl's mouth as Eddie took her from behind, shirt buttons ripped open and matching red lipstick on both their chests. 

This was different. It felt different. 

But still, he stayed quiet. 

“You just want a kiss, don’t you?” Eddie cooed as he kept close, nuzzling his nose to your cheek, making sure his lips brushed across your when he moved to the other side. Your hands curled around the outside of his thighs where he kneeled over you, keeping him there, holding tight. You could see Steve out of your peripheral. “Pretty thing like you just wants some lovin’, I know it.”

Then slowly, as if allowing you - or Steve - to stop him, Eddie moved in, kissing your top lip before moving to your bottom, a barely there thing before he was kissing you properly, mouth pushing against yours. He angled his face so Steve could see, so the other boy on the armchair could watch the way he parted his lips and opened your own with his tongue, licking into you in a way that made your back arch. Steve watched the black silk of your dress - the one he bought you - meet Eddie’s shirt, matching colours, black as midnight. Ink on skin, moving against a stranger's sheets. Nipples pebbling against the material as Eddie dragged one of his hands down your sides, lifting your arm up and keeping it above your head so he could drag his fingers down the side of your breast, the material pulling tight over your skin. 

He followed the curve of it, made you gasp into his mouth and then he was groaning, whispering something about how sweet you were, his tongue sweeping over your own before he was ripped away from you. 

Steve had Eddie by the scruff of his shirt, hauling him off of the bed and you until he staggered into the other boy, grinning like this was all the funniest game in the world. You were panting, lips still glossy from Eddie’s kiss, eyes wide with shock because Steve was pulling himself up to his full height, shoulder squared, chin tilted up. 

His nose almost touched Eddie’s. 

“S’wrong, Harrington?” Eddie whispered. He was goading, excited, too amused. “She’s not your girl, right?” Their chests touched but Eddie didn’t back down, still grinning, curls mussed from where he’d lay on the bed with you, your gloss smeared across his own lips, a pretty pink that matched the flush across his cheeks. “You normally don’t mind sharing, dude, what’s the problem?”

Steve’s nostrils flared and he was breathing a little heavier, gaze flickering to you as you sat up and smoothed down your dress, your hair. Part of you wanted to get between the boys, soothe whatever was about to start, but something inside of you wanted to hear what Steve had to say. You stared back at him, feeling too hot, too exposed but you waited, gaze hard on him. 

“Quit playin’, Eddie,” Steve warned and he took one step back, standing in the middle of you and the other boy. He looked flustered, a little put together than he normally did, his eyes dark and his cheeks heated, his back too stiff and he shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the way they were balled into fists. “I’m not in the mood.”

But Eddie kept smiling, hands held out in front of him as if he were surrendering but he continued to smile, eyes shining as kept talking, voice lilting. “Poor thing just wanted a kiss, man, only giving her what you don’t. Sorta mean, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t say anything, you just watched as Steve glared and Eddie grinned, the room filled with something more than faded music, empty champagne bottles and all the leftover bubbles. Tension fizzed in the corners, it made the walls crack and split, it made your chest turn a little too tight. 

“Like I said,” Eddie gestured to you, eyes flirting up and down your frame appreciatively before turning back to Steve, “s’not like she’s your girl, is she?”

The thump of a bassline from two floors down, faint splashes from a pool outside the open window, the smash of a glass. But silence from Steve. 

“Am I?” 

Your voice sounded so much smaller than you wanted it to but you stared at Steve as you watched his jaw tense and flex. He closed his eyes and said something under his breath, something you couldn’t hear, pressing his thumb to the corner of his eye before he faced you. 

“We’ve, uh,” he swallowed and reached for another cigarette. “We’ve spoken about this, honey.” He said it calmly, casually, like you should’ve known better. 

But you had spoken about it at all. Not really. Steve’s silence said more than words and when he only pressed kisses to your cheek, to the insides of your thighs and side of your neck, you’d finally gotten the hint. Steve Harrington didn’t get attached. He didn’t do relationships. He was too busy, and spent too much time between too many cities, too many countries. Steve Harrington had yachts and cars and penthouses and villas. But he didn’t have girlfriends. Not just one, anyway. 

You should’ve known. You had known. But hearing it aloud made it hurt that little bit more. So you nodded as if you agreed and when Steve lit the cigarette and let it hang between his lips, you stared at the floor as he stared at you. Then he was nodding towards the door and expecting you to follow him. 

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t move. Eddie chuckled, a dark thing that made Steve glare at him but he looked over at you, cigarette between his fingers as it turned down quicker than he could smoke it. “Honey, let’s go.”

You still didn’t move. 

So Steve looked at you and then he looked at Eddie and scoffed, waving a dismissive hand before he left the room and left the house. 

Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

You didn’t hear from Steve for the first few days after the party. 

Four days went by without seeing him and honestly, that was okay with you. He stayed away from the clubhouse, even when you saw Billy and Eddie in the lounge, Jonathan at poker nights, Steve wasn’t with them. You saw his car around town now and then, passing the maroon BMW as you drove home from work late at night, watching its tail lights speed away in your rear view mirror. You wondered if he had another girl in the front seat, someone else he called honey and fucked on the living room sofa. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You knew this would happen, you were just stupid enough to let it. You knew you’d get your heart broken, you knew you’d be the one left hurt. Because despite Steve’s proclivity for showering you in gifts and sex, you did have fun with him. He was sweet when he wanted to be, when he took off his suit and tie and shut off his pager. The business calls would stop and he’d forgo the expensive wine and designer shoes in favour of bringing a bag of your favourite chocolate, a dollar from the gas station and more appreciated than he realised. 

There had been a night he’d taken you his kitchen counter, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you with an intensity you’d never felt from him before, his forehead pressed to yours, his soft murmurs falling into your open mouth. 

“Eyes on me, honey, keep watchin.”

“You’re so pretty, y’know that? Could stay inside you all fuckin’ night, Jesus Christ.”

“There she is, there she is, look at you, huh? Fuckin’ perfect at takin’ me.”

It had made you feel giddy, fuzzy, coming on Steve’s cock harder than ever and after he slid out of you he ran you a bath instead of taking you home. He didn’t join you like you asked, scoffing at the idea of lavender bubbles and water hot enough to scald him but he did sit on the tiles, shirtless and with his hands in the tub, fingers trailing over your water slick legs. He told you about the places he’d been, beaches and cities, the towns he’d think you’d like. And in the candle light, at three in the morning, with no one else around, Steve told you that he’d have to take you one day. 

You’d hummed, pleased, heart racing at the idea of something coming from all of this. Not a free holiday, but someone to be with. A boyfriend, maybe, a partner. Someone who loved you as good as they fucked you. You weren’t deluded, you knew this wasn’t love. Not yet. But this handsome man came to the bar one day and decided that you were going to be his in some way or another. He wined you, dined you, spoiled you. Fucked you the way you asked and looked at you with stars in his eyes every time you got on your knees for him. He didn’t want you kissing anyone else, even when he couldn’t bring himself to kiss you. 

There were times you thought he would. Times he looked at you like he wanted to, needed to. Straying closer and closer to your lips every time he kissed you goodnight, a lingering thing on your cheek that you wished you could bottle up and keep. He’d let his lips graze over you when he fucked you, pressing you into the cushions of his couch because even taking you to his bed was too intimate, too much like a relationship. So he’d fuck you slow in his living room, in the glow of the fireplace with the red wine forgotten on the table as he lost himself in it all, mouth skimming over the planes of your cheeks, the slope of your jaw, the very fucking corner of your bottom lip, like that wasn’t as bad as letting him bend you over his mattress. 

Steve Harrington told you that he didn’t get attached, but you weren’t able to promise him the same.  

So your crush gave way to anger, a frustrated annoyance that made your blood simmer when you left work one Wednesday evening, autumn settling over the town as you wrapped your jacket around you a little tighter and headed to your car. Except Steve was leaning against the hood of it, a dozen red roses clutched in one hand. He didn’t look nearly as put together as he normally did, but you thought he was twice as pretty. Still tanned, forever sunkissed even as the leaves on the trees started to fall, dressed in a pair of jeans and an old Harvard sweater. He didn’t go to Harvard, didn’t need to, but he looked every part the preppy boy you would’ve fallen in love with if you’d made it to college. 

He looked softer but still as confident as ever as he stayed lounging against your car, like he was waiting for you to come to him. Instead you rolled your eyes and headed to the driver's side of your old Volkswagen, ignoring him as you passed. 

“Wow, you’re just going to pretend I’m not here?” 

Annoyance flared inside of you at the sound of his voice, unapologetic with a touch of entitlement. You scoffed, turning to the boy only to glare and you opened the drivers door so you could throw in your purse. “Most people would start with an apology, Steve.”

He pushed off the front of your hood and came to you, flowers held out as if to say ‘this is the apology.’ You could smell the flowers in the air, fresh and a vibrant red, overflowing from his hand and you could only imagine the price he paid for something that would wilt and die in a few days. 

“You actually have to say it, you know.” You challenged him, eyes meeting his, unblinking, unwavering. Time spent with the richest man in town had given you some confidence of your own, an unflinching boldness when faced with stares in restaurants, whispers in crowded bars. “I don’t want your gifts.”

“Honey,” Steve tried, reaching for your hand. You moved back, out of his reach. He tried another approach, softer, sweeter. “Baby, c’mon. I’m sorry, alright? I am. I shouldn’t have acted like that at the party.”

He was right, he shouldn’t have. So you nodded but kept away, standing stiff and tense as you decided whether you should ask what you wanted to. You crossed your arms, a protective stance, and tried to sound braver than you felt. “Why wasn’t Eddie allowed to kiss me?”

Steve stared at you before he scoffed, setting the roses on your car roof before he shoved his hands into his pockets. His face became passive, a mask, a shield, the one he used on business calls and during luncheons with shareholders in his fathers companies. “So that’s what we’re doing now, huh? Kissing other people in front of each other?”

You could feel your frustration rising to the surface, bubbling and simmering and ready to explode out of you. “Why shouldn’t we? You said it yourself, we’re not together. I’m not your girlfriend.”

Steve avoided the question, eyes flashing instead and he swiped a hand over his face, through his hair. “Honey, please, like you wouldn't throw a fit if I took someone out to dinner, hm? If you found out I’d been taking someone else to nice restaurants and—”

“How do I know that’s not happening already!” You shot back, almost too loud. Mr and Mrs Lewinsky were walking arm and arm to their Mercedes, glancing over to the corner you car was tucked into. Thank god it was dark. You turned back to Steve, face heated. “You leave, like all the time. You’re gone for days and weeks, all over the world with villas and hotel rooms and penthouse apartments. You expect me to believe you don’t have a girl in every city? There’s not another me waiting for you on your living room couch in New York? Monaco? Italy? France? Oh, I’m sorry, do you maybe let them into your bed?”

Steve swore, looking around the parking lot as more people started to flood out now that dinner was over. Valets were moving cars down to the door and you could hear the voice of Frederick bidding guests goodbye. He held his hand out, “give me your keys.”

You stared at him, face screwed up. “What?”

“I said,” Steve repeated calmly, “give me your keys and get in the car.”

You scoffed, “no, I’m not going anywhere with you. And you’re not driving my fucking car.”

“I’m not having this conversation here,” Steve muttered and his voice was annoyed. “Either get in and let me drive or I’m marching you across the lot to my own car and you can wave to your boss at the same time.”

Annoyance pricked at your skin, a thousand needles of anger that made your back stiffen and your eyes narrow. “You drive like a fucking formula one wannabe,” you hissed, but still you threw your keys at his chest and marched round to the passenger seat, not caring to see if he caught them or not. “You fuck up my wheels, you’re buying me new alloys, Steve.”

Steve threw himself into the driver's seat and laughed meanly, lifting the bouquet of roses and throwing them into the backseat. Petals scattered everywhere. He slammed the door with the same amount of aggression as you did and once you were seated, he turned to you and smiled too sweetly. “Honey, I’ll buy you a new goddamn car, okay? Put your seatbelt on.”

You sat, stubborn, arms crossed and staring out the window. Your seatbelt remained unfastened. Steve revved the engine and despite the headlights stopping them from seeing who was behind the wheel of the beat up old Volkswagen, they were still staring. 

“Stop it,” you hissed. “Just, get us out of here, god.”

“Seatbelt,” Steve repeated. You didn’t move and he tutted. “Where did my good girl go, huh?” He leaned over you and you remained passive, even when his breath was on your jaw and his hand slid around your hip as he did the belt for you. “You used to be so good at doing what you were told.”

“I’m not your girl,” you reminded him, smiling in a way that was anything but friendly. You felt dead behind the eyes, nothing but annoyance when you looked at Steve right then. “Remember?”

Steve grunted, swearing under his breath as he pulled away too fast and the wheels screeched as he sped out of the clubhouse parking lot. He hit sixty on the country roads at the back of Hawkins, screaming past the lake before he pulled off the road, just as you were ready to tell him off. He parked up in an empty lot, nothing but dirt and trees and a view of the water tower in the distance. 

“There’s no other girls,” he said, breaking the silence. It was easier not to yell in the dark, in the closeness of the front of the car, where everything felt intimately softer than before. 

“What?” You scrunched your face, mostly in disbelief as you tried to recall what you had yelled at him before he drove your car away from the scene. 

“There aren’t any girls in other cities. There’s no one fucking waiting for me in Monaco, or, or Cannes, or L.A, no one, okay?”

You scoffed, disbelieving and you unclipped your seatbelt so you could lean against the door, facing him. Steve was still gripping the wheel with one hand, another swiping tiredly over his face, but for what it was worth, he looked sincere. But still, annoyance and the lingering feeling of rejection clawed in your stomach, an awful, ugly thing that made you sneer. 

“Whatever, you really expect me to believe that? The front page of the Hawkins Post ran a damn article about how your new yacht had a mirrored ceiling in one of the bedrooms.” You laughed meanly, sadly, hoping your voice didn’t crack. “Okay, Hugh Hefner, excuse me if I don’t buy your bullshit.”

Steve groaned again, a long suffering thing and he pulled at his sweater sleeves, rolling them up his forearms until his watch face glinted in the light of the moon. “Fine, okay, yeah, I used to! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

No, it wasn’t. 

“Had a girl for each damn arm, alright? But I haven’t— I haven’t—” Steve swallowed and you watched the harsh way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the furrow in his brow deepen. He didn’t look at you when he said, “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

It was a surprise, that was for sure. And what was even more startling, was the fact that you believed him, you truly did. Gone was the businessman facade, the smooth tone of voice that made you call him Mr Harrington. Instead there was a young man in front of you who was doing his best to make you understand. 

“I don’t do relationships, honey, you knew that,” Steve said and he sounded almost sad. “I don’t kiss girls and hope they fall in love with me, I don’t bring them home and take to my bed and let them believe we’ll wake up together in the morning and fuckin’ cuddle.”

You blinked away tears, angry, upset, frustrated tears that burned the corners of your eyes. You sniffed, annoyed, venomous. “Fine. I’m far from declaring my undying adoration for you Steve, don’t worry. But you don’t then get to decide who I get to kiss if you don’t wanna do it yourself.”

Steve stiffened then, turning to you with an angry flash in his eyes and hard set to his jaw. He narrowed his gaze at you and shook his head. “Don’t test me, honey.”

You scoffed, defiant. “Whatever. Take me home, you can walk back to your car.”

“I’m not done talking,” Steve frowned and he couldn’t believe it when you simply laughed and got out of the car. He jumped out after you, bewildered at the sight of you walking through mud and the littering of fallen leaves in your clubhouse uniform, heels and all. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Walking,” you shot back, “what does it look like!” 

“Get in the damn car,” Steve said your name and it sounded like a warning, “it’s pitch fuckin’ black out here.”

You didn’t turn around though, arms crossed right across your chest because you’d left your coat in your locker like an idiot. “Then I’ll find a pay phone, call for a ride. Maybe Eddie will come get me.” It was a cheap blow, but it did exactly what it was supposed to. 

The sound of heavy feet marching up behind you, a hand on your arm to stop you from moving and then Steve was in front of you, face scrunched in anger, in frustration. He held your shoulders, slipped his wide hands down the length of your arms until he eased them from your chest and held your fingers between his. 

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Steve asked, his voice a little louder than it had been earlier. He seemed to unravel slightly, a panic in his tone that you’d never heard before. “I— I take you out, I treat you good, right? But you presents ‘n’ pretty things, fuckin’ flowers and shoes and dresses and take you to restaurant openings, parties and, and—”

“I don’t want any of that, Steve!” You yelled, eyes wide. You felt too hot despite the cold night. “I never wanted any of that! I didn’t ask for it.” You blew out a breath but you didn’t drop his hands. “I appreciated it, all of it, I did. I do. But I didn’t need any of that! I enjoyed being with you.”

Steve shook his head at you, lips parted and a look of confusion on his face. Like he’d never been told such a thing before. “So, so what? You want Eddie? None of that, but you want Eddie, is that it?”

You huffed, head thrown back in exasperation and you counted to three, staring at the stars blinking back at you in the night sky and you wondered what you were doing here, you wondered what cruel twist of fate led you to sit down with Steve Harrington that night in the lounge. 

“No,” you eventually said, calmer than you’d sounded before. “No, I don’t want Eddie. God, Steve, I wanted you, alright? This whole time, just you. Not your money, or your cars or your houses or anything else. Just you. I wanted to hold your hand and go on dates. Somewhere stupid and lame like the movies, or, or a drive through for a cheap burger and shake. I wanted you to kiss me goodnight and kiss me good morning and maybe, I don’t know,  have sex with me on a mattress like a normal couple.”

You sniffed, willing away the tears that came with your speech. You weren’t prepared to cry over a man who didn’t want you the way you wanted him. But you watched Steve’s expression fall, a crumpled thing that made him look young and boyish. He dropped your hands only to move closer and cup your face instead, his thumb soothing over your bottom lip like he could will your upset away. You watched his gaze fall to your mouth, following the movements his thumb made across the seam of your lips like he wanted to put his against yours. His lips parted and he looked pained. 

“I’m not asking you to fucking marry me, Steve, but god, why won’t you at least kiss me? Am I that much of a throw away toy for you that you won’t even—”

“Because if I kiss you, I’ll fucking fall in love with you, okay!” Steve barked out, sudden and rushed and panicked sounding. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath, letting his hands fall to your neck, his head falling forward. “God.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. 

“You don’t think I know I can get any girl I want?” Steve laughed and it sounded powerful, it sounded like money. “Honey, I walked into the club that day and saw your pretty face and knew I was fucked.” Steve lifted his head so you could see him again, lips parted in surprise at his admission but he just smiled. He brought a hand back to your cheek, smoothed a thumb over the apple of it, down the line of your jaw. “So I told myself I could just have some with you, see how good you looked without that uniform on, maybe spoil you a little and whatnot.”

“You’re a pig,” you told him but you didn’t move away. 

“I know,” Steve shrugged. “Wasn’t looking for a wife honey, I just loved the way you got all huffy with me, how sweet you’d get when I got my hands on you.” Steve dragged his thumb down your neck, pressed lightly and watched the way you tilted your chin up for him. “You’re just so fucking pretty.”

“But then you had to get under my skin didn’t you? Thought about you all the goddamn time and couldn’t look at any other girl without seeing your face instead.” Steve tsked, walked you backwards until you were against the side of your car and pressed against him. “Hated it at first, you know. Tried to stay away for longer than I needed to, but shit, got back into town and went straight to the club to see you. There you were, pretty as ever and chewing me out for being gone too long, callin’ me Mr Harrington like you knew it would get me so fuckin’ hot for you.”

Steve grinned when you whined, a knee jerk response to the way he was sliding a hand around your upper thigh, up under the hem of your dress and your head hit the door of your car with a dull thud. “Ate at Michelin star restaurants all ‘round the world, honey, but I’ve never tasted anything as good as you, you know that?” He was on your throat now, mouthing up it, licking a line along your neck until he could nip at your jaw. “Want you, all the time. Just you. It drives me fucking insane and I dunno what to do.”

You felt the fight leave you and you hated yourself for it, feeling weaker every time Steve put his mouth on your skin and his nose was pressed to your cheek now, one hand in your hair and the other squeezing at the dough do your ass under your dress, pulling up the hem of it to expose you to the cool air and it was all filthy. It was all exactly why you entered into this whole situation in the first place. Steve Harrington - money and family name or not - made you feel like you were on fucking fire. 

So you grabbed at him, tried to fight back in other ways, with fingers in his hair so you could tug him down and let him latch his mouth to your neck. He scraped his teeth along the column of it, groaning when you pulled meanly. Steve swore, licking over the bruise he’d marked you with, a pink-red bloom on your skin that would remind you of him even days later. His nose bumped yours as he leaned down to you, crowding you against the car and up against his chest and you were panting, waiting for it, feeling the way he let his nose graze yours, a teasing back and forth that left his mouth hovering over yours. 

“Get in the back,” Steve whispered and it was a quiet order, a soft demand, one that you knew you’d bend to because you were soaked, clit pulsing against the lace of your underwear, and shit, Steve knew that too. 

But it didn’t mean you weren’t going to make him work for it. 

“No,” you argued back. You didn’t mean it, this was foreplay. This was everything that got Steve a little hot under the collar, the way you played pretend and tried to get your own way. “You can fuck me here, ‘gainst the door.”

Steve laughed and he pressed the sound into your cheek, teeth against your skin and he pushed a kiss there, a smattering of them as his hands went back under your dress and he pulled down your underwear with the tips of his fingers. He let them fall to the ground, not bothering to pick them up. 

“Get in the car, honey. Front or back, you decide, but either way you’re gonna ride me, okay?” Steve told you and that big, bad businessman voice was back, the one that made your toes curl and your cunt ache. Sweet, syrupy, demanding. He brought a hand between your thighs and cupped you, groaning at the heat and the slick that coated his fingers as he swept them through your folds. “She’s missed me,” he cooed, not asking but telling. Like it was a fact. 

“This is the last time,” you told him and it felt like you were trying to tell yourself that too. “We don’t want the same things, fuck—” you were cut off on a gasp when Steve circled your clit, his gaze heavy and dark as he leaned in and let his forehead touch yours. “S’all gonna end in a mess.”

“In the car, honey,” Steve reminded you, neither agreeing or arguing with your words. There wasn’t any point. You both knew this wasn’t the end. “C’mon, be a good girl for me.”

So you stepped out of your underwear and left them lying, like some sick white flag, a symbol of surrender as you pushed Steve away and opened the back door, sliding over the seats as Steve joined you. The door clicked shut and silence took over, the dark and heavy kind that came with the late night, the one that carried a special type of tension and it filled the whole space, it fizzed and crackled in the air between you and it made you fucking breathless. 

You watched with a tight chest as Steve sat back in the middle  seat, already looking wrecked, his hair a mess from your greedy fingers. He spread his legs as much as he could in the tight space and he nodded to his lap, where you could already see the outline of his dick pressed under the denim. “Sit,” he said. 

Not feeling as ready to argue anymore, you listened to the throbbing between your legs and obeyed, the top of your head grazing the car roof as you slid onto Steve’s lap, thighs spread over his in a way that made you burn that white-blue type of hot, because your dress was too short and your underwear was still outside. He could see everything when you looked down, hem of your uniform flirting too high, the dirty spread of you on display. Even in the low light he could see you shine, wet and ready, all for him. 

But Steve kept his hands on the seats, practically lounging as he tilted his head back to look at you from where you were perched on top of him. He studied you, like a piece of art he was ready to buy. His eyes found yours before his gaze dropped to your nose, your cheeks, the line of your jaw, the slope of your neck. Then he found your lips, parted and wanting, the tip of your tongue peeking from between as if you were just dying for something to taste. 

Maybe his fingers, you liked that. The heavy feel of them on your tongue so you could suck on them while he fucked you slow. Maybe his neck, right where it met his shoulder, that almost always bruised piece of skin that you bit down on when you came, riding Steve’s cock somewhere you shouldn’t and you had to keep quiet. Maybe you wanted his dick, too big to take all of it, but the stretch of your jaw and the hot slide of it over your tongue made you rock your hips against nothing, especially when Steve was feeling extra sweet and swept his hands over your face when you sucked him off, thumbing at the corners of your full mouth as he told you how pretty you looked. 

But he offered none of those. No. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “what do you want?”

You looked at him, a question mark on your face, just able to see the shine of his eyes and the strong lines of his nose and jaw in the dark. His hands remained by his sides. “What?”

Steve smiled, just a small thing. “I said, what do you want?”

“You,” you answered shyly, only after a beat or two of quiet. You kept it deliberately vague, leaving it to the boy to decipher if that meant sex or more. Or both. “I want you, Steve.”

“You don’t want my money,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. He knew that already. “Not interested in where I could take you, what I could buy you. No,” Steve's voice grew warmer, softer, fond. “Told you before, didn’t I? I know my girl just wants fucked.”

You squirmed, nodding. Because if this was the last time, you’d make sure you enjoyed it. But then Steve did something even more unexpected. He let his hands settle on your thighs, still a little cold from being outside and you hissed at the slide of them going upupup. He didn’t touch your cunt though, didn’t let his fingers play with you like he usually did. 

“C’mere,” he asked instead. “Close your eyes, yeah?”

Your brows stitched together at his request. You were hardly a stranger to blindfolds and surprises, but this didn’t seem like the time or place. 

“You trust me?” Steve whispered and his gaze was on your lips, waiting. 

It didn’t take you long to nod, because yes, despite it all, despite Steve’s issues with… commitment, you did trust him. You believed him about the other girls, about everything. 

“Good girl. Close your eyes,” Steve asked again and you did. 

The car seemed smaller with one sense gone. Eyes shut and Steve so near. You could feel his warmth, the way he moved into you a little more, closer than before until his breath was fanning over your mouth and chin and his nose was bumping yours. Your stomach tumbled. 

“I can’t promise you anything,” he whispered into you. You could feel his lips moving, a barely there ghost against your own. His touch felt like a secret. “I don’t know how— how to be someone’s boyfriend. I’ve never done that. But I can try, if you’ll let me.”

You weren’t sure when your own hands had moved but they were fisting the front of Steve’s sweater. The letters for Harvard crushed in your palms and you were holding on for dear life. 

“You said this was the last time,” Steve murmured and you wanted to open your eyes, you wanted to stare him down and challenge him but you did as he asked. You kept your eyes closed. “Is this the last time, baby?”

Baby. 

“Or are you gonna give me a chance? I’ll do my best for you, I swear, I’ll try,” Steve’s mouth was moving over your cheek, kisses pressed there between each word until he was mouthing along your jaw and chin and you were weak, sitting on top of him and feeling like you could melt. “I’ll try for you, honey, don’t wanna lose you. Don’t want you with someone else.”

He was talking faster now, like there was an urgency there that wasn’t before and his hands were skimming up from your thighs to squeeze at your waist before his palms were cupping your jaw and pulling you to him. His lips touched yours, only just and you gasped like you’d been burned. Steve kept you there, panting hard, his own eyes closed now and his brow furrowed. 

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered and his voice cracked. Gone was the businessman. He smelled like mint toothpaste and cologne, like sunscreen. “We can stop this here and I’ll let you go and we can pretend we never met, if that’s what you want.”

You only clung to him tighter, one hand trailing blindly up his neck until you could pull at the longer hairs there and hold him. You made a noise of protest, tears lining your lashes as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut tighter so they’d stay in. You shook your head, nose brushing Steve’s, lips moving over his so, so briefly. 

“I don’t want to stop.”

You weren’t sure what you thought your first kiss with Steve Harrington would be like. You’d thought about it a lot, sure. But it was usually in the heat of the moment, when he was inching inside of you, hips slapping against your own, your fingers tight in his hair and whispering filthy things to each other. You thought he’d kiss you like that, hard and fast and messy, with a dirty lick of his tongue. But Steve moved slowly, almost shy. He hesitated as he brought his thumb over your cheek, a brief touch before he was closing the gap and meeting your lips with his. 

It was slow, careful. Soft. A gentle thing and Steve exhaled shakily, his breath fanning over your cheek as he tilted his head and let you press closer. His lips parted, tongue swiping over yours as the kiss deepened and when you let out a soft noise of appreciation, the boy groaned and his hands fell to your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer still. 

Once he started, it was like he couldn’t stop. 

Steve pulled away only briefly for you both to suck in a breath, his lips finding yours again until the kiss turned into the kind you’d thought about, a messy, dirty thing that had you whining into his open mouth, tugging at his hair until he let you swallow each groan. Steve’s eyes were closed when he spoke, chest heaving, words a low, rough rasp and his hands were under your dress now, fingertips skimming up the inside of your thighs until you were squirming. 

“Want it, honey? Yeah?” Steve was mouthing over your jaw, kissing at your cheek as you panted, pulling at his belt buckle until you could free his cock from his boxers. He sounded drunk, wrecked. “That’s it, good girl, c’mon, take it. S’all yours.”

Steve let his head fall back, resting on the back seat of the car, eyes hooded as he watched you. You didn’t waste any time, pulling at the button of his jeans until you had enough room to free his cock. He was already hard, leaking for you, his breath hitching when you wrapped a small hand around him and pumped once, twice. You swiped a thumb over the tip, dragged the slick back down the length of him and leaned in, intent on making Mr. Steve fucking Harrington, business man, millionare, poker winner, car collector, fall apart for you.

Your nose slid against and your bottom lip brushed his, a teasing thing that you managed to not give into, even when Steve's lips chased yours. He’d made you wait months for a kiss, he could wait another minute or two. You pumped his cock again, fisting it a little tighter, the way you’d learned that he’d liked. He was quick to pant into your mouth, lips catching yours when he titled his chin up for you.

“Tell me it’s mine,” you coaxed, voice low and sweet, just the way Steve loved to speak to you. You palmed his cock, voice sugar. “Tell me this is mine.”

Steve’s hands swept up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin, grip bordering on too tight, a possessive touch. He was breathing heavily, the windows in the car starting to steam up, condensation running tracks down the glass. “S’yours,” he slurred, drunk sounding, softer than ever. “S’your cock, honey, promise.”

You couldn’t wait any longer, rutting yourself against Steve’s thigh as you touched him, foreheads pressed together, lips catching against each other and it pulled a moan from both of you when you raised up on your knees. Dirty, wet noises filled the car as you ran the head of his cock through your folds and Steve dragged your dress up, pushing the material over your hip so he could watch you sink down onto him, taking every inch.

He helped you bounce, up and down, up and down before you started a lazy roll of your hips, grinding down against the boy until you were pulling on his hair and whining into the crook of his neck. It was all too much and Steve’s hand grabbed at the nape of your neck, hand fisting in your own hair, bordering on too tight but he brought your face back to his, eyes half lidded as he gazed at you and pleaded: “shit, honey, kiss me? Kiss me, please, fuck-- m’gonna come.”

His neediness made you groan, a pitchy, breathy noise that Steve soon swallowed, your lips melting between his as he caught you in a kiss, open mouthed and possessive, teeth and tongues as he came. His hips bucked up as you rode him harder and the boy let go of your hair to cup your jaw, his free hand falling to rub at your clit with two fingers, white hot pleasure shooting up your spine. You fell into him, letting Steve catch you and you kissed him, eyes glassy, squeezed shut, your mouth on his as you both came hard. You felt Steve’s cock twitch, spilling into you as he kissed you, chest heaving against yours and as your hips slowed, so did his kisses, softer, kinder.

“You okay?” he breathed, breath fanning over your lips, your cheeks, your gaze blurry and unfocused. “Baby, you with me?”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

You nodded, nose knocking against his but you didn’t dare pull away. You didn’t want to. And by the looks of things, Steve wasn’t ready to let you go either. His hands soothed over your hair, pushing back the stray strands that clung to your damp forehead, your warm cheeks. He was still inside of you, softening only slightly, a mix of you both spilling over your thighs. It was dirty, filthy, it was the most tender thing you’d experienced with him.

“So good,” Steve breathed, cheeks flushed, his eyes shining. He looked drunk, he looked as gone as you felt, his hands roaming over you, touching every piece of bare skin he came across, palming greedily at your hips, your thighs, your ass. He dotted a line of kisses from your neck to your cheek, nosing there until you lifted your chin for him and kissed his lips, sighing as you did. “So fuckin’ good for me, all the time, huh? My girl, fuck, you’re so pretty, so, so pretty.”

You lazed against him, soaking up his touch, his words, the insane feel of his lips over your skin, your throat, chasing your lips until you pressed into him, opening your mouth when he did, tongues brushing over each other in languid strokes. Steve kissed like he fucked, like he wanted you to feel every part, like he wanted you to remember it for days.

“Come home w’me,” he murmured into your lips, never leaving them, never stopping his kisses. Steve whispered between words, hummed happily when your hands clasped his cheeks, when your fingers trailed over the stubble on his jaw. “Come back to mine, please. We can talk ‘bout everything. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning, I’ll wake up beside you. Please.”

Your heart stopped at the idea of it all. The intimacy you hadn’t been given yet. The thought of Steve talking to you about something as serious and long term as a relationship. No dropping you home after five orgasms, kissing the back of your hand as he dropped you at your apartment at three am. No running off to an airport, no flights, no meetings, no business calls to interrupt. 

“You can’t cook,” is what you said, voice muffled by his shoulder, the way your face was buried in the crook of his neck. 

Steve scoffed, laughing even though you could hear the nerves there. He nosed at your cheek until you emerged, a hand wrapping gently around your neck, thumb pushed to the underside of your chin so you’d meet his gaze and the sincerity there took your breath away. You were still on his lap, his softening cock still inside of you but neither of you made the move to unravel from the other.

“I mean it,” he whispered and in the quiet of the night it was like you could hear his heartbeat. A thumpthumpthump that rattled the air between you, but fuck, maybe that was your own. “Come home with me, honey. I wanna-- I wanna make this right.”

-------

The next morning, Steve woke you up with his lips on your cheek, a soft, cautious thing that you leaned into even half asleep. Your bare chest pressed to his, your legs stretching out alongside the boy’s. You turned, arms needling around Steve’s neck so you could find his lips with yours, mouths searching, needy, suddenly desperate even with half closed eyes. 

“Morning,” you murmured.

“Mornin’, honey,” Steve whispered back and you couldn’t see with your closed eyes but the boy was smiling, soft and proud and fond. 

You were right, the night before, in the car. Steve didn’t cook. So after a shared shower where you let Steve hook your leg over his shoulder and kiss at your cunt until you came on his tongue - his eyes on your the entire time, his nose squished all pretty against your pussy as he came in his own fist, the waterfall shower raining down on you both - Steve took you out for breakfast.

Dressed in a pair of his running shorts that you had to roll up and one of his hoodies that had a tiny Yves Saint Laurent logo on the chest, you were relieved to find a pair of sneakers in your trunk. You’d mumbled that you’d looked ridiculous, but Steve had just used your embarrassment to kiss you again, hands on your cheeks and pulling you to him in the driveway. 

He got to take his car instead of yours, only because you got to choose where to eat. 

So Steve Harrington drove you both from his three story townhouse in his shiny BMW to a Mom and Pop’s just out of town. He held your hand across the parking lot, held the door open for you and plucked at his sweater collar to pull you in for a kiss over the table, red leather seats sticking to his expensive jeans. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t complain, didn’t mutter about missing out on eggs benedict and caviar at the clubhouse because here, he got to kiss you all he wanted.

And it was worth it, to watch the way you softened for him, feet against his under the table, sharing a strawberry milkshake that didn’t really go with the hashbrowns and bacon you’d ordered. It was worth it, to leave his pager at home, to ignore the incessant beeping, emails pinging in his office about flights, meetings, business deals, money, shares, stocks. 

Steve was realising it was all worth it, to have you. 

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life 

Three Years Later.

The sway of the boat made you feel weightless. A miracle really, considering how heavy you actually felt. The italian sun warmed your skin, mostly bare from your bikini, straps slipping down your shoulders as you lay flat on a lounger, sunglasses covering your eyes from the harsh blue skies above.

The water was the same colour, the gentle lap of the ocean on the sides making you sleepy. The bustle of the city was barely heard, Monaco in the distance as the yacht bobbed just outside of the harbour. Despite its size, The Smart Girl hardly had anyone on board. You were on the deck, catching the last of the day’s sun, with a few staff members milling around. And Steve? Steve was in one of the rooms he’d made into his office from home, a big oak desk taking up most of the space and he’d sit for hours taking calls, pouting at you from the open door as he tried to coax you in to sit on his lap. You’d always refuse, stretching out on your lounger, bikini top riding up, giving him a show until he could string enough words together to make an excuse to whatever big shot millionaire was on the other end of the line.

“There’s my baby.”

The lounger dipped as Steve pushed a knee to the cushion, crowding over you, leaning in to greet you with a kiss, tasting like aperol and oranges. You hummed into him, salt on both of your lips from the sun, the sea. Steve kissed your cheek too, moving down to nuzzle at your neck as his hand skimmed over your belly, the slight swell of it making your red bikini bottoms stretch out.

“And my other baby,” Steve cooed cupping your growing tummy. 

“You said an hour, tops,” you complained but there wasn’t any heat behind it. It was hard to be annoyed about Steve leaving you to your own devices when the Mediterranean sea was rocking you to sleep. “No more business, right?”

Steve smirked at your bossiness, nodding as he leaned back down to ghost some kisses along your shoulder, he nipped at your jaw and hummed. “No more business, honey. M’all yours.”

The trip was supposed to be a babymoon of sorts, even though you were only a few months into your pregnancy and you were sure Steve would whisk you off somewhere else warm and sunny as the months passed. But he’d promised no business, no meetings and when the chance to join a conference call with the owner of the city's most prestigious club arose, Steve caved. 

“I’ll buy you somethin’ pretty to make up for it,” he’d told you and you’d tried to act huffy but after three years together, the man saw right through you. 

“How’d the call go?” You asked him, eyeing him greedily as he popped some buttons on his shirt, the white linen falling open to show off sunkissed skin, the gold chain around his neck. 

Steve slipped his sunglasses from his pocket onto his nose, made sure to wink at you over the frame of them so you knew he saw your appreciative gaze. He stretched out next to you, one of the staff members appearing - Paul - with a tray of lemon water and glasses as he got comfy. “It went well,” he smiled his thanks to Paul and gave you a class, coaxing you to drink up. “We scheduled another call for when we’re back home to iron out some details. I told him my pretty wife would have me thrown overboard if I took any longer.”

Steve grinned when you frowned. “I wouldn’t do that,” you mumbled. “I’d just yell at you for a bit.”

Steve leaned in, still smiling, nosing along your jawline as his hand plucked at the flimsy strap of your bikini. “You know that would just get me all hot, right?”

You rolled your eyes and tried to hide your smile in his neck, tipping it back to let Steve kiss the skin there. He still smelled like he did when you first met him, the same expensive cologne, sunscreen and the Italian countryside. “You make me sound so bossy,” you murmured, meeting him for a kiss. 

“You are,” Steve whispered, his hand back on your tummy, his thumb running over the bump in soft circles. “M’whipped, remember?” He held up his other hand, the band on his ring finger glinting in the sun. 

“You complained when Eddie said it,” you teased. 

“That’s ‘cause Eddie’s a dick,” Steve shot back but it was light hearted. “Speaking of, I promised him we’d meet him for dinner when we got back. I know it’s not your favourite but—”

“The clubhouse?” You groaned, pouting. “Really?”

“He loves the steak tartare there, honey, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I was fired from there—” you reminded him, voice surly. 

“You’re a member there,” Steve quipped back. He kissed your palm, over your knuckles, lips grazing the diamond on your finger. 

“—after my boss caught you going down on me in the ladies changing rooms,” you continued, cheeks still hot at the memory even if it was years ago. You’d never forget the expression on Frederick’s face. “I can’t look that man in the eye, never mind order dinner from him.”

“Fun times,” Steve smirked. “Don’t you love being able to click your fingers at the man who made your life hell? Order the most expensive champagne with all your money?”

You whined, a fake complaint as Steve manhandled you into his lap, letting you lie between his legs, your back resting his chest. He was warm from the sun, strong, solid. “I don’t click my fingers at anyone, Harrington. It’s rude. And it’s not my money, I’m unemployed. I’m basically a leech,” you pouted up at him, all faux dramatics. 

Steve snorted at your words before leaning down, skimming his lips over your hairline, his hands, wide and warm, cupping the swell of your tummy. “You’re not unemployed, you’re on maternity leave. And studying. No woman of mine is working while she’s growing our baby,” he kissed your nose when you tilted your chin up to him, smiling. “And what’s mine is yours, Harrington,” he shot back. 

“Your woman?” You raised your brows at his words. 

“My favourite one,” Steve whispered. He was still all charm, even after the years had passed. His voice grew softer then, fingers trailing up your ribs. “Can’t wait to take you home - both of you - get settled, build a crib, paint a nursery.”

“You’re not building a crib,” you laughed, eyes shining. It was easy, it was wonderful, being this is love. This happy. “Have you even held a hammer before, Steve?”

He responded by nipping at your neck, enticing a squeal from you, a choked laugh. “You’re incredibly rude, Mrs Harrington, I’ll let you know I have, actually.”

You turned in his arms, kneeling between his thighs and you watched as his eyes darkened, gaze trailing over the way your breasts pushed out, the way your thighs pressed themselves together. “That’s not important,” he answered tartly and he grinned when you snorted. 

The new house back in Indiana was modest, by Steve’s standards. But he’d let you choose, a family home that was built in the 1800’s with big, bay windows, original cornicing and a fireplace in each bedroom. A perfect family home, with more rooms in it than you could’ve ever imagined having.

It had been easier than you’d thought, to get here. With Steve Harrington, married and with a baby on the way. Not that you’d expected it, not back then. But weeks turned into months and months turned into years, your first anniversary sailing by without much issue. There were arguments, forlorn phone calls when Steve left for business and you had to work, shouting matches when the boy came home and tried to get you to quit work altogether, ‘cause you didn’t need a wage when you had him, right?

But he was quick to compromise, when it came to you. Kissing away your upset, swapping expensive gifts for genuine apologies, your favourite flowers that came by the handful instead of the boxes of hundred dollar bouquets made by someone else. Was he smug about it when the job at The Lake House came to an end? Sure. Too smug, maybe, considering he gave a half assed apology to Frederick with your lipstick trailed across his cheek and jaw. But he supported you - celebrated you - when you got a new position in a paralegal’s office, picking back up your textbooks that you once had to abandon. 

There was a big bed to share now, a wardrobe that held both your clothes, suits and silk dresses, your old sweaters, Steve’s knitwear that was practically all yours. Your toothbrush next to his, your vinyls next to his record player, a stocked fridge with all the ingredients for his favourite meals, ready for you to reach him how to cook. There was sex, holidays, hotels, more sex, nights on the sofa with blankets and movies, a diamond, Steve in the driver's seat in the parking lot of that Mom ‘n’ Pops diner, the ring clutched between his shaky fingers as he told you how much he loved you. A pregnancy test, staring back at you both from the bathroom vanity, a year after the wedding in Cannes, the honeymoon in the Maldives. 

Unplanned, yes? Unexpected, definitely. Did it make you both overwhelmingly excited? More than you could express. 

Steve took your chin in his hand, pulling you in, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip, his eyes growing softer when you kissed at it. “Are you happy?” he whispered.

“With you?” you answered, smiling. “Always.

[36924]

[36924]

I love you guys, so for WIP Wednesday, you get the first two and a half pages of my unnamed, but currently named "Steve Makes Eddie Apologize to Lucas for Not Postponing Hellfire for the Championship Game" fic. Uh, I don't think there's any warnings, but here we go.

——— “So, you and Eddie, huh?”

Steve startles at the sound of a voice, deep and hushed, from where he's been waiting in Hawkins High’s parking lot. Hellfire was supposed to be out by now—6:50pm if his watch is correct—it’s their first time back since March and it would be cordial. But it seems that only Lucas got that memo.

“Jesus Christ, Sinclair!” He yelps. Holds his right palm flat against his chest, trying his best to rescind the spike of panic that is crawling through him. “I thought I told you to quit doing that,” he harshly whispers, rubbing his palm against his shirt. The scratchy material of his polo a balm against his nerves.

“Sorry,” Lucas sheepishly murmurs. Speaking at a normal volume, he asks again, “So, you and Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes. “What about me and Eddie? Can’t I just hang out with the guy without being pestered?”

Lucas shrugs. “You can do whatever you want,” he states, but Steve can already tell there’s somehow more. “But I didn’t think you two would be…buddies. Considering how he feels about, y’know, sports and whatever.”

For a moment, Steve considers Lucas’s approach. His fidgeting hands and his slightly closed off eyes. The hunch to his shoulders and the general unease that accompanies talking about Eddie. Which, that’s particularly odd. Aren’t they buddies, Steve questions himself. Wrapped up in the Hellfire club, their mutual interest in Dungeons & Dragons, the ragtag group of nerds that they are—all of that is perfect for their oddball friendship, at least Steve thought so.

“What’s wrong with you and Eddie?” Steve asks, beating around the bush. He doesn’t do cryptic. And he especially doesn’t do it with somebody like Lucas, a kid already smarter than him by several margins.

There isn’t an answer right away. But Lucas’s shoulders drop. His eyes go from frustrated to…sad. “Remember my championship game?” He asks, though it seems a bit much of a topic change. What does this have to do with Eddie, Steve has to wonder.

“Well, yeah,” he answers instead, “I was there. Had a pathetic date with a girl I hardly enjoyed being around. Mocked Tammy Thompson with Robin. Watched you get that winning shot. It was a, genuinely, awesome championship game.” And that’s the truth. It’s the best one he’s ever witnessed. Which is saying something, considering he’d played several championship games. All of them, though, were major losses. He’ll take those to the grave with him, with how often his previous basketball teams teased him.

Lucas gives a harsh single nod, a small smile that whisks away as soon as it appears. “Right,” he mutters, “I remember.” He leans against the Beemer’s bumper, shoulder brushing with Steve’s. Looks forlorn towards the high school’s doors, where Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire bunch should be spilling out any moment now. Steve looks on with him. Listens as Lucas’s voice drops low, nearly angry, fully spiteful, “I begged Dustin and Mike to talk to Eddie about my game. To see if the Hellfire campaign—which would be happening the same night—could be moved. And I, look, I understand that D&D means a lot to all of them, it means something to me, too. But I was really hoping to see my friends there. If not my friends, then at least Erica.

“They didn’t move the campaign,” he states so bitter, Steve tastes the words on his own tongue, “apparently a game where you’re shooting ‘balls into laundry baskets’ is too…mainstream and norm-ie for Eddie. He refused to move his precious game. Then, get this, instead of getting some random kid to play, they egged Erica in.” Lucas drags his eyes away from the school, head turning slow to look at Steve. He follows suit, eyeing Lucas back. His stomach churns with the vitriol painting itself unsubtly across Lucas’s face. “Color me surprised, I guess, that he’s going out with a jock,” he states, voice carefully blank of anything.

Steve stares on at him. He didn’t know this was the case at all. Remembers getting the phone call about Dustin wanting him to play, but he figured that had something to do with him bugging Steve for the millionth time. Because that was something Dustin wanted. For Steve to play. And, granted, Steve refused because it was too nerdy—unimportant and embarrassing. Yet, now he’s looking into Lucas’s face. Where hurt etches itself like solid lines of chiseled marble. Being told, instead, that Eddie’s holding his own bias.

Maybe he hasn’t removed his biases towards high school nerds, not completely. But he’s coming undone from that mentality. Considering Nancy and Robin and Eddie—Dustin and Mike and Lucas—even Max, they’re all big nerds. They all have some sort of interest with Dungeons & Dragons or theater or video games and math. And he loves them all. Though, Steve’s never stopped to think about the opposite side of the coin. Tail-side, where balls in laundry baskets is considered taboo.

After a deep silence when Steve finally digests this information, his eyebrows furrow on their own accord. Mouth downturning into a harsh frown, one that he feels to the bottoms of his feet. He stops himself in time from balling his hands into fists, but the urge to do so snarls in him like a newly unmuzzled, wild dog. A dog, he thought, that he trained obedient away from his anger. But it seems like once the teeth are bared, they never truly hide away.

“That ass,” Steve snarks. “What—so I have to reconsider all my biases surrounding nerds, reconstruct how I view everybody around me, and realize how awesome it is. And—what—Eddie can just get away with that…bullshit? That’s…What the hell?” There’s a little bit more of a bite to his words than he had anticipated. But it really isn’t fair. The table turns and he’s better for it, sure, but Eddie just…That’s not fair. The dog growls louder, drool burbling in its chops, a bark forming in the back of its throat.

———

[36924]

I know the fandom loves werewolf Steve so let me please pitch the idea of pack mommy werewolf Steve who's extremely protective of all the children and who wants to bite Eddie and for Eddie to give him a baby.

[36924]

Part Eight

A03

We left off: Eddie has an injured leg, Gareth is concussed, there’s a now injured manticore in Hawkins and possibly a moving gate in the walls of the lab, which is storing mysterious, glowing green goo. Prior to all that, Steve was having a breakdown about leaving Hawkins brought on by his parents returning home.

Gareth has noticed Steve’s “crush” on Eddie, *all* of Hellfire is painfully aware of Eddie’s crush on Steve, and Hopper just showed up to the Byers in Scooby Doo pajamas.

Cue the music.

One minute Hopper was shaking a finger at the pile of children on the couch, spittle flying from his mouth as he demanded everyone both talk and shut up--

(“They can’t do both, Jim.”

“I don’t care Joyce, I--”

“Well I care, and you’re in my house, so I suggest you shut up.”

“Fine, but--”

“Jim!”

“I was shutting up!”)

--and the next Steve had wrapped Gareth’s own hands around a warm mug, quietly leaning into his ear to ask if he was okay.

Gareth nodded jerkily, blinking back to the present, fighting off the panic attack that had dogged him all night.

“Yup. I’m great--good! I’m totally good.”

Steve snorted (a gross but common Steve sound) but otherwise left Gareth with a squeeze of his shoulder, before taking the other mug he had over to Eddie.

Who, Gareth realized, was staring at Hopper with the resigned air of a man glaring down his own executioner.

“What I don’t understand,” Lucas was saying as Steve tried to get Eddie to take a mug, “is what the manticore’s guarding.”

“You didn’t hear the green goo story?” Dustin said conversationally, like this was a Tuesday and not the middle of the night after a monster attack, head craning around to look at his friend.

Gareth had to give it to the kid, he had balls of fucking iron to ignore the look Hopper was shooting his way.

“Green goo?” Hopper butted in, needing an answer but clearly not eager to hear it

(Behind Gareth, Steve had resorted to physically taking Eddie’s hands, and wrapping them around the mug. He kept them there, fingers over Eddie’s as he leaned in, whispering something into the older teen’s ear, clearly trying to get his attention off Hopper.

It didn’t seem to be working until Steve said--or did--something, and then suddenly Eddie was taking in a shuddering, wobbly breath, eyes darting to look up into Steve’s. He took the mug much the same way Gareth had, though he blanked his face out a hell of a lot faster.)

“Glowing green goo. It’s--wait, where’d that guy go, he explained it really well.” Dustin leaned his entire body out from the couch, looking towards the wall of Hellfire members. “Hey, you! Stuck Stewart!”

Grant and Jeff slid away from Stewart immediately.

Who pointedly dumbly towards himself, squawking out a startled, “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Dustin said, like this was a fucking gameshow. “Tell Hop what you told me.”

As Hopper turned to face them with a startled expression, it became evident that he was just now realizing the teenagers in the kitchen weren't the ones he had expected to encounter.

His gaze swept over them in a clinical assessment, as if memorizing their faces so he could write them up later. Each of them let out a sigh of relief when he moved onto the next person, before his eyes landed on Eddie--and stayed.

“Munson?” He hissed, causing half of Hellfire to flinch.

To Eddie’s credit, he didn't react. Just reclined in the chair like he owned it, and raised the mug of chocolate Steve had just let go of.

“Nice jammies, Hop.” He said in lue of a greeting.

“Ignore him.” Dustin demanded, in a tone that had Jeff and Grant both side eyeing him. “The glowing goo is the important thing here.”

He gestured with his hand in a 'get on with it' motion, shooting an impatient look at Stewart.

Who audibly swallowed.

“So there uh, there was a rumor…” Stewart started, the story coming out in jerky, hesitant waves.

He kept looking at Hopper as if the man would interrupt him at any minute, and Gareth couldn’t tell if he was hoping to be cut off or happy to be allowed to talk.

He got it all out though--the rumors about the goo, the weird trucks and people loitering around town.

How a friend (omitting, Gareth noted with muted amusement, that Mikey was both an adult and the Hideout’s bartender) put it all together, spun it up into some crazy conspiracy theory and fed it to half the town’s best gossips.

The entire time Stewart spoke, Hopper was staring Eddie down.

Hellfire didn’t miss it.

Joyce didn’t either, and even Jonathan looked a bit fidgety.

(The kids looked perfectly fine, but then, they didn’t seem to realize Hopper wasn’t exactly focused on the whole goo thing.)

Stewart’s story ended, tailing off awkwardly when it became clear he had nothing else to add, and that everyone was waiting for Hopper to say something.

“Jim…” Joyce started, tone low in warning, which seemed to kickstart the chief back to life.

“Right. So we have one group of dumbass teenagers who went into the lab on a dare,” Hopper drawled, in that “don’t you bullshit me” tone cops just loved to use, “a second group of dumbass children who went in because they apparently, haven’t learned their lesson about meddling in government affairs, and Munson here—-”

Hopper flicked a hand at Eddie.

“—-was involved because his friends called him for help and not because the lab is the perfect spot to get high with a large number of people. Do I have that right?”

They all exchanged a nervous look with one another, but no one said a word.

Hellfire as a whole was used to getting their shit rocked by teachers, shop owners, and occasionally, the cops (usually an idiot who wanted to throw their weight around by busting up band practice or searching a car for drugs).

Pissing off the Chief of police though? That was an activity Eddie typically did solo.

And boy was Hopper pissed off, fury building waves as he leaned in like a predator opening its mouth right before it ate its prey.

“This shit? The Upside Down, monster shit? Isn’t something I screw around with. Especially not when my daughter’s involved. So we’re going to try this again, and this time, I want to hear the truth.”

He held up a hand to halt the explosion of protests from the kids section without bothering to even look in their direction.

“From Munson.” He finished, crossing his arms over his chest.

Eddie answered by taking a noisy slurp from his mug.

Gareth winced, but this sort of back and forth was par the course for a Munson-Hopper encounter, and he knew better than to get in the middle of it.

Steve, apparently, did not.

“Stewart just told you the truth.” He said flatly, giving Hopper a look that was just as stubborn as the chief’s own.

Who very much did not appreciate it.

“Harrington--”

“You said it yourself.” Steve interrupted, holding firm against the chief’s scowl. “The Upside Down isn’t something we screw around with.”

“Tell him, Steve!” Dustin crowed from the couch.

“Shut it.” Steve and Hopper responded in unison, and then did a remarkable job of pretending they hadn’t said a word.

(Gareth had the worst vision of Steve in an alternate life as a police officer. A deputy maybe, with shaved hair, constantly chewing on tobacco and fucking up poor people’s lives. He’d probably have an obnoxious nickname. Like Gator or some shit.

Thank God Hellfire had gotten there first.)

“I was there when they called Eddie.” Steve continued, before Hopper could growl something out. “If we were all doing drugs, we’d still be high, and Eddie wouldn’t have teeth marks in his thigh.”

There was yet another pause, in which Gareth was fairly sure the tension was going to give him a heart attack.

Within it, Hopper did a double take, noting Eddie’s injury for the first time--and how he only had one pant leg, the other replaced by a stark white bandage and pale skin.

“Fine.” He grit out, teeth clenched so tight Gareth thought they might shatter against each other. “Is there anything else I should know about the ‘goo story’ then?”

“You missed the part where El wouldn’t let us call you, because she felt you wouldn’t listen to her.” Mike snarked from El’s right.

“Wonder why.” Max added darkly, from her own spot on El’s left. “Don’t you have a walkie? Why didn’t you answer the code red?”

Apparently, they had decided Steve had won this entire exchange, and it was safe to dogpile on their own displeasure. Gareth was absolutely astounded that the glare Hopper turned their direction didn’t melt them all on the spot.

(Likely, given how this all seemed to be a normal encounter for everyone involved, they were used to it.

Gareth was very much not.)

Hopper whipped his head around to Mike, anger still simmering, “And I’m sure you, Michael Wheeler, didn’t have any qualms about not calling me.”

“He did not want me to go either.” El said bluntly. “I told him you would not listen, and if either of you stopped me, people would die.”

She nodded then, towards Stewart, as if to indicate he was one such person.

For the second time that night, Stewart pointed at his own chest, eyes saucer wide.

“No one else,” El finished grimly, “will die.”

The chief dragged his hands through his hair and then down his face.

“Alright.” He forced out. “I get your point-- but! We’re talking about how you went about this later. Not now!” He added, before the kids could erupt. “Later!”

“So what are we going to do about the Manticore?” Mike spat the question more so than he said it, but Gareth was happy someone was bringing that part up.

Because monster problem or not--what the fuck were they going to do about it?

Since the Chief of Police was here, did that mean the entire police force knew there were monsters in Hawkins? Was there some kind of--monster hunting squad that went around at night?

The more he thought about it the more questions he had, and in turn, the more Gareth’s anxiety threatened to mutiny once again, which was not helped by the concussion he was positive he’d acquired.

Hopper scoffed, “We are not doing anything. We are going back to bed after I call your parents and tell them you’ve been out all night!”

Groans filled the room, the sound of children facing a future grounding, en mass.

“Then,” he continued loudly, “I’ll call Owens.”

“And if Owens doesn’t do anything?” Dustin challenged. “‘Cause he clearly didn’t clean up well last time. Are we just going to let a manticore run around? What if more come through? What if--”

“Just because none of you trust me doesn’t mean I don’t do my job,” Hopper interrupted, “which includes knowing what to do if this shit came back. We adults did discuss that after last time, believe it or not.”

Gareth was old enough to school the doubt off his face, but the kids had no such qualms.

“What Hop means is that we need to have a little more faith in him.” Joyce soothed, and Gareth noticed that unlike a lot of adult men he’d been around, Hopper let her. “He’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

“This just means we’re waiting until he falls in a hole again.” Mike stage whispered to Will, who coughed hard to hide his laugh.

“There aren’t any holes this time!” Hopper screeched, voice rising in pitch.

“Okay, okay, enough.” Joyce pacified, moving to stand in the middle of the room (notably,between the harpy children and Hopper). “What’s important is that everyone lived, we know there’s a thing in the lab, and that no one is going back for it until it’s dead. Agreed?”

She paused, and when no such agreements came, hardened her voice in a way that had every person under eighteen snapping to attention. “Agreed!?”

“Yes.” Chorused the children (and at least three members of Hellfire.)

“Good.” Joyce nodded so hard her hair bounced. Putting her hands on her hips, she added; “Now we start the process of getting all of you home.”

“Someone get me the phone, we’re starting with you Wheeler.” Hopper tacked on.

Mike just flung himself back into the couch with a dramatic eye roll and a not so subtle raise of his middle finger.

“As for the rest of you, get out.” Hopper said, weaving past Steve to get to the phone in the kitchen.

A second later, when it was clear no one had moved, he poked his head around the corner.

“Do I need to call all your parents too?” He demanded, as Hellfire dumbly stood there. “Get!”

Hellfire got.

xXx

Hopper grabbed Steve right before he’d left, muttering something about needing to talk to him and Jonathan.

Alone.

Eddie chose to hang back, propping himself on the van's hood, and Gareth, not wanting to go home, opted to keep him company

“Hopper’s not going to eat him.” He whispered, when two minutes dragged into seven and the fidgeting got to be too much for him.

“True, but he's catching hell because Hopper's not buying his story." Eddie retorted, voice equally hushed.

As if raising their voices might summon Hopper and his fiery temper right to them.

"It's nothing we haven't heard before," Gareth remarked, resisting the urge to suggest once more that Eddie get off his leg and go sit in the car.

“There weren't monsters before.” Eddie countered, mouth around a hangnail.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It might.” Eddie muttered darkly. “If Hopper makes it matter, it fucking might.”

“How the hell is Hopper going to make it matter?" Gareth mused aloud, though deep down, he already knew.

Eddie was Hellfire's guardian, both within and beyond the school walls. Being with him meant having a shield to hide behind, protection against the casual cruelty the people of Hawkins were so fond of.

Sure, there were mean kids, nasty teachers, and even the occasional unpleasant gas station attendant, but they weren't the real issue—not by a long shot.

It was the ones who looked at Eddie and truly believed some of the bullshit.

Hopper didn’t act like the church folk. The ones who sent their pastors and youth leaders out on the warpath, knocking on doors and setting up outside of businesses.

Those individuals had attempted to drive away Eddie's friends before, thinking they could "rescue them" in the process—Gareth himself had once endured a week of being stalked by some idiot he had stood up to in Eddie's defense.

The man had made it his mission, and Gareth, too young at the time to know better, had felt helpless as every adult he turned to dismissed the blatant stalking.

All because that "nice" youth leader claimed he just wanted to help.

The asshole had practically hunted Gareth down-- always making himself known, always accompanied by a friend or two. A couple of little comments in his pocket, ready and waiting, and a grin that didn’t match his eyes.

The words he said weren’t threats, but the tone he said them in was.

Eddie got it worst of all of them though, when the church crowd started.

Their attention wasn’t always on him, and truthfully they hadn’t really put any real energy into their own bullshit for a few years now--but they always came back to him.

Like he was an old and favored chew toy, and if they just tried hard enough, they’d crack him in two.

Which meant this wasn’t about what Hopper said.

It’s what he could do.

Thankfully Steve appeared before Eddie could spiral further, looking surprised to see them still waiting.

“Oh.” He ran a hand through his hair as he came down the stairs. “You guys didn’t have to stay.”

Eddie shot him a flat look.

"And leave you alone with Hopper?"

"I wasn't exactly alone, but thanks."

Steve's smile was slight, tinged with relief, and Eddie fell right into him, leaning into Steve's space (and making a show of his limp as he did).

“We were going to ask if you’re coming back with us anyway. Figure you might not want to go back to your place after tonight.” He said, as if he and Gareth had discussed any such thing.

You waited outside just to tell me that?" Steve asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he gently pushed Eddie back. "Ed, you should be sitting in your car, off that leg."

(Not that Steve wanted Eddie to go far, Gareth noted with his own amusement, as Steve stepped to follow.)

"I tried telling him that, but he wouldn't listen!" He tattled to Steve, simply because he could.

He got a middle finger behind Eddie’s back in retaliation.

“I figured it’d piss Hopper right off if I offered you a place to crash right after he warned you away from me.” Eddie said, ignoring the both of them.

“He didn’t warn me away.” Steve said, beginning the process of herding the older teen into his van.

Eddie let out a snort. "Seriously? That wasn't a full-blown 'rethink your life choices, hanging out with trash like him' speech?”

“You’re not trash.”

Eddie snorted again, hasher this time before glancing away.

He was entirely unprepared for Steve to reach out, catching him by the arm much the same way Hopper had caught him.

“Eddie.” Steve said, abruptly serious. “You’re not trash.”

He said it like he meant it, voice low, eyes drilling into Eddie’s.

Gareth couldn't tear his own eyes away, even though that stare wasn't even intended for him.

“No one here is trash,” Steve declared firmly. “Hopper was just asking if Jonathan and I could babysit El for a couple of nights while he’s working. But even if he had tried to tell me I couldn't hang out with you, I would have told him to shove it. Like you said earlier today—we don’t abandon our friends, and we don’t leave them to deal with stuff alone.”

Gareth knew his best friend like the back of his hand and that level of honesty?

It was too much for Eddie, and normally, he’d run.

Was in fact, a little more than infamous for bolting when confronted about his own insecurities.

Maybe it was because Eddie's leg was in no shape for him to run, or maybe it was the reassuring grip of Steve's hand on his arm. It could even have been the intensity in Steve's gaze, as if he could convince Eddie of anything just by staring at him--but Eddie didn’t move.

He didn't even avert his gaze, although Gareth half expected him to.

“If you say so.” He tried to sing-song the words but they fell flat. “Let’s go, the Munson couch awaits us.”

Steve didn’t say anything about how Eddie pulled himself away, backing out of range.

He watched him though.

Even after Eddie had turned around, waving a hand at Gareth to get into the drivers seat.

Steve kept watching until Gareth nudged him out of it, murmuring a quiet “Come on, dude” to get him going too.

Saw the little frown line burrow its way into Steve’s forehead, like he’d figured out part of a puzzle that had long evaded him, and didn’t like the answer he’d come too.

(Gareth himself didn’t have time for any such revelations, given he faced the monstrous task of driving Eddie’s van.

His learners permit quaked in his wallet at the mere thought, but somehow, they made it back in one piece anyway.)

xXx

Steve had reassured them that feeling restless was normal after….

Well.

After.

(There wasn’t a word strong enough to capture the intensity of the last few hours.

Gareth eventually stopped trying, accepting it as a blur of horror, anxiety, and impending dread. It felt like a nightmare that others remembered vividly but faded for him, like a movie becoming less real once you left the theater.)

Their conversation centered around going through the last few years, Steve filling in holes that made life make a hell of a lot more sense compared to all the bullshit the government had come up with.

None of it sounded real, and several pieces had Eddie and Gareth both gawking, but after the lab?

Not a part of it could be easily discounted.

Gareth couldn’t pinpoint when he finally succumbed to sleep.

Hadn’t intended too, and knew immediately upon clawing back to reality that his back was in a world of hurt from the way he’d curled into Wayne’s ancient armchair.

It was still dark outside, the lights warm on the inside of the trailer, and he figured he couldn’t have been out for long.

The blurry red 5:05 from his watch confirmed his suspicions, and Gareth got two seconds to wonder if this is his life now--catching whatever sleep he can in weird little bursts-- before harsh whispering picked up to his left.

The Munson’s living room was small. Small enough for Eddie to know better about how the sound carries, even if he was whisper-fighting.

Or at least, whisper-arguing, anyway.

“I just wish you’d see yourself the way everyone else sees you.” Steve was saying, sounding both bitchy and confused. Like he couldn’t quite believe he was having such a stupid conversation, but was going to point out the obvious anyway.

Eddie wasn’t doing much better, his words as sharp as the knife he’d used to stab the manticore.

“What, as the town freak? The local satanist? The ugly queer who's out to steal the children?”

Gareth managed to sneak a peak in time to see Eddie’s face twisted in disgust.

“Not those assholes--the ones that know you. Everyone that matters.” Steve countered, easily and immediately. “The Hellfire Club, Wayne, Dustin.”

There was a pause, but he could have sworn he heard Steve follow up with a quiet but hopeful, “Me.”

Gareth twisted ever so slightly, giving himself an eyeful of the room.

Both his friends sat on the couch facing each other. They were close, like they’d been sharing snacks or body heat before things had gone south, Eddie’s hands nearly missing smacking into Steve’s face as he gestured.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Steve continued doggedly.

Eddie’s hands froze in air, before he could make whatever gesture he’d intended.

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry.” Steve repeated, that painful sincerity Gareth would have never guessed him capable of on full display. “For the part I played in calling you all that shit. You’re none of those things, Eddie. You’re the opposite of all of it.”

The hands dropped into Eddie’s lap, like twin birds shot out of the sky.

“I am, though.” He muttered.

Steve’s frown deepened, his reassurance quick. “No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, Steve. I am.”

“Okay, fine.” Angry, Steve leaned forward into Eddie’s space.

Backed into the side of the couch and wall as he was, it trapped Eddie quite nicely.

“I know the parents down at the church don’t know the difference between D&D and actual demons, but I do. So unless you suddenly learned how to be quiet about fucking ritual sacrifice of all things, then I refuse to buy that you’re a literal Satanist and not just engaging in the drama.”

Gareth saw the moment Eddie realized he was pinned, that he wasn’t getting out of his conversation without shoving Steve back.

Knew this was building into a blow up before Eddie’s mouth even opened.

“I’m not a Satanist, but I definitely am queer.” He shot back, eyes hard. “So you can shove whatever grand ideas you’re having about my character back up your ass.”

Gareth hadn’t moved much, years of living with his siblings making it possible to watch what’s happening without alerting anyone in the room that he was awake, but he almost ruined it with how quickly he sucked in his own breath.

Steve was a good guy.

Had been a good guy to them, but there have been plenty of other “good guys” Gareth knew who suddenly weren’t so great the second Eddie’s sexuality came up.

It’s why Gareth himself hadn’t often admitted to his own muddled sexuality, too afraid of getting the same bullshit aimed his way.

Why would anyone want to pursue men, after watching more than a few realize they liked Eddie and promptly lose their shit so hard they became a danger to any man who so much as looked at them the wrong way?

It was terrifying--and so was the realization that Gareth can’t kick Steve’s ass. 

He doesn’t want to even try, but gets himself ready for emotional upheaval anyway--and whatever may come after.

Even if they’re all dead on their feet from fighting a literal monster.

‘Excellent fucking timing Eds.’ He thought sourly, despite the guilt of thinking it. It’s not Eddie’s fault--and Steve’s reaction, whatever it may be, isn’t either.

'God does it suck to be gay in a rural ass, small town.'

Thankfully, Steve doesn’t pull away.

Doesn’t act like Eddie’s got a contagious disease like some of the basketball team does, or like it’s his God given duty to either rid the earth of him now that Eddie’s finally admitted to what half the town has accused him of being, or have some violent crisis over his own clearly repressed gay crush. 

Is still very much in Eddie’s space, even if he’s being awfully quiet--for long enough that Gareth can see Eddie start to shut down.

“Okay.” Steve said finally, clearly knowing he needs to say something but seemingly struggling to figure out what, “But you’re not evil, and you’re definitely not stealing children, so you’re beating out the US government.”

“Oh boy, I beat out the government that’s kidnapping and torturing people! Such a high bar.”

Steve winced. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah? What did you mean then?” Eddie challenged. “We both know you’re not the kind to want to associate with the queers.”

“I didn't, I--” Steve took a breath, fumbling and knowing it. “I know I've been an asshole in the past, and I also know I was wrong."

He stared hard at Eddie. "I don’t care if you’re gay. That doesn’t, that shouldn’t--matter.”

Eddie met his gaze. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Between them sat all the times Steve, or a former friend of his, decided a random victim was queer. The knowing smirks and taunts that followed after they spewed out various slurs.

How some of the rumors they started stuck around. 

Steve had never really engaged with a lot of the bullying people often attributed to him as King of the Jockstraps, but he wasn't an innocent bystander either, and Gareth couldn't fault Eddie for challenging that change of heart. 

Even now, after Steve had long vacated his throne. 

“Well that sucks for you then, doesn’t it?” Steve snapped. “Because I’m not going anywhere, Munson. You can mack on some dude all you like, and I’m still going to be there to remind you you’re not evil for doing it. Or for being into nerdy shit and terrible music!”

“My music isn’t terrible!” Eddie screeched automatically.

Gareth anticipated Eddie calling out Steve on his obvious bait—seriously, that wouldn’t have worked in a game even with a nat 20—but found himself underestimating Steve's bantering skills as their ex-jock just plowed right ahead.

“It is! It’s just--screaming. Screaming with loud ass guitars!”

“Oh my God, I am going to sit you down and make you listen to so many albums. The screaming is a core part of the range of emotions in the songs--”

“Range? Eddie there isn’t any range, it’s just dudes who are angry--”

“Fuck you, it is not!” Eddie was howling, both of them too into their argument to remember they were trying to be quiet to begin with.

“I bet you five dollars! Five entire dollars, that you could not find me a singular song I like out of your entire metal collection.”

“Ten dollars! And the largest Pizza this shithole town has to offer!”

“Deal!” Steve shouted, chest heaving.

They breathed together for a moment, before the tension between them fizzled out, fading into something more uncertain.

Delicate, even though Gareth was fairly certain Steve had expertly maneuvered Eddie right where he wanted him.

Eddie seemed to realize it too, folding back into himself as he tugged a finger around his hair, pulling it in front of his face.

“You really wouldn't care if I kissed a guy in front of you?” Eddie's question isn't overtly vulnerable, but Gareth knows better.

He understands the significance of this.

Of Steve’s acceptance, more than anyone else's.

The jock had become so deeply bonded to them—all of them—that the rejection would wound Eddie in a way few could truly understand. Crack his otherwise impenetrable shield, the ricochet tearing through a substantial portion of his resilience.

“And I'd probably tell you to find a room, but hey, I said that to Tommy and Carol too,” Steve retorts, nudging Eddie's thigh.

Eddie rewards him with a small smile

Steve seems to know more is needed, and offers it up right alongside his heart. “I’m serious. I know I kinda butchered it but--the queer thing shouldn’t be a problem to begin with. It’s stupid that it is.”

"Steven Harrington, did I just witness personal growth?" Eddie teased, his smile widening. "What's next, admitting that college sports are ridiculous?"

“Don’t be a dick,” Steve scoffed, but his own smile mirrored Eddie’s as he looked away. 

Despite his head still partly tucked into his arm, Gareth found himself grinning.

It was a welcome relief after an otherwise horrific night.

Sensing it was now or never, Gareth made a show of untangling himself, stretching upward with a moan that startled both Eddie and Steve.

“Be careful saying that shit, Steve,” He said, jerking a thumb towards his best friend. “He’ll take it as an invitation to make out with people in front of you.”

Eddie gasped, hand flying over his heart in mock offense.

“I would never!”

“He’s a real horndog, once he even tried to make out with a guy on stage on top of my drumset.” Gareth continued, sticking out his tongue.

He deserved the pillow thrown his way but Gareth took the hit with grace, laughing as Eddie huffed at him.

“For the last time I wasn’t making out with that guy, he was trying to punch me!”

“With his mouth?”

“With his head, which you damn well know."  Eddie accused, clawing blindly for another pillow. "Gareth you are shameless, how long have you been listening in!?”

“As much as I enjoy the calming effects of mindless screaming, I'd wager it was when you guys conveniently forgot I was in the room."

“I take it you uh, know?” Steve injected hesitantly, eyes moving between Eddie and Gareth and oh--oh, he was being protective.

'That’s cute.' Gareth thinks.

Even if he’s rolling his eyes at the very idea that he posses any kind of threat.

“Dude, I clocked Eddie before he clocked me.” He said, just to take some heat from Eddie--and because it was one of the few opportunities where he could say it. “We’ve spent many a math period discussing if Sting was hotter than Axl Rose.”

If Eddie can be brave, Gareth could too.

“You did not.” Eddie spits back, the offense mounting. “You absolutely did not clock me first you lying liar--”

“Oh.” Steve blinked, finger flicking out between them as if he’s connected two dots and feels awfully stupid about not seeing it before. “I uh, I didn’t, are you guys--”

And oh, the horror that crashes into Gareth when he figured out what Steve was asking.

“No! God no.” Gareth shuddered, delighting in the way Eddie’s jaw crashed down at the sight. “And if I ever consider it, I need you to take me out back and shoot me, Steve. Right between the eyes, for the greater good.”

“Wow Gary, just stick a knife in my back why don’t you--”

“I’m gonna be real,” Steve cut in, before they could fake-argue their way into a real fight, “I never actually thought about liking both. Guys and girls, I mean.”

He blushed, as both Gareth and Eddie turned to look at him.

“Oh Stevie,” Eddie cooed, “there are so many more options than just "liking both.”

He made air quotes with his fingers, attention immediately diverted away from murdering Gareth with whatever objects he could grab. 

Steve gave him a side eye that was more than well deserved.

“I feel like I don’t want to know.” He said flatly.

“Too late.” Gareth told him, resigned. “You get to hear the speech now.”

“There’s a speech?”

“Steve, it's me. Of course there’s a speech.” Eddie tutted, resettling himself on the couch so that he’s sitting cross legged. “It’s an hour long so strap yourself in big guy, we have a lot of ground to cover!”

Crisis firmly averted, Gareth curls back up in the chair, tired smile on his face as Steve and Eddie go right back to bantering, the tension having vanished from the room.

This is a rare outcome, given their life and the world they live in, but one Gareth’s incredibly thankful for.

Can’t quite believe it, but then, King Steve had surprised a lot of them ever since he’d hung up his crown.

Perhaps Hellfire was a good influence on people after all.

xXx

Bonus

Back at the Byers, outside on the front porch, Hopper and Joyce were arguing over a cigarette.

(They both believe they’re being very quiet about it, but the pillow Jonathan had jammed over his ears said otherwise.)

“Remind me to make you work on your approach with disciplining children.” Joyce was saying, as she snatched the cigarette out of Hopper’s hands.

“What?! I thought that went pretty well considering they broke back into the lab and almost killed themselves.” He responded, waiting until she’d taken a deep inhale before trying to get it back.

“And I’m sure taking potshots at the poorest kid in the room was a necessary part of that process. It’s probably written down in the police handbook, even.”

“I wasn’t taking potshots Joyce--”

“No, of course not, you were just throwing random criticism and assumptions around, willy nilly and--oh, wait, that’s the exact definition of a potshot--”

“He deals drugs! Look me in the eyes and tell me Munson doling out weed doesn’t make more sense then the lot of them chasing down some--some goo story!?”

There’s a weighty pause, in which one can only imagine Joyce Byers face says more words than her mouth ever could.

It was very impactful.

“I mean--okay, maybe not our kids, but the teenagers?” Hopper’s voice dives into a disbelieving kind of whine, reserved for those who are aware the point they’re arguing may in fact, be wrong, but are desperately defending it anyway. “Come on. Drugs is the clear answer!" 

“Even if that was what was happening, then you shouldn’t be discussing it in a room full of children who have survived what those kids have, Jim. It could have been a separate conversation, given in a much calmer and less threatening tone of voice.”

“Oh my God, Joyce--”

“Don’t you ‘oh my God!’ me, you asked for lessons on being a better parent and I am holding you to them!”

There’s a brief scuffle over the cigarette, as both seem to realize Joyce is letting it smoke out in her hand.

She does not stop talking however, even as their hands slap at each other. 

“That includes parenting the teenagers in this town, because in case you haven’t noticed, you’re the Chief of police! So you signed up to see them all at their worst, and you get to deal with the fallout of that!”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll apologize to the goddamn high school drug dealer. Is that what you want!?”

“Yes!”

Another pause, this one filled with that awkward sort of tension when an argument has fizzled out, and neither party knows quite where they stand with each other yet.

“What voice am I supposed to use?” Hopper mused, finally winning the bid for the cigarette and jamming it into his mouth.

“Anyone except the grumbly bear voice.”

“The grumbly bear voice?”

“You know,” Joyce drops her own voice in a comical rendition of Hopper’s, “How dare you kids run off! You’ll be the death of me and this town!”

She laughs, and Hopper, shockingly, laughs along with her.

“I don’t sound like that.” He defends, bumping Joyce gently with his shoulder, and she in return, bumps him right back.

Both of them grinning, both of them blushing a little.

They keep talking, the cigarette eventually put aside and forgotten as they do.

Truth be told, they hadn’t needed it--but the excuse was nice.

(Inside, Jonathan rolled the pillow on top of his face in a suffocation attempt, unsure of what he’d done in life to deserve all this but desperately wishing he didn’t have to listen to his mother flirt.

Or worse--Hop flirting back.)

[36924]

9 ▰▱▰▱ Take Me Home (Please Stay With Me) ▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

"came back wrong" post-s4 fanfiction, featuring monster kas!eddie. pre-steddie -> steddie

minors DNI please, Steve has some S P I C Y thoughts, although nothing too explicit yet.

TW: References to period-typical homophobia, brief discussion of HIV/AIDS crisis.

Part I ┊ Part II ┊ Part III ┊ Part IV ┊ Part V ┊ Part VI ┊ Part VII ┊ Part VIII ┊ Part IX (📍)

Arlene grins at him, although her smile is painfully awkward and more like a grimace to Steve’s eyes.

“Guess I wasn't as clear as I thought I was.”

She steps towards him, holding her arms out in invitation. “Baby Bear, I'm so sorry, I completely misunderstood the subtext.” She apologizes and Steve's heart immediately starts to mend itself from the damage his knee-jerk fear at being outed caused, healing by the grace of the heartfelt nature of her words. The cracks that widened along the well-worn fault lines that spiderweb across the shattered patchwork remnants of his heart begin to fill in slowly, rebuilding yet again. He should have known, he should have never doubted his mom because she always has his back. He chokes down a relieved sob as all of the stress from the last few minutes comes crashing down on him with all of its immense weight, sending him stumbling into his mom’s open arms. He feels safe and warm, cradled in an embrace he’s missed terribly for the past three years. He immediately starts crying, the tears coming hot and fast down his cheeks and leaving salty streaks in their wake.

“Ohh, baby…” Arlene shushes him softly, rocking Steve gently side to side while she cards her fingers through his hair. He feels like a child again, comforted after falling and skinning his knee playing outside. He clutches to her harder, the catharsis too great to hold back as he gasps huge wet breaths in between his long bouts of sobbing, choking cries. He has no idea what she's doing here, back home in Hawkins when it looks less like a small town and more like a war zone, but he’s certainly not complaining about her presence. He’s missed her, and right now he's going to relish being close to his mom again for as long as she sticks around. He knows how busy she is, how important her new position at Ellsco is and he refuses to be the reason that gets jeopardized. Arlene smells like good wine and expensive cologne–not perfume, she’d never liked perfume–and Steve buries his face in the crook of her neck, sniffles at where she's warm and her pulse is strong. His fingers are fisted tightly in the fabric of her button-front, wrinkling the expensive fabric, but she doesn't even flinch. She’s always had her priorities in line, and laundry ranks far below her only son.

“I'm so sorry, honey,” she murmurs again, cradling the back of his head in her palm. “I know how dangerous the world is for people like me, and I should have known better than just making assumptions about who you’d told or hadn’t told about your presumed sexuality. What I said and the implications could have put you in danger were we around prying ears, even if you aren’t queer, because rumors are powerful things. Granted, I don’t think Eddie is the kind of person to think less of you if you were queer, if it's any consolation? I told him I was a lesbian and he didn’t really bat an eyelash, very respectful… I don't think Eddie will remember what I said, either? He's fairly blitzed...”

Steve laughs, the sound weak and wet from all his weeping. “N-no. It's okay,” he wants to reassure her, because honestly the fact that she’d wanted to goof around with him about it, wanted to normalize his queerness just like she would have done if he were feeling this way about a girl means more to him than words can say. She hadn’t done that out of malice, she knows how dangerous it is out there for people like them, knows she made a mistake by outing him–even if he technically hasn’t confirmed or denied it, yet–and apologized for it, too. Knowing that his mom is like him, like Robin, warms him from the inside out, igniting a bonfire in his chest and comforting him like the way it would dispel the chill of an autumn night. He thinks he might be ready to finally give voice to the words he’s never let himself say.

“I'm… I mean…”

“... Baby Bear?”

Steve takes a stuttering breath, trembling as his grip tightens on his mom’s shirt, “I… I'm not straight, mom.”

Arlene cards a hand gently through his hair, her other arm pulling tight across his shoulders with a comforting weight. He leans into her embrace, his eyes squeezing shut as his heartbeat races in his chest. He’s never said it out loud before; never actually voiced the truth to anyone besides himself in the safety of his own mind, well and truly alone with his thoughts. Hell, he's not even told Robin yet, although he's pretty sure she suspects, as if squinty eyed knowing looks she's been shooting him lately weren't telling enough. It’s not that he’s in any way ashamed to admit his bisexuality, but. It’s always felt like something he’s just not allowed to talk about? He’s not greedy, it’s not like being bisexual makes him more likely to cheat or anything–that’s horrible, and he refuses to ever cheat on anyone–but he likes both. He has a luxury in being able to choose to take the safe option; the path of least resistance. It’s not like he’s truly sacrificing because it’s not a lie, is it? He very well can fall in love with and have a perfectly fulfilling relationship with a woman–it doesn’t mean he doesn’t also find men attractive or that the potential to have the same type of relationship with a man is miraculously no longer there, but. He has the luxury of appearing straight-passing. Robin and people like her can never have that, the illusion of safety, without cutting away a part of themselves and pretending to be something they’re not. Forcing themselves into boxes that don’t fit for the sake of keeping themselves alive in a world that wishes them dead.

“Thank you for telling me,” mom’s voice is soft and gentle, soothing as she continues to hold him, “it’s very brave of you.”

He laughs, the sound wet and full of self-hatred, “Is it?” he scoffs.

Arlene pulls back from him, tenderly cupping his cheeks in her hands and looking Steve in the eyes, an intensity behind her long lashes. Her brows are furrowed and her lips are pursed, deep sorrow intermingling with the upset painted across her face.

“Stevie, of course it is. Coming out is terrifying, every time. It’s sometimes the hardest thing you may ever do in your life, because it’s voicing something so deeply personal to someone you hope you can trust. And sometimes,” her lips twitch into a bittersweet smile, “sometimes that trust is broken.”

Steve smiles back, wobbly and wet as he sniffles some tears away. He chuckles, relief washing over him as it actually starts to sink in that his mom is okay with him, that she’s not going to abandon him, that she believes him. It’s freeing and the tears stream down his cheeks anew, a sob wrenching its way out of his throat. Arlene shushes him, a broken worried sound, as her thumbs wipe away the salty streams as they tumble down his face. His sobs are half laughter, relief tangling up with the remnants of his anxiety, the internalized self-hatred he’s been working on sweeping away. Robin has talked about internalized homophobia before, and he’s more than aware he’s been working on his own since that day on the floor of the nasty Starcourt movie theater bathroom. Having his mother here, supporting him, loving him so earnestly, helps to rip it from where it stubbornly clings to the walls of Steve’s thoughts, and with every tear track she wipes away, he feels himself grow lighter.

“Mo- Momma Bear,” he warbles out, unable to stop his crying even as he smiles, “Momma, I’m bisexual.”

Arlene pauses in her earnest wiping of his tears, blinking at him. Slowly, and with the warmth of the sun rising above the horizon in the breaking of dawn, she smiles at him. Her eyes crinkle with how wide her lips pull, glistening with unshed tears of her own, sniffling as she just looks at him. He can see the pride in her eyes, the happiness in her smile. 

“Baby Bear,” she says, “I love you so, so much.”

“Love you too, Momma,” he murmurs, throwing himself back into her arms, squeezing tightly. She’s smaller than him now, and it catches him off guard a little. Arlene has always felt larger than life to Steve, the biggest person in the room every time, but now he stands slightly taller than her and broader than her in the shoulders and arms. She fits against him differently than she used to–it’s still a shelter, but the comfort shared feels equal in exchange.

“So,” Arlene asks, her face pressed against his shoulder, her arms tucked under his to rest against his shoulder blades, “when did you know, Stevie-bear? Last I’d heard from you it was all ladies all the time. What changed?”

He chuckles, pressing his nose into her hair where it’s started to come loose from its’ styling. “I’ve always known, I think. I started noticing boys the same time I noticed girls, but context cues from people around me made it obvious that boys didn’t talk about other boys like boys talked about girls.” He shrugs, inhaling the familiar simple scent of her expensive shampoo. “I actually thought everyone had the same thoughts as me, finding everyone pretty and just choosing not to acknowledge the other side of things until later on. I um. I met someone who’s gay, actually, and they kind of made me realize that my way of thinking wasn’t exactly straight.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhm,” Steve nods, carefully considering his next words to keep Robin’s identity to himself. His mom might also be a lesbian, but he would never out Robin, even to another queer person. He couldn’t betray her trust like that. “We were talking and I asked them to choose between two celebrities, which one they thought was hotter. They said neither, and I was so confused. I said, ‘not even like, objectively?’ and they were just so meh about the whole thing I really had to reevaluate my entire life, really.”

Arlene laughs along with Steve, and he presses his forehead against the curve of her shoulder. Sighing.

“We took a few trips up to Indy, and there’s a couple of bookshops up there that sell, um. Zines? And other queer literature? So I kind of, immersed myself in that, and I realized I was probably bisexual all along and just hadn’t understood that liking both was an option.”

“Mm, sexuality is a fascinating thing, isn’t it?”

Steve chuckles, pulling back from Arlene for a moment to look at his mom. She seems softer in the waning light of the kitchen, hair falling from its styling, her shirt rumpled–blazer long lost–and standing in her socks on the tile. He can feel the fondness in his own bearing, no doubt mirroring the expression she has on her face as she looks back at him. His dad used to complain about how similar he looks to his mom–how closely he took to the Ellsworth family genetics rather than the Harrington genes. Steve’s never been more grateful for that.

“I mean, learning about the Kinsey scale was pretty interesting,” he says, “I’m not a perfect 3 I don’t think,” he admits, shrugging. He’s definitely pickier about what men he’s attracted to than he is about what draws him to women. The basics are there–brown hair, doe eyes, intelligent, a little mean–but otherwise, it’s just easier with women. He doesn’t have preferences or anything beyond his four main attraction points, but men? Men have to be pretty in some way… something about them has to strike Steve in a way that makes him pause, consider, and think wow, he’s pretty, huh? If that thought doesn’t happen, there’s no attraction, it’s just another dude. 

“I think the number was um, a 2?” he taps his lips with a finger as he thinks, “Like, women are just easier for me to notice, because women, right?” He makes a curvy gesture with his hands while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, making his mom snort a laugh, but she’s smiling and nodding so he continues. “But, like, objectively, I notice when dudes are hot. I mean, it doesn’t really do anything for me, I just notice.”

He licks his lips as his thoughts drift to one particular man. He feels hot where the blood flushes the skin of his neck, his mouth suddenly becoming dry as a desert. “But… sometimes a man just floors me with how pretty he is, you know?” He kind of hates how dreamy his voice gets by the end of his little monologue, how telling he’s being in the way he talks about a not-so-hypothetical man. 

“Well,” Arlene says, raising an eyebrow at Steve that makes him feel so seen, “I do not know, because I am a big ol’ Kinsey 6,” she smirks and Steve groans. “But! I understand what you mean,” she laughs at his disgruntled expression, and the sound is so fond and teasing that Steve can’t help his blush and shoves gently at his mom.

“Shut up, mom! Oh my god, why am I talking about this with you!?”

“Because I’m your mother and you missed me and I’m also gay as fuck, Stevie-bear! You know you’re safe talking about your boy-crushes with me, now,” she croons softly at him, clearly conscious of her volume as she leans into his space, grinning mischievously.

Steve rolls his eyes, but his smile gives away his happiness with the continued ease of their relationship. His mom relents, leaning back against the kitchen island and smoothly exiting Steve’s personal space.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, Mom, but why are you here? Back in Hawkins?”

Arlene sighs, the sound heavy as though she’s carrying the weight of the world as she tilts her head backwards.

“I wanted to see you, Bear,” she admits, “and after the truly horrendous call I had with the financial advisor over the phone about how I wanted to adjust the terms of access for the trust,” she makes a face, sticking out her tongue and rolling her eyes, “I knew it would be simpler to come here myself and handle it in person. That it gave me an excuse to see you? A bonus that Charlene was all too willing to exploit to bully the rest of the board into getting me some well deserved R&R time.” 

Arlene preens a little, clearly delighted with the ingenuity of herself and Charlene–he’s glad that he knows how well his mom pays her, because honestly that woman has to be a saint to put up with the ridiculous energy and demands of his mother on a daily basis–she’s a tough business woman, and for good reason.

“You do work a lot, Mom,” Steve says, his smile going crooked with fondness at his mother’s dramatic flair, “I’m glad Charlene’s in your corner.”

“Mm, I’m going to make sure I can wrangle her up a good bonus again this year… or maybe a raise? The taxes they throw on bonuses are bullshit, anyway.”

“Definitely a raise, Mom.”

“I’ll do that, then, Stevie-bear. Thanks for your input,” she waves him closer and he goes easily, bending forward when she beckons, receiving a smacking forehead kiss for his obedience. It fills his heart with warmth and he realizes his smile has yet to fade. They stand together in comfortable silence in their kitchen for a long moment, just existing in each other’s space. It’s both strange and welcoming, a reminder of something he’s not thought he’d have again. Just being with his mom makes Steve feel safe, but it’s been such a long time, it’s foreign even through the oddly nostalgic tingle that dances across his skin.

“So,” Arlene finally breaks the silence, “can you explain to me what exactly is going on with Eddie?”

“I–”

“Look, Stevie,” she sighs, “you know I’m not judging you in the slightest, right? I just feel like I need a better grasp on the situation. I mean, I walked into my own home to the guy perched on my countertops eating fucking Spaghetti-Os over the sink and looking like some sort of fantasy monster out of one of Le Guin’s novels. I need a little more context than the vague garbage excuses Owens and Stinson spouted at me.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, surprised she even knows anything, “Um, yeah, about that–how–?”

“Ellsco works with government contracts, and that requires me to have certain levels of clearance regarding confidential matters,” Arlene replies, a smug eyebrow raise punctuating her statement, “So needless to say, they learned quickly that they couldn’t shut me out. Not when Ellsco is as intertwined and as important to their work as we are.”

“Mom,” Steve breathes, “you didn’t!”

“You bet your ass I did!” she scoffs, “What, you think I wouldn’t threaten to pull funding for their weird little projects entirely once I found out my son was involved in something they fucked up?! And they thought they could just not tell me?”

“Oh my g–” Steve cackles, “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking badass, holy shit!”

“Praise me all you want, Bear, but that’s not getting you out of explaining what the hell is up with the claws and the ears and fangs and the tail.”

“He’s got wings too, actually.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.” He nods, “They’re small enough he can hide ‘em under his shirts now, if they’re baggy enough, but yeah.”

“Huh.” Arlene blinks slowly before she tosses her head slightly, as though she’s forcibly shaking herself out of her thoughts, “No distracting me, Bear. How did he get like that? Is it because of the, eh, what did they call it… Upside Down? The thing that caused the earthquakes and the weird cracks in the ground?”

“Kind of. It’s… it’s a really long story,” Steve sighs, raking his hand through his hair, “can… can we go sit down for this?”

“Jesus,” Arlene mutters, a concerned expression crossing her face, “how long is long, baby? You need to sit down to tell it?”

“Um.” 

“Baby Bear…”

“It’s been going on since ‘83.”

“Are you fucking–goddamn ‘83?!”

Steve cringes and shrugs, “I–I mean, y-yeah?”

Arlene pinches the bridge of her nose, “Shit. I might pull funding out of spite anyway, Jesus fucking Christ. And let me guess,” she spits, “you’ve been involved the whole goddamn time?”

“Uh–”

“Nope, no, Stevie-bear, that was rhetorical, you’re my kid, of course you were fucking involved. You’re too kind to not want to help, even if it was terrifying…”

“Um–”

“Did the fucking government just leave it all in the hands of fucking children?!”

“I mean, Ms. Byers and Hop were there the whole time–”

“Ms. Byers? Hop?” Arlene squints at Steve briefly, before she shakes her head, “Joyce and Jim? You’re telling me they were the only adults who knew about this?”

“I mean, yeah?” he shrugs, “It was mostly me, Nance, Jon, and later on, Rob? Oh, and the kids I told you about? The ones I babysit? And Ms. Byers and Hop were the adults in the know. We’ve kinda’ been like, the first line of defense, you know?”

Arlene looks distraught the more he talks, and Steve feels guilty for making his mom upset. He’d hoped he would have made her feel better, knowing he’s had adults on their side at least, but somehow he thinks he’s made it worse.

“Good God, baby…” she sounds winded, “how–how have you not called me for help sooner?”

“You’ve been busy, Mom,” he shrugs, “I’m okay, and you’ve got your own life. I don’t want to bother you with the trivial stuff.”

“None of that is trivial!”

He flinches.

“Baby!” He blinks in shock as warm palms fit smoothly around his cheeks, staring into his mom’s desperate teary eyes, “baby, nothing I do is more important than you, especially not if you need help.”

“I–”

“There’s nothing I can do about it now, it’s too little too late, but, please, Baby Bear,” she pleads with him, a frantic tone in her voice, “tell me next time, never assume it’s trivial, because I promise you, it isn’t.”

Unbidden, Steve feels tears well up again. He hasn’t cried this much since he was a kid, but he supposes it’s fitting now that his mom is back, bringing with her that feeling of safety he’d thought had vanished along with the warmth of his childhood summers in Italy.

“Okay,” he warbles, “O- Okay, momma, I promise.”

“Good,” she nods her head once, a jerky, emotional motion before gingerly focusing her attention on wiping the stray tears from Steve’s cheeks.

“C- Can we go sit now? If you still want to know about everything?”

“Yeah, Stevie-bear.” Arlene steps back away from him, her hands slipping from his face to his shoulders, sliding down his arms slowly, soothingly. Her delicate, manicured fingers gently encircle his wrists, holding him so softly with just the slightest pressure against the beat of his pulse. He smiles at her, feeling the way it wobbles on his lips in time with the tumultuous emotions roiling in his gut. She returns it in kind and together they head back into the living room, hand in hand. 

Steve is half expecting Eds to be waiting for them like an eager puppy, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, but they aren’t greeted by his enthusiasm at all. Steve’s anxiety rises immediately and he darts away from his mom, bee-lining to the couch since that was the last place he saw Eddie. His heart calms when his eyes settle on the form of his sweetheart, curled around the blanket he snuggles under with Steve most nights, his nose buried in the folds and making soft huffing breaths in his sleep. Steve deflates, leaning heavily against the couch as the relief washes over him. He’s helpless to resist the urge that rises, reaching out and running his fingers through the beautiful boy’s hair, pushing it out of his face and tracing the shell of his long, tapered ear as he tucks the dark curls behind it. He knows how soft his expression must be, glad that his back is to his mom, because he doesn’t think he can stand her teasing right now. Eddie purrs quietly in his sleep, pressing into Steve’s touch and it pulls him back to reality. He straightens, turning back to Arlene. 

“Um, I’m going to sit here,” he tells her, aware his face is completely giving him away, but determined to not let it bother him. He squares his shoulders.

Arlene simply smiles warmly at him, pushing the armchair closer to the couch and settling into it, tucking her legs underneath her as she waits for him to get himself situated.

Steve exhales, looking down at the sweet, half-monster curled so cutely on the couch. He makes a quick decision and prays his mom won’t razz him too much for it.

He sits on the middle cushion, pulling one of the decorative pillows up against his side as a bolster before reaching over towards Eddie. Gently, he hauls the larger beastie towards him, eliciting some quiet grumbles but once Eds seems to understand that Steve’s thighs are to become his new pillow, Eds quiets quickly, purring loudly in pleasure and snuggling in, rolling over and pressing his face against Steve’s stomach. Steve sinks one hand into Eds’ hair, the other falling between his shoulder blades, skirting around the edges of where he knows Eddie’s wings lay flat against his back. He runs his fingers through dark curls, scraping blunt nails across his sweetheart’s scalp while Steve’s other hand rubs tender circles of delicate pressure against the knobs of Eddie’s spine through the yellow sweater he’s stolen from Steve’s closet. The purring sound increases in volume, the weight of his sweetheart doubling across his lap as the beastie goes boneless from Steve’s attention. 

“He’s very telling, isn’t he?”

“No,” Steve sighs, “he’s just affectionate, I think.”

Arlene scrunches her brow, “Really? Stevie–”

“Eddie died, mom.”

The sharp inhale he hears makes him squeeze his eyes shut as old pain rises to the surface. He hates thinking about it, but it’s the reality. Eddie is like this because he’d died in the Upside Down, and they’d–he’d–left Eddie there to rot.

“We… Spring Break,” Steve chokes out, “was the most recent incident. A- A girl was killed in front of him, mom. He- He had no idea about any of it before then, you know? He’d just run this dorky little nerd game club that the boys I babysit for are nutso about, and he was- he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think he was trying to help her, really. Wrong way to help her, with drugs, but I mean, his heart was in the right place.”

Steve chuckles, tugging a little on Eds’ curls and pulling a soft whine from his throat, the sound smothered in the fabric of Steve’s shirt. He barely catches it, but the vibration against his stomach makes him shiver with want. He stuffs it down, because now isn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts, but he logs it in his memory for later.

“Anyway, she- she died really awfully, mom. Like, body-horror awful. He ran, and I don’t blame him. It made it look like he’d killed her, though, which fucking blows. Hop and the government spooks are working on clearing his name, but we don’t know how long that’s going to take. Anyway… turns out what killed this girl in his home in front of him is tied to the shit that’s been happening since ‘83. We all got roped in, and well… in the end, we had to uh, split the party. He went with Dustin–” he looks up at his mom, brow furrowed, “I’ve told you about Dustin, right?”

Arlene smiles at him, eyes soft and incredibly sad through all the fondness scrawled across every inch of her face.

“Yeah, Stevie-bear,” she says, kindly, “you have. You said he’s like the little brother you always wish you’d had, even if he has… Oh, what did you say? Ah, right,” she chuckles, “the biggest ego you’ve ever seen.”

Steve snorts, “Y- Yeah, that’s Dusty, alright. Um, yeah. So… Eddie went with Dust, they were the distraction, cause there were these other things that uhhh–basically they were trying to block us from stopping the evil guy who we’d been calling Vecna or One… and they did, but something went wrong. So to protect Dustin, he–”

Steve chokes on his emotions, fear and nausea rising in his throat as memories of finding Dustin wailing over Eddie’s corpse bombard his mind, filling him with grief all over again. He has to focus on not hyperventilating because fuck, Eddie’s right here, in his lap, breathing and alive–changed but alive–and while he’d left Eddie behind, Steve had gone back, he’d gotten Eds out of there, he’d gotten Eddie out of Hell. He exhales, shaking.

“To protect Dustin, he made the sacrifice play… and he’d not made it.”

“Oh, Stevie…”

He feels the tears spilling, can hear the agony in his mom’s voice, the empathy in her tone, sympathy oozing on every word. He sniffles, roughly wiping his face with the back of his hand, laughing humorlessly as the tears continue to burble down his cheeks, fat and unrelenting.

“I- I’d had to drag Dust off of him… off his corpse, mom. He- He was kicking and screaming, his ankle was broken, and he didn’t care, he just–” Steve chokes on another sob, “–he just wanted Eddie to be alive, and there I was, dragging him away from- from one of the only other older male figures in his life. And- And I had to leave his body there to rot.”

Arlene is on her feet between one heartbeat and the next, falling onto the cushion beside Steve and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly and rocking them gently back and forth. He sobs.

“I- I had to leave him behind, mom!”

“Shh, Stevie, shhhh…” she soothes, her voice broken and threaded with sadness, “it sounds like you didn’t have a choice, baby, you’re just one man.”

“I- I should have tried harder, mom! I should never have left him there!”

“Oh, baby… oh my Baby Bear, no…” Arlene chokes out, her arms trembling where they clutch tight around him, “It’s not your fault, and I guarantee Eddie would tell you the exact same thing if he was awake right now.”

Steve breaks.

He falls apart, crumbling into his mom’s embrace as she holds him, quietly murmuring wordless comfort. The weight of Eddie’s body across his lap is grounding, and it keeps him from completely disconnecting from reality as he weeps, clutching Arlene’s button front so hard he’s almost afraid he might tear holes into the fabric. His mom’s fingers thread into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, stroking with firm passes that make him go boneless with a pained whine, his face sticky with salt from all the tears he’s cried as he buries it in his mom’s shoulder. He feels a tight pressure around his waist, and he lifts his head from where he’s had it smashed against Arlene’s body, looking down to see that Eddie has wound one of his arms around Steve, snuggling in close and deepening his sub-vocal purring noises to the point that Steve can feel the vibrations strongly through his skin.

“I had a lot of time to get to know Eddie today, Stevie.”

Steve lifts his gaze, turning swollen, teary eyes to his mother’s face. She looks determined, a stubborn set to her jaw that makes Steve sit up and listen, because for all that his mother is playful and kind, she’s also fierce and refuses to not be taken seriously when the situation calls for it. 

“Not a single thing that he told me has led me to believe that he would for a single second allow you to go on thinking that his death was in any way your fault.”

“But–”

“Nor would he allow you to beat yourself up for leaving him behind. I’m certain that he understands that you had to decide between a corpse and a living person–between his dead body and Dustin, who if I’m not mistaken, you both adore–which he would agree is a no-brainer decision, Stevie.”

“I–”

“Steve.”

He swallows, blinking away the remnants of tears at the fierce tone in his mom’s voice.

“Eddie is a kind boy. He would hate that you’re beating yourself up like this. And he’s back now, isn’t he? If I know you,” she says, raising an eyebrow, “and I like to think that I do, you probably went back for him, didn’t you?”

Speechless, all Steve can do is nod. Arlene sighs, hanging her head.

“Steve,” she says on an exhale, “that decision alone is… it’s amazing, incredibly kind and thoughtful. You went back to collect a body, I’m assuming, to bring closure to a mourning family and to a boy you love like a little brother. How am I doing so far?”

“P- Pretty good, actually,” he chuckles humorlessly.

Arlene hums, “Figured. So when you went back, what did you find?”

Steve takes a deep breath, collecting himself. She’s amazing at this, refocusing the conversations when they deviate off the ideal pathways. It’s something that makes her an excellent businesswoman–distracting anecdotes don’t work on her.

“Um. He wasn’t human anymore. Eds was… he was basically a feral monster. But- But I took a risk, and it… it worked. He recognized me, and um. I think he imprinted on me or something?”

“Oh?”

“Y- Yeah, he got, uhh. Really affectionate? Um, didn’t want to part from me, liked to be touching all the time, very protective.”

“Animalistic, would you say?”

“Y-Yeah, that’s a good way to put it, I guess.” Steve agrees, nodding, “He seemed to run almost exclusively off of like, instinct or something, and it wasn’t human instinct. Whatever happened to him down there, it mutated him into whatever he is now.”

His mom’s face twists slightly in a disagreeing expression, “He’s not that mutated, Stevie. A little different maybe, with the ears and tail and claws, but it’s not completely inexplicable or unable to be concealed.”

“It was… it was worse, before.”

“What do you mean, worse?”

Steve exhales, dropping his gaze back down to the sleeping sweetheart sprawled across his lap. His fingers tighten in their hold within dark curls, pulling a thick, needy sound from Eds’ throat that’s thankfully muffled into Steve’s shirt. 

“I mean… it was more obvious that he wasn’t–isn’t–human anymore, mom. He didn’t look even remotely human when we found him. He walked on four legs, his face was more bat-like than human… hell, you’ve seen how big he is. I thought he was going to kill me at first, but…”

“But he didn’t.”

Steve shakes his head, a melancholic smile tugging the corner of his lips upwards, “Like I said, he recognized me, or something, and bonded with me somehow. The affectionate nature just… never left, and he’s been really tactile ever since.”

“So, if he was more–” Arlene’s words are cut off by the dinging of a timer. He looks in tandem with her to glance through the doorway into the kitchen, before returning his gaze back to her face.

“... are you cooking something, mom?”

“Ah, shit,” she says, clapping her hands on her thighs and standing with a quiet grunt, “Yeah, I was. I was actually teaching your boy there the patented Chiara family bolognese before we started drinking.” 

Steve’s heart flutters wildly in his chest, because that’s…

“Mom…”

She smiles at him, a knowing look in her blue-green eyes as she raises an eyebrow at him, “Stevie, the poor thing was eating Spaghetti-Os. What kind of Italian-American would I be if I didn’t offer to feed him?”

“Fair point,” he laughs quietly, resuming his petting through Eddie’s soft curls, looking down at the boy in his lap, “but you… you were teaching him..?”

Arlene shrugs, “I just get the feeling that this one wants to stick around, Baby Bear,” she says as she turns and walks away to the kitchen, no doubt to check on the bolognese. 

Steve chews on his lower lip after she leaves the living room, wishing horribly that he knew what the two of them had talked about while he was at work, or what his mom had seen in Eddie that makes her so sure of him. The Chiara family recipes are a closely guarded secret, and he knows how tightly she holds them, how fiercely she protects them. That she was so willing to share the family recipes with Eddie, it seems impossible. She’s said before that she would share them with his future wife, but he’s definitely not made a marriage announcement. (Although it’s not like his overly-romantic hard-and-fast heart hasn’t imagined it already… Maybe she’s considering it good-as, because technically actual marriage is illegal for people like them–like mom and himself?) Steve shakes his head and waits for his mom to come back, focusing on the happy rumbles coming from the sleeping beast in his lap.

Arlene saunters back into the living room five minutes later, smelling of delicious meat sauce and humming with satisfaction. She settles back into her armchair and smiles at Steve.

“So. Where were we?”

“Uhhh,” he blinks, “we were talking about how I found Eds in the Upside Down.”

“Right,” she nods, “you said he bonded with you, or something of that nature and became affectionate and tactile, and that hasn’t faded.”

“Yeah.”

“You mentioned that he was… hmm.” Arlene trails off, her brows furrowed as she clearly searches for the right word, “Monstrous when you found him, correct?”

“Mmhm, yeah. He didn’t even really look human, his hair was more of a mane and his face wasn’t even remotely human-shaped, he kinda had a bat-like smushed nose. And like, two sets of ears? Giant talons and huge wings, his tail was even way longer and stronger too.”

Arlene squints, “So then, how exactly did he start to look more… human?”

Steve smiles, “That was all Dustin.”

“Oh? You let Dustin see him?”

“Of course I did. I knew he would be safe, Eds loves Dust just as much as I do. Plus, he did really well with Wayne so it seemed perfectly alright to let the little shithead come over… besides, I didn’t really want to let him go on hurting and mourning Eddie’s death if he didn’t have to, you know? It really messed him up, mom. I hated seeing him like that… it was like he’d lost a huge part of himself, and here I had a way to help him heal from that wound.”

His mom’s eyes are soft, her lips pulled into a gentle smile that’s dripping with love and Steve squirms under the weight of her gaze, heat rising up his neck and making his cheeks blotchy with embarrassment.

“A- Anyway,” he stutters, “Dust figured out he’s some strange variation on a vampire, and so we tried feeding him blood to test the theory. It worked, and so since then I’ve been feeding him my blood, which has been helping him regain a more human appearance.”

“Your blood?”

“It’s not very much! I don’t even get, like, dizzy after he feeds!” Steve raises the hand that’s not buried in Eds’ hair, waving it frantically, “It’s barely even like donating blood–I don’t think he takes anywhere near a pint every time he feeds.”

“Okay… and you’re being safe, right?”

“Mom, this… this isn’t like The Crisis, okay?” he whispers, “And even if it was, I’m not stupid enough to take any chances with my own health or his, I promise.”

“Ellsco headquarters might be in Boston, but I’ve already watched a few of my friends just… disappear, and I’d…” Arlene squares her shoulders, “I would hate to watch my son fade away like that. I just want you to be safe, okay? Do you know… do you know how to go and get tested, Bear?”

He nods, “I- I read about it in a zine I got from Indy.”

Arlene nods once, decisive, “I’ll go with you, if you want to get it done while I’m here.”

Steve smiles at her, wobbly and grateful, “Okay, mom. That’s weird, getting tested with your mom, but… I’m grateful.”

“We can make a day of it,” she says, waving a hand and settling back in her armchair, “get some breakfast somewhere, get the testing–I should get my testing updated, too, honestly–and then just shop around and enjoy ourselves!”

“Ah–but, what about Eds?” Steve bites his lip and looks down at the sleeping boy, “I don’t think I’d be able to just… leave him behind all day to go have fun without him.”

“Hm,” Arlene hums, “well, we can wait a bit, of course. Oh!” her eyes brighten as a devious smirk spreads across her face. Steve’s heart races in his chest as his nerves blare alarm bells in his head.

“Mom… what are you…”

“I bet I could just con Owens into doing it for us.”

“MOM!”

“What? The asshole owes me.” She scoffs and tosses her head, a childish pout on her lips, “He tried to keep me from my own son, what absolute gall.”

Steve snorts, “Okay, okay. Alright, mom.”

“Plus, wouldn’t it be better for Eddie’s blood to remain with someone we have leverage with, rather than some random lab people who might report any abnormalities?”

“Wait–you’re including Eds in our weird little mother-son testing day? Mom!”

She shrugs, “Well, isn’t it better for you to know now? I mean, if you two are gonna be–”

“SHHH! MOM!!” he whisper shrieks at her, his face flaming.

“What?” she blinks, false innocence across her face as her lips threaten to break into a cheesing grin, “He���s asleep, he’s not listening.”

“Jesus H. Christ, you can’t just say that!! Besides,” he grumbles, “just because I like him doesn’t necessarily mean that he likes me, even if he has been really tactile and affectionate, okay?”

Steve hears the sound of skin slapping against skin and he looks up at his mom, brows furrowing at the sight of her with her hand pressed over her face. She groans, the sound pained and he wonders if she just smacked herself in the forehead or something, which is pretty unlike her.

“Uhh, mom? …You okay?”

“Peachy,” she grouses out. “Stevie-bear, light of my life; I adore you, but sometimes I want to shake you until your head flies off.”

“Um.”

Arlene peels her hand away from her face, leveling Steve with the flattest look he’s ever seen her shoot him before. She heaves a great sigh, shaking her head.

“You’re pretty convinced he’s not interested in you like that then, Stevie?”

“I mean…” he swallows, his blotchy blush filling in further as more heat floods his face, “I would be really happy if he were interested, but… I don’t, um. I don’t think he is? He’s been physically affectionate, but from what I’ve heard from Wayne, I don’t think he’s like us.”

She arches an eyebrow, “You know sexuality is fluid, so why are you being so rigid with him? Who’s to say that he couldn’t be interested in you?”

Steve chews on his lower lip, fidgeting with his handful of Eddie’s curls, “You’re… you’re not wrong, I guess. But, it sort of feels like I’m forcing my feelings on him when I think about it like that, you know?”

“Not really, Stevie.”

He huffs, a puff of air blowing stray bangs back off his forehead. “It’s like I’m taking what I want to see in him and forcing it to be the truth, even if it’s really not, confusing my own desires with what’s actually there.”

“Mixing fantasy and reality?”

He snaps, pointing at his mom as she puts words to his thoughts. “Yes! That!”

Arlene sighs, “I suppose I can understand falling for the straight person. It’s definitely happened before, and I’ve only seen you two interact very briefly, but…” she trails off, lips pursed and brow furrowed. Steve watches his mom carefully. It’s telling how selective she’s being in choosing her words, it’s obvious she thinks she knows something, and again he wonders just what she and Eds talked about while he was at work. 

“I mean, you saw us interact while Eds was drunk, mom.”

She waves him off, “In vino veritas, Stevie.”

He rolls his eyes at her and waits for her to finally come up with what she wants to say.

“I don’t think it’s as far from reality as you think it may be.” She says quietly, fixing him with a serious look, “He clearly adores you, and the way he spoke about you when we were talking felt like it went beyond just friendship to me.”

Steve’s heart stutters in his chest, that tiny flame of hope sputtering and sparking where he’s kept it safe behind his ribs.

“I don’t think it would be completely far-fetched to maybe consider testing those waters a bit more, Stevie. If you really like him the way I think you do,” she raises an eyebrow as his blush darkens, “then you should maybe show him more. Turn up the charm, give him more of a taste of what you have to offer.”

“I–”

“Steve, Eddie is a sweet boy.” She says this as a statement, like she knows it’s a fact, and it soothes something deep in his brain–some anxious doubt lurking around at the edges and making him feel off kilter. With the easing of it, the ground beneath his feet is no longer lurching, suddenly stabilized and solid once again. 

“I spoke to him a lot today and I can confidently say that you wouldn’t lose him if you were to admit any feelings. Or if that’s too much too fast for you, just being more obvious about how you feel about him wouldn’t end with him outright rejecting those advances. Hell, you might be surprised.”

“But…”

“Stevie,” Arlene interrupts him, leaning forward in her seat, “you should just do what you want, okay? Just, treat him like you would if he was just one of the girls you dated before.”

“He’s so much more than them, though…”

“Then show him that, Stevie.”

He swallows, nerves alight with possibilities as that tiny flame grows just a little stronger where it remains safe in his heart. Hope bubbles in his chest, feeding it steadily as he contemplates what his mom has just told him. She’s more experienced in this sort of thing than him, he has to admit–queer romance is out of his wheelhouse, as this is his first actual attempt. And he’s terrified still, but there’s a thrill that runs through his veins now that wasn’t there before, beating in tandem with the pulse of the flickering flame behind its ivory cage. 

“You- You really think I should? That I- That I have a chance?”

“I do, Baby Bear. I really, really do.” She says, a smile spreading across her face, “I just want to see you happy, and it’s so obvious how happy he makes you, even now.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Any time, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, momma.”

Arlene flops back in the armchair, gusting out a breath, “Lord almighty, I am emotionally drained right now, you take years off my gay little life, Stevie, I swear.”

“H- Hey!”

She cackles, an ugly braying donkey laugh that makes Steve warm with nostalgia. He joins in after a moment, his own burbling chuckles spilling out of his lungs. It’s nice, sitting with his mom and his sweetheart in the living room, just spending time together. The two of them chat quietly, Steve stroking Eds’ hair as he finally fills her in on what has happened in Hawkins since ‘83. A lot of what he tells Arlene upsets her, but she takes it all in and handles the shock well. She migrates over to the couch from the armchair somewhere in the middle of his retelling of the events at Starcourt, and holds his hand tightly as he talks, his voice shaking. By the end of the events of Spring Break and what he knows about the whole Russian rescue mission and the California crew’s cross country adventure, she’s holding him tightly. She solemnly promises to be more involved in his life from now on and he pretends not to notice the way her tears soak the shoulder of his shirt or the way she has to forcibly collect herself afterwards. 

Arlene transitions their discussion fluidly into an easy chat after she’s finished asking questions about the Upside Down and all the crazy shit tied to it, keeping the discussion mundane as she fills him in on some of the upcoming projects Ellsco has taken on. A lot of her work is confidential, but not all of it is as the Fortune 500 company has its fingers in lots of pies–she relishes in telling him about a few passion projects that haven’t required her to sign a thousand and one NDAs. She tells him how Gramma and Grampy are doing, how Grampy is enjoying his partial retirement now that she’s taken over. She also mentions reconnecting with his uncle Ben–Steve would swear his mom had a sister, not a brother, but he’s probably just remembering wrong–and how they’d met up on one of her business trips to Miami a few years ago by chance. It’s wonderful. Steve finds himself relaxing as they converse easily back and forth, sharing the parts of their lives they’ve missed over the past few years.

Steve is alone in the living room again, Arlene having just gone into the kitchen to check on the bolognese a final time, enjoying the quiet as he cards his fingers through dark curls, lightly dragging his nails against the skin of Eddie’s scalp in the tranquil atmosphere. He feels the body laid across his lap begin to stir after a time and he casts his gaze down to the boy he’s been playing pillow for, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Mmn–” Eds grumbles, his voice heavy with sleep as his strong arms squeeze around Steve’s middle, “–S’vie?”

“Good morning, lazybones,” Steve murmurs in reply, chuckling. “You awake now?”

Eddie blinks open bleary hickory eyes, drowsy and clouded as he turns his gaze up at Steve; twisting from the prone position he’s adopted, splayed across Steve’s thighs. His jaw cracks in a wide yawn that exposes his sharp fangs and long tongue before he buries his face against Steve’s stomach again, humming happily.

“M’wake,” Eddie mumbles, “y’r warm…”

“I’m warm?” Steve snickers, tugging gently on a small handful of curls in his amusement. The action pulls a thick sound from Eds’ throat, yanking at a burning thread of desire deep in Steve’s core that he steadfastly ignores in favor of releasing his hold on Eddie’s hair. “I’m flattered, but you’ve been sleeping for a few hours now and dinner is going to be ready soon. Aren’t you hungry yet?”

The face Eddie makes in response is cute; all pouty and crinkled in his disapproval. He’s clearly not in favor of moving off of Steve. “I’m–”

The sudden rumbling of Eds’ stomach cuts him off, the sound well timed and harmonizing with the gurgling of Steve’s own stomach when it makes itself known moments later. Eddie jolts away from Steve’s body, the dramatic reaction pulling a laugh from Steve. The embarrassment that scrawls its way across Eds’ face is plain to see in the pink flush that colors his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, reaching even the tips of his pointed ears. It’s unbearably cute–he wants to nip at them.

“I… I guess I’m kinda hungry,” he admits, shyly looking away from Steve.

“Hm,” Steve drawls, smiling fondly at his sweetheart, “I mean, I’m pretty hungry too. Mom told me you helped her make the sauce, so I guess I’m pretty excited to see how it turned out. Especially since you had a hand in it.”

That pretty pink flush goes darker to Steve’s delight, and he eagerly watches as Eddie fidgets in place, absurdly pleased that he doesn’t try to move out of Steve’s space. He loves how close they are, all pressed together like this. He’s starved for touch, and Eds’ is his favorite of all. It always feels like a dream and sometimes he has to remind himself that no, it’s reality. He’s just this lucky. 

“Arlene did most of the wo- work,” Eddie mumbles, “I just th- threw stuff in the pot and st- stirred it sometimes.”

“That’s still helping, silly.” Steve chastises kindly, “It counts.”

Eds looks up at him with huge hickory eyes, sparkling and wide, gleaming with hope. “It… does?”

“Mmhm,” Steve nods, unable to contain his fondness–all the love he has for this boy. He can feel the way it colors his smile, the way it pulls at the edges of his eyes, the way his shoulders slope in Eds’ direction like he can’t bear to turn away from him. He thinks about what his mom said about him, how she doesn’t think he would lose Eddie if he confessed… how she thinks he could easily get away with upping the ante, so to speak. He chews the inside of his cheek, excited anxiety brewing in his gut at the thought of turning up the charm–of wooing the man he wants, the way he wants to.

There’s a lot that could go wrong if he did decide to really start turning on the charm with Eds. So far, he’s just tried to- to be nice… to be kind to him; to be a safe harbor when Eds feels anxious, and a place he knows he can come to rest his head when the world feels too big, too mean, or just too much. Nothing he’s done so far falls within the typical big displays of romance, but that’s okay because it’s the tiny acts of devotion that Steve loves best. He loves being able to do things for his partners, to show them how much he adores them, how often they cross his mind. He does things for them without a second thought because he wants to make their life easier, he wants to ease whatever burdens them if only for a short while–he wants to integrate himself into their life in any way he can, even if that means he’s only there in the capacity as a meat shield or a workhorse. If he can make himself useful, helpful, to them… that’s enough for him. 

He always wants to do more, of course. He wants to pamper, to take care of them, but he’s been accused more than once of being overbearing; of being needy–of being clingy. He smothers those urges as best he can, because he’s learned that it’s not what most people want from him. Does he hope that one day he’ll find someone who will indulge him in those urges? Yes, of course. But he’s aware it’s far fetched and selfish. But with Eddie it’s so hard… with Eddie, he’s greedy. He wants all of it–he wants to wash his hair, wants to cook his lunches, his dinners. He wants to hold him in his arms on the couch and watch bad TV until he falls asleep, and wants to make him feel safe when he wakes from nightmares of monochrome skies and unfriendly landscapes. He wants to take care of him, to help him regain his human appearance so he has a chance to return to society, a chance to be himself amongst other people again. He wants to see Eddie spread his metaphorical wings again, prance on the cafeteria tables of the world and take them all by storm–he’s a force of nature and to see such a beautiful creature caged and forced behind closed doors is a tragedy he refuses to see play out any longer than it has to. He will not clip those metaphorical wings, no matter how badly he wants Eddie to stay with him.

What’s the saying? If you love it, let it go?

He’ll just have to hope Eddie will want to return to him when his shackles are finally shattered.

Take a chance, hope that his mom is right. The risk is worth the reward, after all.

Steve smiles down at Eddie, finally releases the tenuous hold on his control. He feels it when his smile easily slides into a far more flirtatious territory than he’s previously allowed it to venture with Eds; a smile he’s only ever used on women he’s wanted to date before now. He gently grasps Eddie’s chin, the firm grip pulling a stuttering breath around fangs and from between plush, parted lips as Steve lifts his half-monster’s jaw to force their eyes to meet. He watches with a hungry gaze as hickory eyes widen, as he leans in closer until his nose just barely brushes against his sweetheart’s. He can feel the way Eds’ breath quickens; hot against his cheek, ghosting against his own mouth. It’s tantalizing, but he can be patient… it will be worth the wait. Steve knows how to play this back-and-forth game of seduction and desire, and he’s going to play it right with Eddie. He’s a clumsy flirt in front of other people and cheesy beyond belief, but sometimes he hits the correct notes and he thinks he’s got Eddie’s number right.

“It does count, sweetheart,” he rumbles out, his voice heavy and deep with desire. “Did you know,” he adds, conversationally, like their proximity isn’t boiling the blood in his veins with want, “that no one aside from my mom or my Gramma has ever cooked for me, before?”

“N- No- No one?” Eddie breathes out, his voice no louder than a whisper as he stumbles over his words. Steve relishes in the way his inhuman pupils have dilated, the way his breathing has gone ragged, heavy in the meager space between them. Steve licks his lips, immediately clocking the way Eddie’s gaze locks onto and tracks the path his tongue takes with something like wildness behind those dark, hickory eyes.

“No one,” he replies, his lips just barely brushing against Eddie’s cheek as he speaks. He can feel the way the skin of his neck tightens while Eddie swallows; hears the clicking sound his throat makes at the action. Steve feels alive in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He’s forgotten how fun it is to flirt when he really wants someone–when there isn’t an audience to make him embarrassed about the corny lines he tends to spew.

“You’re my first, Eds.”

He pulls away from Eddie after his statement, doing his best to hide how affected he is by the starstruck look on his half-monster’s face. Steve feels like he could fly because holy shit, mom was right? The way Eddie sits there, eyes wide and dark, breathing raggedly with the prettiest of blushes coloring his skin from the tips of his pointed ears all the way down his throat to where his collar bones disappear into the collar of that stolen sweater. The delicate color highlighting the planes of his skin is… it’s gorgeous, and Steve wants to sink his teeth into the curve of his neck, wants to bite and leave marks along the angles of his jaw. Eddie looks dazed, one clawed hand clutching at his chest, rising and falling rapidly beneath it as he stares at Steve with glossy, wet eyes like he’s seeing him anew; a deity made flesh, something to worship in reality. His lips are still parted, plush and glistening–begging to be kissed, and it takes all of his willpower to resist, but somehow, miraculously, he manages. Eddie looks like a dream, a temptation demanding to be ravished, and ohhh, how Steve wants.

Instead, he gets up off the couch.

He relishes in the keening whine that tears out of Eds’ throat as he steps away, putting more distance between them, allows himself to delight in the surge of pride that swirls in his gut as Eddie sways unbidden in his direction, instinctively trying to close the distance without realizing he’s even doing it. He can’t help the smug way his flirtatious smirk pulls up on one side at the way Eds’ hand flexes on nothing, desperate to touch that which Steve has taken away. Seeing all of it painted in technicolor before him is the greatest gift he could receive and he feels settled–assured that he’s making the right calls. Because, yeah. Yes, he’s absolutely going to take this leap of faith. 

Eddie is worth the fear, the unknown, the potential loss. He’s worth everything.

And so far, it’s looking like his mom was right in that he’s playing a winning game.

He’s got nothing to lose, but everything to gain.

“Well?” he says, raising an eyebrow at Eddie and making a “come hither” gesture with his index finger, “Are you gonna come with me, eat the dinner that you made? Or are you going to languish alone on the couch all night?”

Eddie shakes his head frantically, a squeaking sound tumbling from his mouth as he all but throws himself off the couch and stumbles to his feet. He’s all baby-deer legs and Bambi-eyes as he scrambles to get to Steve’s side; all flailing limbs and pinwheeling tail, desperately trying to counter balance his lurching weight. Steve starts walking backwards towards the door to the kitchen, never taking his eyes off his awkward sweetheart. He lets Eddie get close, lets him think he’s won, lets him think he’s caught Steve–but it’s a ruse and Steve swiftly slips out of reach. It’s a fun little game, and he enjoys the tiny noises of frustration that slip from Eds’ throat when Steve manages to just evade a grasping claw, keeping barely out of Eddie’s range as they slowly make their way towards the kitchen.

When his ankle catches on something on the ground Steve’s eyes widen, his heart lurching in his chest with momentary panic. He pauses, looking down to spot the stray blanket that somehow managed to make its way into the pathway to the kitchen. He jerks his gaze back to Eddie when he feels a strong, talon-tipped hand grip his shirt. The sudden impact throws him off balance, and with the way the blanket hooks around his ankle, he flings his arms out in an attempt to steady himself. He ends up digging his fingers into the meat of Eddie’s arms, but his body’s momentum seems to have caught them both off guard because the next thing he knows, he’s hitting the ground–although the ground feels softer than he remembers?

He blinks open eyes he doesn’t remember closing, staring down at the dazed, flushed face of his half-monster. Those huge eyes are hooded and dark, as his breath comes hot and panting. His talon-tipped hands clench where they rest against Steve’s sides, just above his hips, and one talon has slipped beneath Steve’s shirt, grazing the skin of his flank. 

Oh.

Steve flushes, because fuck Eddie looks delicious like this and how they got there is… he must have spun them mid fall to take the impact, since he’s so much larger than Steve is. Bigger and yet so… so submissive, so docile, so sweet.

Shit, that’s really hot… and also stupidly precious.

Eddie stares up at him, blinking hazy hickory eyes, and Steve finally realizes how close their faces are. His breath shudders in his lungs, because oh god, he wants to take Eddie apart, to hear him whine and cry and fall to pieces beneath him–

“Wow. Either you’re the fastest moving guy on the planet, or you’re just some sort of klutzy flirting savant, Bear.”

The sudden, amused comment delivered with such dry humor yanks a surprised yelp from Steve. He jolts upright as his most-hated blotchy blush spreads across his face and down his chest, and he glares at his mom where she leans with her arms crossed against the door frame to the kitchen. She looks smug, tapping the wooden spoon she holds in one hand absently against one arm, a “told-you-so” expression smeared across her face.

“Mom!” he barks, embarrassment oozing from every pore. He’s about to yell at her to go away, but he snaps his mouth shut when he clocks the quiet, pathetic mewling that’s coming from Eddie. The sound sends a rush of molten heat down his spine and Steve jerks his head downward, his gaze locking onto the boy he has pinned under him. His eyes widen at the absolute vision beneath him, greedily taking in the way Eddie’s chest is heaving, a furious flush coloring his cheeks and throat, his head tossed to the side. His hands have dropped from Steve’s hips to the carpet–one is clenched between his fangs in a meager attempt to muffle his noises. Only then does he finally notice the way his thigh is pressed hard against the zipper of Eddie’s jeans, and–

Ohhhh. He’s–

Fuck.

Steve swallows and slowly pulls his leg away, a muffled, gasping whine tumbling from around the finger in Eds’ teeth, between his parted lips, soft but not silent. Steve can see the way those denim-clad thighs tremble, the way the claws of his other hand sink into the carpet pile, skin across his knuckles taut and locked with tension. And… And Steve did that to him… just by—

—Jesus H. Christ, that’s so fucking hot I’m going to die and my mother is right there goddamnit—

“Mom… we’ll be there in a few, okay?”

“Okay,” she drawls, amusement in her tone, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Oh my– fucking, shoo, woman!”

Cackling, Arlene retreats into the kitchen. “Spaghetti’s almost done, better hurry up!”

“Okay, mom! Jesus!”

Steve sits back on his heels, giving Eddie some space to calm down as he drops his head into his hands, completely embarrassed at being caught in such a compromising position by his mother. He groans to himself, because goddamnit, everything had been going so well up until then, too! He hadn’t made a fool of himself yet, his flirting was going great! He’s a cheesy, corny dork, but it’d been working! Playful, fun… and then he’d had to go and trip over a fucking blanket like a dumbass–

“Steve..?”

He jolts upright, staring at Eddie with wide eyes. “You okay?” he immediately asks, chewing his lower lip. He’s honestly more concerned about whether or not he crossed a line with the whole… knee-to-dick-accidental-frottage than anything else.

Eddie blinks at him, clearly stunned, before a shy smile spreads across his face along with the darkening of his delicately-pink blush. He tugs a chunk of his curls in front of his mouth, averting his gaze as he pulls his shoulders up. “I- I’m okay. A- Are you hurt?”

“No, no, Eds! Not at all, thanks to you catching me like that…”

Eddie preens a little, shifting in place as his flush darkens further, “Couldn’t let you get hurt…”

“Well, I don’t want you to get hurt, either. Okay?”

Eddie nods, “M’okay. Promise.”

“Good.” Steve nods back decisively before chuckling. “Well, now that we’ve both embarrassed ourselves in front of my mother, ready to go get bullied by her while we eat delicious food?”

Eddie’s grin is wide, exposing all his fangs in all their glory as he nods. “Yes!”

Steve stands up and extends a hand down to Eds with a smile. “Well, then what are we waiting for?”

Eddie takes his hand, his grin softening as he looks up at Steve with a tender affection that makes the little flame behind Steve’s ribs grow just a little bit more.

Yeah…

Steve thinks to himself later, his heart full to bursting as he watches his mom and the man he hopes to build something with interact like they’re already family.

…the risk will definitely be worth the reward.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

I’d be a fool not to try.

GO STEVIE!!! YOU GO GET YO MANS!!!!

hello everyone i am deceased, my ghost is writing this.

fucking hELL these past checks calendar NINE days have been actual literal nightmare fuel jesus h christ on a fucking unicycle i would like to sleep for a thousand years now please and thank you.

anyway! this ended up being uhhhhh. longer than i predicted. but hopefully that makes up for the wait. we're gonna get into some more meat of this bad boy in the next installment i think, but we'll see if it doesn't run away from me hahaha

the support banners (and the content warning banners) are from here! they're beautiful, aren’t they? So in love with them. cafekitsune has made some gorgeous stuff. please check them out if you're a creator!

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I also have a list of folks who didn’t ask specifically to be tagged for future installments, but have been extremely enthusiastic about the story from the beginning based on their reblogs and/or replies to the posts. So if you’re on that list, unless you tell me otherwise, I'll continue putting your name in the replies. You can also follow the story tag, which is #Take Me Home steddie fic where you might find my posted sneak peeks or wip updates in between the actual parts, or you can even just follow me, @hobbyistauthor for all my nonsense!

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[36924]

Steve Harrington gifs 12/?

[36924]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.2K] loosely based on the movie float, lifeguard!steve, a summer full of swim lessons. mentions of drowning, eventual smut 18+

LESSON #1

“Oh, come on,” the guy coaxed, voice wheedling and a little slurred. 

You didn’t really know him, a friend of a friend's cousin who was visiting from out of town but he’d been cute enough to entertain five beers ago. He’d grown sloppier now, a little leery, his hand around your wrist as he udder you towards the dock that overlooked Lover’s Lake. 

You’d dug your heels in, smiling through your teeth as you shook your head and tried not to spill the cheap wine Robin had brought down the front of your shirt. The small beach that was hidden in a cove was surrounded by trees, green in the summer, full and making the crescent moon strip of land perfect for a bonfire and for some drinking. 

There were small crowds of people all over the sandy patch, sitting on blankets and cheap camping chairs, familiar faces lit by the small fire, people you didn’t know as well lingering between, bare feet on the edge of the shoreline. 

You’d came with Eddie, riding in the front seat of his van with a rucksack full of corner store liquor on your lap, the smell of weed coming off strong from the pocket inside his leather jacket. 

“A night full of potential clients, sweetheart, please,” he’d pleaded with you, brown button eyes wide. “The Jacksons have their cousins over from the backass of Georgia, they’ll pay for the rest of our summer if I show them the good shit.”

So you’d agreed, albeit grudgingly, letting your best friend haul you off your sofa and to the get together that you didn’t really want to go to. But Robin was there, and Nancy too, a few people you hadn’t seen since senior year, back for the summer to visit their folks and well - it wasn't all bad. 

Then the evening faded into night and the lavender skies turned inky, the same shade as the lake water. And when people got a little looser, whisky and bud light warming their veins, they laughed as they stripped down to mismatched underwear and dove off the dock, splashing and shrieking in water you couldn’t see the bottom of and god—

You’d, grimaced, turning away from the shoreline and sticking close to Eddie, the boy’s arm always brushing your own even when he was busy dealing, twenties fisted in his hand as he passed over baggies to a twenty something girl you’d never seen before. 

But then that guy found you, relatively sober and sweet until he wasn’t, sloppy with his arm around your neck, breath smelling like smoke and beer and he was pulling you towards the people in the water, telling you it was all part of the fun. You’d protested immediately, intensely, eyes wide as the water came closer and your feet hit the wooden planks of the dock. 

Between the gaps, you could see black, dark water rippling, the moon overhead glinting white off the tips of the current. Eddie hadn’t noticed you were gone until the stranger had dragged you half way down the decking. Your wrist burned from how tight he held it, how hard you tried to twist it from his grasp. 

“Hey— hey!” Eddie had barked out, loud and brash and aggressive enough to make a lot of people around him startle. He broke free from the circle that had gathered around him, lips set in a snarl and determination in his eyes. You knew fine well that when Eddie got his hands on this guy, it wasn’t going to be pretty. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Let her fucking go—”

But Eddie couldn’t reach you in time, not when his boots dug too deep into the sand and there were too many people to push out of the way. The guy laughed at a joke you weren’t a part of and then he pushed. 

Your arms swung wildly, windmilling as gravity took over, your balance gone and you were too near the edge of the dock to do anything about it. Your hands grabbed at the air, fingertips just brushing your new acquaintances shirt and his grinning face and beer blurred eyes were the last thing you saw before you back hit the water. 

It was as dark underneath the surface of the lake as it was above it, an icy shock despite how warm the day had been, how the heat still lingered in the night. You gasped, immediately inhaling, murky water filling your mouth and throat and you kicked, hoping that the direction your hands were clawing in was up. 

But nothing happened and your body didn’t move. 

On the beach, people were murmuring, too drunk to consider the consequences, too stoned to fly into action. Besides, only seconds had passed. Bubbles were floating in the spot you’d gone under, ripples evidence of the fact that you’d once been there. Eddie was sweating, shoving at people as he ripped off his leather jacket and prepared to vault himself onto the water after you but someone at the bottom of the deck beat him to it. 

Steve Harrington had dropped his beer at the first sign of the commotion, his part in the conversation with Jonathan Byers and his friend from California dying off as he turned to watch a guy he didn’t know drag you down the dock. The stranger had been laughing but you hadn’t, and before he could say something, Steve only had a second to look at the absolute horror on your face before you were forced backwards and into the lake. 

He was on his feet immediately, facing back up the dock to where you’d disappeared from, watching wildly for signs of you returning to the surface. And then Eddie was yelling at him, pushing past some underage kids from out of town, half of his jacket hanging from his shoulders and he was yelling. 

“Steve! Steve, she can’t fuckin’ swim, man—”

If Eddie finished the sentence or said anything else, Steve didn’t hear it. He launched himself off of the side, hitting the cold water with a splash he didn’t hear. Water filled his ears and fuck, he could barely see. But somewhere a little below him there was a flash of white from your shirt that had tangled itself up around your neck, your arms flailing wildly as you tried your damn hardest to kick up the way. 

Steve had grabbed your arm, your panic making you slip before he curled his fingers around your wrist and then you were being hauled against him, your back to his chest as he moved with a confidence you could never imagine for yourself. You’d been under for a minute, maybe a little more, maybe a little less, but Steve had your head breaking the surface of the lake in seconds. You were gasping and coughing, your fingernails tattooing half moon lines in Steve’s forearm as you held onto him, fear gripping you as hard as you did him. 

You thought you’d heard his voice, a low murmur in your ear that was fuzzy from the water lodged there, from the buzz and clamour that had then awoken on the beach as the music stopped and people were gathered by the shoreline. 

Eddie had been knee deep in the water, readily meeting you and Steve as the boy swam closer with you, and once your feet hit the sandy bottom, you lurched forward, hands held out to grab Eddie’s waiting ones. 

Steve’s were on your back, keeping you upright and steady until he saw that Eddie had you. You and Steve were both dripping and Eddie was swearing, his cheeks red and his eyes wide, unsure whether to rush you to his van first or hunt down the creep that had put you in danger in the first place. 

But Nancy was rushing forward with a blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders and taking in your chattering teeth and panicked stare, the vice-like grip you had around Eddie’s fingers. “He’s gone,” she said to the boy. “He ran off when he saw Steve dive in. Just get her home, Eddie.”

Steve Harrington had ended up in the front bench with you in Eddie’s van, your shivering frame sandwiched between both boy’s and no one said anything until you all got back to Eddie’s trailer. 

You hadn’t said anything as you’d headed for a hot shower, your wet clothes slapping on the bathroom tiles as you had stripped, slimy weeds and grains of sand stuck to your cold skin and your hands were still shaking as you twisted the squeaky handle to turn the water up hotter still. 

And when Eddie was ripping his room apart for dry clothes for you and Steve to change into, his eyes watery with anger, his throat tight with rage, Steve had been leaning against his door frame with his arms crossed over his damp chest.  

“We’ll get him,” he’d said quietly, just in case you could hear above the spluttering of the old pipes. “We’ll find out who he was and— and we’ll deal with him and then I’m gonna teach her how to swim, alright?”

Eddie nodded, movements sharp and jerky and he handed Steve a pair of black sweatpants and an old Metallica shirt. 

“Alright?” Steve had repeated, chin ducked to make Eddie meet his gaze. He had been so serious. “I’m gonna give her lessons. This won’t happen again.”

The sky was still half pink as you biked down the empty sidewalk. 

A blue-lilac colour, softer than you’d usually witness due to the early morning hour. The sun was still low, the town still asleep, the watch on your wrist telling you the seven am was still to come. Your bike chain whirred softly, brakes squeaking as you slowed by the chain link fence. 

Hawkins community pool was sun bleached and well loved, the old bunting that draped over the water barely red and blue, the shutters for the food stand still rolled down and locked. The aquamarine slide was now more white and it looked like it would give you an infection if your skin was to snag on one of the exposed bolts. But the gate was open, only just, and you sucked in a deep breath as you let your bike lean against the wall. 

Chlorine filled your nose as you walked in, the generator humming and the pool filter trickling, the sun loungers empty and still stacked against the changing rooms. Despite your early wake up call, the air was already warm, a humid kind of heat that Indiana summers brought, sticky and sweet smelling, like someone had left a jug of peach tea on their porch all day. 

The tiles that surrounded the pool were wet, recently hosed down and cleaned, and your sneakers slapped noisily as you walked towards the waters edge. You didn’t go too close, not at all, grimacing at the bright blue rectangle like it would force you in itself. It seemed somehow more menacing when it was still, a glasslike surface reflecting the cotton candy sky above it, no splashing and screaming kids to fill its depths. 

Then a boy appeared - no, more man than boy - from the staff building. 

He had red shorts on, the fabric sitting above his knees and an old white shirt that you assumed must’ve once said “lifeguard.” He was barefoot and tanned, sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and he didn’t even notice you at first, too busy hanging a net back onto the wall. 

Steve Harrington was pretty and tall and he had really good hair. He was quieter than when you’d know him in high school, softer looking than he’d once been. But you didn’t really know him and he didn’t really know you. But he was friends with Eddie and you were friends with Eddie, so somehow, someway, that meant you were kind of, almost friends with him too. 

Except you weren’t and you had no idea why you’d agreed to this. 

“You can change in there.”

You hadn’t expected his voice, so you startled, arms wrapping tighter around your body and crushing the small rucksack that housed your suit and towel. You frowned at the idea, because changing meant one step closer to going into the water and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to do that yet. 

So you said nothing.

Steve just watched you from across the pool, brows raised. And then he shrugged and muttered something that sounded like “suit yourself,” before he threw his sunglasses onto a plastic chair and tugged his shirt over his head. 

You’d barely gotten a chance to really look at the quick flash of tanned, bare skin he exposed before he dove into the water, barely causing a ripple. You were slack jawed as you watched him move seamlessly below the surface, his body a pretty shade of blue as his muscles flexed, strong back and broad shoulders stretching as he swam. 

When he reappeared, much closer to you, Steve braced his forearms on the edge of the pool and dragged a hand through his wet hair, strands of it plastered to his forehead, water clinging to his lashes. 

You didn’t know where to look. 

“You’re not going to learn much if you don’t take your clothes off.”

Despite the way his words warmed you, skin heating up the same way the morning was, you scowled. You didn’t want to be here. Not at the pool, not around water, not with Steve Harrington and certainly not at seven in the morning on a Saturday. 

And now you were standing under the morning sun and the same boy that saved you from the lake was squinting up at you from the pool below and you were only really here because Eddie had begged you. 

It had been a whole week and you could still taste lake water on the back of your tongue. 

“Changing rooms are over there,” Steve motioned to the building behind you with a tilt of his head.

You tried not to look at him, or the water, when you nodded tightly, dragging yourself off to the ladies section. And when you came back out, the sun had risen just a little more and Steve was still in the pool, floating easily on his back as he used his arms to move slowly around the water. The rays were glinting off of the water and him, toned shoulders and soft stomach glittering with water droplets and suddenly the pool seemed an even scarier place to be. 

The old swimsuit you’d managed to pull on was a little on the tight side, all black and supposed to be modest if the too small size hasn’t been cutting into the swells of your ass and chest. It had been a good few years since you’d had reason to put it on, and even then, you hadn’t gone near water. A beach day on the Fourth of July with enough space between you and the ocean that you hadn’t even minded the sand too much. 

So you stood with your arms crossed over your chest, trying to hide the expanse of skin there, your knees pressed together and you looked downright mournful about your current predicament. If Steve hadn’t remembered the fear in your eyes that night in the lake as you scrambled for him under the water, he would’ve cracked a joke or two. 

Instead, he swam over to you cautiously, fingers curling around the edge of the pool as he swiped his wet hair from his forehead. “Hey,” he began gently. The town still hadn’t woken up yet, not really. It was just Steve’s voice and the hum of the pool filter, some cicadas buzzing in a bush behind the far side of the fence. “Nothing bad is going to happen, alright? Not here.”

You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, eyes wide and lips drawn into a tight line. You didn’t move an inch. And it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him, not really. You were exactly friends but Steve was close with Eddie and if Eddie trusted him— well. He got an automatic pass from you too. 

Eddie didn’t trust a whole lot of people. 

But the problem wasn’t Steve. It was most definitely the rectangle full of blue water, shimmering and pretty as it was, it looked deep, the slope of it going downdowndown and Steve’s body was distorted under the ripples, his legs looking broken and mangled, the surface lapping way too high across his shoulders and neck. 

Your body felt like lead, a dead weight ready to sink to the pool floor, legs unable to push yourself back up. 

You took a step back. 

“Okay,” Steve sighed and he tried really hard to not sound impatient. The day had barely begun and he’d make a promise to Eddie, one he really didn’t want to break. “We’ll take it back a little, yeah? Come over here.” 

You watched as he pulled himself out of the pool with an impressively low amount of effort. The muscles in his shoulders and back bunched up and he swung a leg onto the tiles before standing, water dripping off of him, cool and splashing your toes. He made a point of not looking at your and all your bare skin as he walked around the edge of the pool, right towards the back of the lot where there was a set of stairs that led into the shallow end. 

He didn’t look over his shoulder to check if you were following and you only hesitated for a second or two before you did. And when he reached the top of the steps, he waited for you and held out his hand, brows raised expectantly. 

You stared back. 

The water didn’t look as scary here, but not by a whole bunch. It was lighter blue, the white tiles on the bottom of the pool about more visible and the numbers that were flaking and painted on the side of the wall said the depth was only two and a half feet. 

You could drown in less, the voice in your head told you. It sounded a lot like your mom. 

So you kept your arms crossed for a little while longer, teeth gnawing unkindly at your bottom lip. Steve just waited, hand extended palm up and after a minute had passed, he took one step into the pool, standing ankle deep in the water on the top stair. He caught your eye then, smiling in what he hope was a reassuring way. 

“D’you trust me?” He asked, eyes squinting in the bright sun. There was a mole on his cheek that disappeared into the lines of his skin when he smiled. “S’okay if you don’t yet, but, I’m a lifeguard here, so like, legally? I can’t let you die.”

You surprised both yourself and the boy when you snorted unexpectedly, a sharp sound of amusement that you used a hand to cover up. But it seemed to encourage Steve, ‘cause he positively beamed at you, his hand wiggling, vying for your own. 

“C’mon, I promise I won’t let you go,” he swore. He leaned further forward, his fingers close enough to brush the softness of your stomach, if he so pleased. He didn’t. “We’ll start nice and easy today, alright?”

It felt momentous, when you slid your hand into his. He was still warm despite his pool damp skin, like the sun lived inside his bones. He grinned, victorious, nodding encouragingly when you moved to the edge of the steps. 

“We’ll do them one at a time, alright?” Steve moved to stand in front of you, his other hand catching your free one until he was guiding you closer and closer to the water, walking himself backwards with every step you took forward. You flinched when your foot hit the first step, the water warmer than you’d anticipated, brushing up just past your ankle. 

You had two feet in the pool and two hands in Steve Harrington’s and it felt like the entire world was about to implode on you. 

“There you go,” Steve murmured, warmth and a little hum of pride in his voice. “See? S’not bad, right? I’ve still got you.” So you took another step and another and suddenly the water was lapping at your knees. You froze, grip tightening around Steve’s fingers and your wide eyes found his, all too aware of the way you were very much in the pool now. 

“Hey, hey,” Steve’s thumbs rubbed over the back of your knuckles, the skin there burning from holding him so tightly. “Listen. Do you trust me?”

There was no joke that followed the question this time. His eyes were earnest and warm, serious as they looked at you, searching your face for any signs that you were going to flee. It took you a few seconds, swallowing dryly and taking a deep, staggering breath before you nodded. You did, you did trust him, and that was as surprising as you being in the pool. 

“Yeah,” you told Steve, voice a little weak and hoarse. “Yeah, I trust you.”

He squeezed your fingers and his smile was gentle, an achingly kind thing that made your eyes water in the corners and Steve let you stand on that middle step for a little while longer. “Good,” he finally said and his voice was as soft as yours had been. You tried not to look at the way the chain around his throat caught the sunlight, the silver turning golden, just like his skin. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”

You nodded, feverish and your movements jagged and you tore your eyes from Steve to look at your bare feet on the steps, your toes waving under the ripples, longer and skinnier and then fatter and wider. The sight made you dizzy, stomach tumbling a little but even still, you wished you’d had the forethought to paint your toenails something pretty. 

“Two more steps, alright?” 

Steve’s encouragement broke your senseless wanderings and you nodded again, words caught in your throat and he was leading you forward, hands wrapped around your own and he grinned when you took another step down, the water hitting your upper thighs. It was cooler as you went deeper, a stark contrast to the warm, sticky air above it and your skin prickled, mouth falling in a quiet gasp. Another step, happening almost too fast for you to overthink it, the water at your hips and making you swear as you rose onto your toes almost instinctively. 

Steve laughed, not unkindly, as you moved closer to him, unthinking as your hands left his in favour of clinging to his upper arms. It felt safer like that, anchoring yourself to his solid frame, but there was so much bare skin involved and not a lot of space left between you both as you held on for dear life. His fingertips brushed the sides of your waist before he must’ve thought better of it, cheeks burning before his hands cupped your elbows and he took a little step back so your chest didn’t touch his. 

“You’re alright,” he murmured. “You did it, yeah? That’s it. You’re in.”

Steve was grinning and you tried to smile too, trying to feel proud of your little accomplishment but the rest of the pool was stretched out behind Steve’s shoulder and the water there was so much more blue, cerulean leading into indigo until you couldn’t see the bottom anymore. 

Steve must’ve noticed cause he shook his head, the hand cupping your elbow smoothing up your arm until he squeezed, water dripping from his palms and coasting down your skin. “Hey, hey, none of that. That’s for another day. We’re staying here, alright?”

You grimaced at the idea of ‘another day,’ but his words still didn’t ease you. You licked at your lips, dots of chlorine on them and despite how stupid you felt, you asked anyway. “What if— what if l, like, float over that way? Accidentally.”

Steve smiled like he couldn’t help himself, laughter in his eyes and a grin that he quickly tamed. “We’re not gonna catch any waves in here, this isn’t Maui,” he was still smiling, teasing, just a little. But sensing your growing worry, he continued. “And if that had to happen - which it won’t - I’ll come and get you.”

You stared at him, heartbeat in your throat and so many other questions on your tongue. They died there, fizzing into nothing as Steve held your gaze, a silent promise in his brown eyes. You’d never noticed how long and thick his lashes were, still wet and spiky from when he’d been swimming as you changed. 

Maybe there was doubt in your eyes, or maybe Steve just felt the need to reiterate his statement, but when he said once more, “I’ll come get you, just like last time,” you really did believe him. 

[36924]

pretty angel face

[36924]

Steve Harrington gifs 9/?

"Goddamnit... you should— Hmm... Oh! Fast Times! Fast Times. Ever heard of it? Top 3 for me Keith."

[36924]

i should be riding some nerd's thigh while he gropes all over my body & tells me i'm the girl on his dreams

[36924]

not so fast

rated: t | cw: none apply | word count: 6,219

tags: steve harrington has a crush on eddie munson, accidental kissing, getting together, first kiss, steve is a Disaster in this

click here to read on ao3

***

Steve is running late for work.

And not just a little late either. More like, catastrophically late.

Like, ‘should’ve left his house ten minutes ago to even hope to make it on time’ kind of late.

Why?

There isn’t just one reason for how that happened- it’s been a series of mishaps that started with his alarm not going off this morning and ended with his car refusing to start.

“Because of fucking course!” Steve groans, twisting the key into the ignition a few more times before giving up.

After a string of creative curses and smacking his palms and his forehead against the wheel multiple times in frustration, he leaves his useless car and goes back to the house. As he crosses his driveway, he tries to think of ways to get himself to work.

First, he thinks of Nancy. He knows she’s giving Robin a ride to work today, but she’s probably dropped her off by now, punctual as she is. He has no way to reach her until she goes back home, and he’s pretty sure she mentioned something about hitting the library after dropping Robin off to do research for one of her articles for The Weekly Streak, so asking her for a ride isn’t an option.

Considering Steve’s only other friends are all fourteen-year-olds with no car and no license, he’s out of any other options pretty quickly after that.

If only he had a bike he could use, but the Harringtons got rid of those years ago. He could call Henderson and ask him to ride his bike here so Steve can take it to work. The kid will probably complain, but he owes Steve for the countless rides to the arcade and to Eddie’s trailer for their nerdy campaigns and-

Eddie!

Eddie has a car!

Eddie is Steve’s friend and he has a car!

After that realization hits, Steve rushes to the phone, dialing the number to the Munson’s trailer, which he memorized at some point during the last couple of weeks.

“Please, don’t be asleep. Please, pick up,” Steve mutters as the phone rings, tapping his foot anxiously against the floor. His eyes flick to the digital clock on top of the TV and he groans. God, he’s so late.

“Ugh, hello?” A sleepy voice asks and Steve sighs in relief. Finally, something going his way this morning.

“Eddie! Oh, thank God!”

“Fuck, man, why are you being so loud this early in the fucking morning?” Eddie grumbles, and Steve feels bad for clearly waking him up. Or he would if he had time to feel bad.

“Sorry, sorry, listen, I need a favor, I need you to pick me up and take me to work, my car won’t start and I’m supposed to be at Family Video in- crap, right now actually.”

“Dude-”

“Eddie, please. I have the keys and Robin can’t get in until I get there and she’s going to kill me-”

“Steve, relax, Je-sus!” Eddie interrupts.

“Please,” he repeats, feeling desperate. “If you do this, I’ll do anything you want.”

Eddie hums. “Anything, huh?” He asks in that low voice that always sends shivers down Steve’s spine. Even now, he can feel them, anxious as he is.

God, he really doesn’t have time for this.

“Munson,” Steve hisses.

“Okay, fine, I’ll do it. I’ll be there in ten.”

Steve winces, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s not like he can ask Eddie to disregard speed limits or traffic lights or other cars just so he gets here faster, the last thing he wants is for him to wrap his van around a tree because of him. “Okay, thanks.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Eddie says before hanging up.

Since Steve has ten minutes before he gets here anyway, he gives himself one to get flustered over Eddie calling him that.

Then he uses the remaining nine to make Robin her favorite snack- peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which she claims taste better when Steve makes them. It’s probably an excuse so Steve makes them for her every time, but right now it works in his favor. She’s going to be pissed when Steve shows up late- he can’t even call the video store to let her know he’s on his way! Not when she’s locked outsid e because Steve has the god-damned keys. He hopes the sandwiches will help soften her up at least.

He’s already in the driveway when Eddie’s van rolls around the corner. As soon as it slows down, he jumps in and tells him to “Go!” without saying even saying hello.

Eddie snorts. “Good morning to you too, Harrington,” he says with an amused half-smile, but he starts driving. Eddie isn’t a slow driver by a long shot, but Steve notices that he still steps on the gas a little harder than he normally would, which he appreciates.

He slumps back onto the passenger seat. “Sorry, hi, thanks for doing this.”

“No problem, man,” Eddie says, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look Steve up and down. “Looks like you had quite the morning.”

Steve blows out a puff of air, running a hand through his hair. It probably looks like a mess right now because not only did he not have enough time to complete his routine, he’s also been anxiously running his fingers through it all morning. “You have no idea! First, my alarm didn’t go off so I had to rush through my shower and didn’t have enough time to fix my hair, then I couldn’t find my vest, then my car keys, and when I finally found those, my fucking car wouldn’t start!” He drops his hands on his lap with a huff.

“Sheesh, man,” Eddie says, somewhat sympathetically.

“Yeah!” Steve agrees as his hands start flailing again. “And now, Robin is gonna be pissed at me all day for being late, and for leaving her waiting outside the store.”

Eddie reaches over with one hand, squeezing Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you quickly enough, Birdie can’t stay mad at anyone for long.”

“Um, yeah,” Steve stammers out when Eddie’s hand stays there, on his shoulder. “You’re probably right and I brought her PB&J sandwiches to soften her up a bit, so.” He chuckles, a little shakily because Eddie’s fingers are brushing lightly against his neck.

“See?” Eddie asks, giving Steve’s shoulder a little shake. “Give her those and flash those pretty doe eyes of yours at her, and she’ll forget why she was even mad in the first place!”

Steve shoves his hand away- because it should be holding onto the steering wheel, not because having it on him makes his stomach flip-flop.

He clears his throat. “Anyway, how was your morning, Munson?”

“My morning? Well, Harrington, it was just fine, thanks for asking. I was catching up on some lovely much-needed Zs after band practice ran late last night, but then the phone woke me up. Some guy yelling at me to come pick him up.”

Steve makes a face, chuckling softly. “That guy sounds like an asshole.”

“Nah, he’s actually a very sweet guy. Pretty, too.” He tosses a wink at Steve, who flushes pink. “And you know me, I’m so easy for a pretty face. I was already gonna say yes when he promised he’d do anything if I gave him a ride. No way I could refuse.”

“Well, I’m sure the guy is very grateful,” he says, then wrinkles his nose. “And hopeful that you won’t make him regret promising you that.”

Eddie throws his head back with a laugh. “Don’t worry, Stevie, I won’t ask for anything too embarrassing.”

“Ugh.”

The van falls into a comfortable silence, only the radio playing softly in the background. Steve is surprised that it’s not one of Eddie’s tapes playing, he’s always complaining about radio stations not playing any ‘real music’ and Steve’s witnessed, more than once, the way he dives for the glove compartment to dig out one of his tapes before he even starts the van. He can’t help but wonder if the reason why Eddie is listening to the radio is because he was rushing to get to Steve and didn’t even have time to pick a tape.

Whether it’s the truth or not, it makes a dopey smile appear on Steve’s face, thinking about Eddie not wasting any time looking for a cassette tape because he knew Steve was in a hurry. He also didn’t change out of his pajamas or pause to fix his hair on his way out, Steve thinks as he looks Eddie up and down. He’s currently in plaid pajama pants and an old band shirt with holes around the collar that Steve knows he wears to bed, and his hair is sticking out every which way even more than usual.

He looks cute like that, and Steve’s dopey smile only grows because of it.

“You know,” Eddie starts and Steve jumps, thinking for a moment that he caught him staring, but his eyes are still fixed on the road. “If you want I can take a look at your car? Old Al Munson didn’t just teach me how to hotwire them, you know? Maybe I can fix whatever’s wrong with it.”

Steve blinks. “Really?”

He’s sure that there must be hearts in his eyes right now. He was already dreading having to pay for a tow truck to take his car to the mechanic and then pay to fix whatever was wrong with it. That kind of money would really put a dent in his plans to save enough for a place of his own, so Eddie fixing it for him would be a great help.

“Of course, Stevie,” Eddie says, flashing him a dimpled grin. Yup, definitely hearts in Steve’s eyes right now. “I can drive you home after your shift and take a look at it. I’ll bring Wayne’s tools.”

The visual of Eddie bending over the hood of Steve’s car with a tool belt around his tiny waist pops up in Steve’s mind without a warning, making warmth pool in his stomach.

He shakes his head and focuses on the Eddie in front of him- sweet, cute Eddie who is offering to give Steve a ride and help him with his car. Yeah, that’s really not any better than sexy mechanic Eddie from his fantasies.

“That would be awesome, Eds, thank you,” he says, possibly a little too earnestly.

It makes Eddie a little shy. He winds some of his hair around his finger and pulls it in front of his mouth. “Don’t go singing praises at me yet, I might not be able to fix it.”

“Maybe not, but I appreciate it anyway, the ride back home too,” Steve says softly. If Robin was here she would tell him to tone it down with the googly eyes and the mushy smiles, the way she does when the three of them hang out-

Shit. Robin.

He checks his watch and a whine slips past his lips.

Eddie notices and the van takes on speed as he pushes his foot harder against the pedal. “We’re almost there,” he says reassuringly.

Steve nods, but his leg stays bouncing anxiously for the rest of the drive.

***

Finally, Eddie drives the van into the Family Video parking lot.

Steve looks for Robin in the distance, squinting his eyes, wanting to gauge just how angry she looks. If she looks like she’s about to murder Steve, he might just tell Eddie to keep driving.

When he spots her, Steve’s stomach falls. She doesn’t look angry, but that’s only because she has an apologetic look on her face as she talks and gestures wildly to a family of three. Steve can’t read her lips, but he figures she must be explaining to them how her coworker and best friend is an idiot who doesn’t know how to work an alarm clock and that he should be getting here any minute now so she can murder him but not before she sends them on their merry way with whatever movie they’re here to rent and a bunch of candy and popcorn. On the house, of course.

“Fuck me,” Steve mutters, slumping back against the seat.

They never get customers this early on Sundays. Never.

Go fucking figure.

Eddie also squints his eyes through the windshield and scrunches up his nose at what he sees. “Maybe you can bribe them with PB&Js too?”

Steve appreciates Eddie trying to lighten his mood, but all he can muster right now is a slight huff of laughter. He starts gathering his things, ready to jump from the van as soon as Eddie parks.

“What time should I pick you up?” Eddie asks as he starts slowing down the van.

“Uh, I get off at four,” Steve says, just as he makes eye contact with Robin. She manages to glare at him while keeping her polite customer service face on. It’s impressive. “If Robin doesn’t kill me first.”

Eddie sniggers. “I don’t think she’ll kill you, maybe hurt you, or put Nair on your shampoo.”

Steve whimpers pathetically at the thought. The van slows to a stop. With the keys to the store in one hand and his Family Video vest in the other, Steve pushes the door open. He already has one leg out when Eddie says, “Wait!”

Steve half turns in his seat and gives him an impatient look, but it shifts into a grateful one when he sees that Eddie is holding the Tupperware with the sandwiches.

“Not so fast, sweetheart, don’t forget your bribe,” Eddie tells him with a lopsided grin.

Later, Steve will ask himself why he did what he does next, but the truth is, he doesn’t know.

Maybe it’s because he’s in a hurry and his body is moving faster than his brain. Maybe it’s because he had a shitty morning and Eddie swooped in like a knight in plaid pajama pants and a worn band shirt. Maybe he smashed his head too hard against the steering wheel of his car earlier that morning. Maybe it’s Eddie’s dimples or maybe it’s the pet name.

The thing is he doesn’t know what does it, just that something gets his wires crossed somehow, and before he knows it, he’s leaning over the space between their seats and pressing a quick kiss to Eddie’s mouth.

He doesn’t even realize he does it. Not yet.

He just grabs the Tupperware from Eddie’s limp hands, throws a “bye, Eds!” over his shoulder, and shuts the van door.

Robin’s head snaps in his direction as he makes his way across the parking lot, attempting to put on his vest without dropping the keys or the sandwiches. The family is watching him too and luckily they don’t look mad about having to wait- Steve checks his watch- shit, thirty minutes for him to get here.

“Hi, hello, I’m so sorry,” he starts apologizing before he even gets to them. He tosses the keys to Robin, who fumbles to catch them, so he can finish shrugging on his vest. “I’m so terribly sorry I kept you waiting,” he tells the family while Robin unlocks the door and flips the sign so it says Open! “My alarm didn’t go off and then my friend had to drive me ‘cause my car wouldn’t start and I couldn’t find my godda-rn vest!” He corrects himself when his eyes dart to the kid staring up at him. “But none of that matters now! Because I’m here and we’re-”

“Open!” Robin says, sweeping her arm in front of the door with a flourish, kind of like Eddie does sometimes.

Speaking of Eddie, Steve glances over his shoulder and notices that the van is still there.

Which, weird. But right now there’s nothing he can do about that.

Instead, he starts ushering the family inside, putting on his most charming smile. “Come in, come in, we’ll have you out of here in no time!” He says, following after them.

He makes eye contact with Robin over the kid’s head and mouths I’m so sorry, grimacing when she glares at him. But at least she holds the door open for him too, instead of letting it slam on his face, which he probably deserves.

Once inside, Steve helps the family find the movie they’re looking for in record time while Robin starts the computer system. By the time he guides them back to the counter, she’s ready to log it into the system. They give them an extra couple of days to return it, for the trouble, as well as all the Milk Duds and cherry licorice they want. On the house. Then they wave at them as they head out, throwing a “Thank you for choosing Family Video!” for good measure.

When the door closes, Steve spins around to face Robin on the other side of the counter. “I’m so sorry, Robs,” he says with as much feeling as he can muster.

She pokes him in the chest several times with her bony fingers. “You owe me so much! I’ve been apologizing to that family for thirty minutes, dingus!”

“I know! I’ll clean the floors today and I’ll take care of the reshelving and you can take an extra long break and I won’t say anything!”

Robin doesn’t speak, just glares. Steve grabs his Tupperware, his last resort, and pushes it across the counter toward her. “I made you PB&J sandwiches. Your favorite.”

She heaves out a long sigh. “Okay, fine, I forgive you, but you’re doing all of that and you’re letting me pick the movie of the day and you’re watching it with me.” Steve nods profusely. The corners of her mouth twitch up, and even if it’s not a full smile, Steve feels relief flood through him. “Now come on, let’s finish getting this place ready for business, and then we can have those sandwiches and you can explain how you got here so late.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Steve says, giving her a two-fingered salute like he’s seen Eddie do many times.

Speaking of Eddie, Steve squints at the parking lot before following Robin’s lead- turning on lights and straightening cardboard cutouts.

He notices that the van is finally gone, and so is Eddie.

***

“Then I almost left the sandwiches in Eddie’s van!”

Robin gasps dramatically, cradling her half-eaten PB&J against her chest. She’s in a much better mood now, after one and a half sandwiches, more apologizing from Steve and his dramatic retelling of this morning’s events.

“Which would be just my luck today, I swear! But Eddie wouldn’t let me forget them,” Steve says, his smile turning dopey the moment he brings up Eddie. He knows this because he sees Robin rolling her eyes. “So I grabbed them and then I-”

And that’s when it hits Steve. What he did. Almost an hour after the fact.

The fact being- He kissed Eddie.

“Oh God,” he mutters, horrified. “Oh fuck, oh God.”

“What? Are you having a stroke? What is it?” Robin asks, eyes widening in alarm. “Steve?” She waves her hands in front of his face and bread crumbs fly everywhere. Steve knows he’s going to have to clean those, but right now he doesn’t care about that at all.

He lets out a pitiful whimper, his hands flying to his face. “Oh my God!”

“Steve, what?”

“I kissed Eddie,” he says, but the words are muffled by his hands over his face.

He hears Robin let out a sigh. “Steve, my best friend, my platonic soulmate with a capital P. I know we joke about it but I can’t actually read your mind. I’m gonna need you to speak more clearly.”

Dropping his hands onto the counter, Steve’s eyes meet hers, then he says, loud and clear, “I kissed Eddie.”

Robin’s face goes through many different emotions in like, twenty seconds. Shock, confusion, something that Steve dubs her fucking finally, dingus! expression, and then, outrage.

“Wait! So you were late because you were busy kissing Eddie? Steve!” She says on her way to get angry again, but Steve starts shaking his head before she’s done talking.

“No! Robs, I was running late and then I kissed Eddie as I was getting out of the van!”

The outrage disappears and she grins at Steve. “Fucking finally, dingus!” She says, and yup, that’s the one, Steve got it right. She holds her hand up for a high five, but Steve grabs her hand between his instead, shaking his head.

“No, Robin, no, this is bad.”

“Why? You like Eddie!”

“I do! I like him so much, but he was never supposed to find out, and definitely not by me just- kissing him!” He says, shaking his hands wildly and Robin’s too since it’s still trapped between them.

“Okay, first, I need my hand back,” Robin says, extracting her hand from Steve’s hold. “Now, what did Eddie do when you kissed him? Did he kiss you back or did he go like, ahhh and pushed you out of the van?”

“I- I don’t know. Nothing?” Steve tries to remember, but his whole morning was a blur. It’s just his luck that he finally kisses the boy he likes and he can’t even remember it. “He just- sat there. Actually, he sat there for a while because he was still here when we were helping that family. Oh my God, is that bad? Do you think he’s mad? Robs, what do I do?” He drops his head on the counter and feels Robin pat his head. He doesn’t even care that her hand is sticky with peanut butter and jelly.

“You said he’s picking you up later?” Steve makes what’s supposed to be a noise of assent. “Okay, so you talk to him.”

“If he even shows up.”

Another pat. “I’m sure he will and then you just tell him the truth. That you kissed him because-”

“I was having a stroke?” He says, twisting his head to one side so he can look at her.

Robin rolls her eyes. “I said the truth, dingus.”

“But the truth is so embarrassing. So, Eddie, I kissed you because I think you’re cute, I kissed you because you came to my rescue this morning, I kissed you because you called me sweetheart and it might’ve melted my brain. I kissed you because I finally let myself do what I’ve wanted to do for weeks!” He groans pitifully. “What if he doesn’t like the truth, Robin? What if he doesn’t like me?”

“You know what I think about that,” she says and Steve does know. She’s told him that she thinks Eddie feels the same way over and over while trying to convince him to make a move, but Steve doesn’t believe her. “But if he doesn’t, then at least you’ll know. And whatever happens, you’ll have me and an endless supply of romantic movies we can both cry to! And ice cream, lots and lots of ice cream!”

Steve lifts his head fully from the counter and smiles gratefully at her. “Thanks, Robs.”

“Of course, Steve, now come on! I know what movie I’m picking today!” She says, hopping onto the counter and swinging her legs over it, barely missing Steve’s head.

“Ugh, not Children of Paradise again, please.” Steve groans when Robin grabs hold of his wrist and pulls him in the direction of their romantic drama section.

She does pick that one again and Steve has no choice but to go with it, but at least with a two-part movie, he’s distracted for a whole two hours and forty-five minutes so he doesn’t think about Eddie or what he’ll say to him later.

Not that much anyway.

(Okay, maybe he does.)

***

Steve half expects Eddie to not show up, and a part of him wishes he’s right, so he doesn’t have to talk to him yet- or ever.

He’s surprised when, at four o’clock, he sees the van roll into the Family Video parking lot.

That surprise quickly turns into horror and he must make some kind of noise that alerts Robin and makes her follow his gaze.

“I told you he’d come!”

He turns to her with a pleading look. “Please let me hitch a ride with you and Nancy, Robs, I can’t do this.”

“You can, Steve,” she says, putting her hands on his shoulders to guide him toward the door. Steve tries to put up some resistance, digging his heels into the floor, but she puts her whole body into it and manages to get him moving.

“What if I kiss him again?”

Robin snorts. “Maybe try to have a conversation with him first,” she suggests, pulling the door open and shoving Steve through it. “And if it turns out that he wants to kiss you then go for it!”

“But what do I even say?”

“You’re asking me that? Pfff. I’m hopeless, you know that. Just be honest, okay? And call me as soon as you get home to tell me everything!” And with that, she shoves him toward Eddie’s van. Steve stumbles a few steps, thankfully catching himself just before he eats dirt.

When he looks up, he sees Eddie staring at him through the windshield. He probably just saw Steve nearly faceplant in the parking lot- and Steve’s supposed to hope Eddie wants to kiss him after that? Yeah, right.

With a sigh, he starts walking towards the van. He reaches the passenger door sooner than he’d like, and after bracing himself, he opens the door and climbs inside.

“Hey,” Steve says, wiggling his fingers in a wave.

He notices that Eddie’s hands are clinging to the leather of the steering wheel. He gives Steve a smile that looks a little strained. “Hey, Steve.”

An awkward silence falls over them and Steve’s fingers itch to open the door and run away, but he can see Robin chatting with Nancy, the two of them standing next to her car, and he’s sure that if he makes a run for it, Robin will chase him down and drag him back to the front seat of Eddie’s van herself.

So he stays where he is and glances at Eddie, noticing that he looks different from this morning.

“You changed your clothes-” he starts, but Eddie chooses that moment to also start talking.

“Seems like Buckley’s in a better mood-”

They both cut themselves off when the other speaks, looking at each other and laughing a little awkwardly.

Eddie looks down at himself. He’s wearing ripped jeans, a self-made Corroded Coffin shirt, and his hair is pulled back into a ponytail, which allows Steve to see the earrings adorning his right ear. “I did change clothes. I don’t just hang around and do nothing in my pajamas all day. Sometimes, I wear jeans,” he says, making Steve snort. “So, did the PB&J sandwiches work?” He asks, gesturing at Robin across the parking lot. Steve can see her glancing towards the van every couple of seconds. She’s not being subtle.

“They did, but I also had to let her pick this long French drama for movie of the day and let her take an hour-long break. And also apologize like, three hundred times.”

“Damn, Buckley’s tougher than I thought,” Eddie whistles, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “But she let you off the hook?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

Eddie nods. “Cool.”

Another silence. This one’s less uncomfortable, but it still feels like something is hanging over their heads. No, not just something.

Steve sighs. Might as well get it over with.

“So,” he says.

“So,” Eddie echoes, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel.

“I kissed you.”

There, he said it. It’s out there.

Eddie inhales sharply. “You did.” His knuckles start to turn white with how hard he’s gripping the wheel. “Um, why did you?”

He remembers Robin’s words. The truth, Steve. Just tell him the truth.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t even realize I did it at first,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on his lap.

“So it was just- what? An accident? You- you didn’t mean it?” Eddie’s voice sounds uncharacteristically small, quiet. Steve risks glancing at him, and when he does, he finds that Eddie has shrunk in on himself. His eyes meet Steve’s for a split second and he looks hurt, like he wanted the kiss to mean something.

And Steve can’t have him thinking that it didn’t. No way.

He turns sideways on his seat, leaning forward, closing some of the distance between them.

“I didn’t realize I did it because I’m so used to thinking about kissing you,” Steve admits. Eddie’s eyes snap up to meet his- wide, hopeful.

“You- you are?”

Steve nods, feeling his cheeks turn pink, but he doesn’t let that stop him. “I’m just usually better at stopping myself from doing anything about it, but today,” He shakes his head, letting out a shaky laugh. “You swooped in to help me and were looking so cute in your pajamas and you were smiling at me with your dimples and I- I just did it, without thinking. So I didn’t mean to do it, but I meant it.”

Eddie’s lip is trapped between his teeth as he chews on it nervously. It’s very distracting, but Steve does his best to keep his eyes off his mouth and on his eyes, which are sparkling as he thinks over Steve’s words. “Holy shit, you did?”

“Yeah, I meant it so much that when I realized what I did, I started panicking.”

Finally, Eddie lets go of the steering wheel, slumping back against his seat, and huffing out a burst of air. “Thought I was the only one who was panicking.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit. “Why would you be panicking?”

Eddie shoots him an incredulous look. “Because! You kissed me and then just- said goodbye like- like you didn’t turn my world fucking- upside down with that kiss, pun absolutely intended. I didn’t know if for you it was like, a friend thing or a mistake or-”

“Not a friend thing,” Steve says, “and not a mistake.”

Eddie lets those words sink in then starts nodding in a way that makes him look like the Chewbacca bobblehead toy he keeps next to his bed. Steve has to bite down on a smile. “Okay. Okay, good, because I want you to do it again.”

“Huh?”

Eddie meets his gaze. “You took me by surprise this morning, but I want you to kiss me again. So I can kiss you back this time.”

Steve’s stomach flips. “Holy shit.” He doesn’t move right away and Eddie looks at him expectantly, not taking it back, waiting for Steve to kiss him again. And what the fuck is Steve even waiting for? “Shit, yeah, okay.”

His hand catches Eddie’s jaw, cradles it with his palm, and he leans over the space between the two seats for the second time that day. Only this time, he moves slowly, committing everything to memory- the way Eddie’s breath hitches when Steve touches his face, the way he goes cross-eyed staring at Steve as he moves closer, the way he whines when their lips brush, not quite touching yet.

And finally, the way Eddie fists the lapel of Steve’s Family Video vest, and in an impatient move, pulls him towards him, crashing their mouths together.

And Steve- well. Steve doesn’t know how he did this already and didn’t remember until an hour later. Because this? He’s never forgetting this.

Eddie’s mouth is warm and soft. There’s a small cut on his bottom lip, no doubt from him chewing on it hard while panicking. When Steve flicks his tongue over it, Eddie yelps, but then he’s tugging Steve even closer by his vest and he’s licking into Steve’s mouth and Steve’s brain goes offline. He gets lost in the kiss. Lost in Eddie. He’s drowning and he never wants to come up for air.

But sadly that’s not something he can do. At some point, he has to breathe so he breaks the kiss but he doesn’t go far. He stays in Eddie’s space, his hand stroking over his jaw. And even if he wanted to move he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, not with the hold Eddie has on his vest.

“I say this should count as our first kiss,” Eddie whispers, his forehead resting against Steve’s.

“What’s wrong with our actual first kiss?”

“Dude,” Eddie says, and the fact that he’s calling him that while their faces are a few inches from each other after kissing, makes Steve giggle. “The kiss lasted like, a second and you ran away right after!”

Steve’s face scrunches up. “Yeah, maybe it wasn’t my best work.”

Eddie snorts. “It really made me question everything I heard about Steve Harrington’s kissing prowess.”

“My- what? Where did you even hear that?”

Eddie shrugs, making Steve’s hand fall from his jaw to his shoulder where he starts playing with a curl that slipped free from his ponytail. “I used to hang out under the bleachers a lot, and heard many girls gossiping about your mad kissing skills.” He waggles his eyebrows, making Steve laugh. “So imagine my surprise when you go and kiss me like- like my grandma used to kiss me! I thought they had to be talking about someone else.”

Steve’s cheeks go red, but he tries to save some face by asking, “And after that second kiss, do you still think they were wrong?”

Eddie gulps. “Nope.”

“Good,” Steve says with a pleased smile. “Then maybe we can count this as our first kiss, I wouldn’t want my reputation to be ruined when we tell people about this.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh at the joke. He’s back to chewing on his lip, which is significantly more distracting now that Steve knows what those lips feel and taste like, but right now he focuses on the way Eddie’s eyes start flickering all over the inside of the van, not meeting Steve’s when he quietly asks, “This?”

“What?”

“You said this like, what do you mean? What is this?” He lets go of Steve’s vest to gesture between them. “Is it like, just kissing or do you, uh, do you want to be with me? Like, boyfriends or something?”

“Exactly like boyfriends,” Steve says, making Eddie squeak adorably. “If that’s what you want.”

“Steve, God, there’s nothing I want more,” Eddie says with a dopey smile that rivals Steve’s.

Except it doesn’t because Steve is beaming at the thought of being Eddie’s boyfriend. Of Eddie being his boyfriend. Christ. He would be embarrassed about how giddy he feels if he couldn’t tell Eddie was riding the same high as he is.

“Then I guess I should give my boyfriend that ride home that I promised him, hm?” He asks, leaning back on his seat, but not before he leaves a fleeting kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth.

And God, hearing Eddie call him that makes Steve feel like he’s floating. “Yeah, you should.”

He leans back too as Eddie starts the van. Steve glances across the parking lot before he drives them away and realizes that Nancy’s car is gone. They must’ve taken off around the time Steve kissed Eddie after Robin realized Steve wouldn’t try to run.

“I promised you something too, if I remember correctly,” Steve says, looking out the window as Eddie drives them onto the main street. His eyes flick towards Steve, one of his eyebrows raised. “I promised I’d do anything if you gave me a ride to work, remember?”

Eddie’s eyes widen as he realizes what he’s talking about. He teased Steve about this all morning and now it’s his turn to return the favor.

“And now that we’re together the list of things I can do got significantly bigger so you might want to think about how you want me to pay you back,” he says with a smirk.

Color starts rising from Eddie’s neck to his cheeks and then to his ears. “I- shit, you want me to think about this while I drive?” His voice goes higher in pitch as he stammers more words out. “Do you want me to crash this fucking van, Steve? Jesus!”

Steve just laughs, relaxing back against his seat. He trusts Eddie not to get them into an accident, but just to be on the safe side, he stops teasing him and reaches for the volume dial on the radio, turning the music up.

He steals glances at Eddie as he drives, thinking how the end of his day did a complete turn from how it started. His morning had been a disaster, especially when he thought he ruined things with Eddie.

But now, Steve is heading home after kissing the boy he likes, and he gets to watch him play sexy mechanic while fixing his car, and he gets to do something about it if he wants- like kiss Eddie stupid against the hood of his car.

So, in retrospect, Steve thinks, his alarm not going off this morning might actually be the best thing to ever happen to him.

[36924]

Robin has a love-hate relationship with Steve-and-Eddie. Love, because those are her best friends and her best friends are in love with each other and they never leave her out of anything. Hate, because sometimes she wishes they would because she keeps accidentally third-wheeling herself.

She doesn't hate it that much though, if she's honest. It's just fun to complain, especially because it riles the both of them up.

But right now, she's being quiet so she can witness one of her secretly-favorite Steve-and-Eddie rituals—of which there are many, but this one is silly and endearing.

It starts like this:

The waitress sets down their drinks, lemonade for Robin, coca-cola for Steve, and a cherry soda for Eddie.

"Don't you dare," Eddie says, even as Steve reaches for Eddie's drink, slipping his straw in next to Eddie's and slurping obnoxiously. Eddie doesn't even pretend to stop him anymore. "Unbelievable."

"I just want to taste it!"

"You could just get a whole glass of it! All for yourself!!"

"It's too sweet, I don't want a whole glass."

"What, so you think you can just help yourself to mine?"

Steve's grin is far too smug, even for Robin, even when Steve slides it to her so she can take a sip. Steve is right, it is really too sweet and she wrinkles her nose, but it's worth it for the offended gasp Eddie makes when she slides it back to him.

The diner is their favorite, because everyone who works there has given up on understanding their weird dynamic: Robin and Steve squished into on side of the booth while Eddie's spread out on the other, Robin making gagging noises whenever Steve brushes against her, even though they never sit in any other configuration. The staff has long since stopped asking which of them was her boyfriend, and that's perfect for her.

Besides, she knows that under the table, Steve and Eddie have their ankles locked together like the disgusting love-sick dorks that they are.

The Steve-and-Eddie show continues when their meals come out. Chicken fingers and fries for Steve because he's an actual child, and breakfast for dinner for Eddie because he likes to be contrary. And then the real performance begins.

They "fight" over the ketchup bottle, which really means that Eddie picks it up and Steve snatches it out of his hands—only for Steve to spread it over Eddie's scrambled eggs (gross) for him before he adds a disgusting amount to his own basket.

Eddie makes a game of stealing Steve's fries when he thinks he isn't looking (Steve is, he's tallying each one up in his head, Robin knows this because she's doing it too), and when he finally "catches" Eddie in the act, he steals Eddie's last piece of bacon—the one that's sat untouched for the last five minutes for this very reason.

Then, Eddie's "forcing" Steve to try his grits, like he does every time, and game eats a spoonful of it, every time, and then complains at length how much he hates it (and he actually does hate it, the texture is just not for him, Robin knows because it's the same for her too).

And then they do the worst, most disgusting thing ever: they split the pancake in half. Without fail. Without argument. Every time.

Robin, slurping on her strawberry milk shake that she will NEVER share with anyone ever, thinks that stupid pancake is like the symbol of their love or something. Sh's sure if they weren't in public, they'd be feeding it to each other.

"What?" They say it in unison, and Robin hates when they do that to her.

(Eddie complains about it right back at her, because she and Steve do the same thing to him all the time. They should blame Steve, since he's the common denominator, but he just looks so pleased about them both that they can't rag on him for it, so Eddie remains Robin's sworn enemy and vice versa.)

"What what?" she sneers at them, voice quiet. "You two are disgusting, it's like you're making out right in front of me right now."

"What are you, homophobic?" Eddie hisses back, just as quiet. "I'm in love with your best friend, Buckley. I'm making out with him in front of you for the rest of your life."

"Ugh! I hate you so much."

"Right back at you."

And then they start kicking at each other beneath the table, no doubt catching Steve's ankles in the crossfire. He doesn't tell them to stop though, and Robin can see that pleased, sappy smile on his stupid face out of the corner of her eye, so she lands an exceptionally harsh blow to Eddie's shin in retaliation for making her best friend so happy. He digs his heel into her toes in return.