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[start here]

“What do you mean you forgot?!”

Eddie flails his hands wildly.

“I just did!” he yells back.

“What the fuck, Eddie?!”

“Language!” Claudia Henderson pipes up from somewhere in the house. Turns out, she could be just as loud as her son when she wanted, but that’s a given when you have to rise him by yourself.

“Sorry!” Dustin yells back. And then, after a thoughtful frown in his friend’s direction, yells again, not breaking eye contact: “Can Eddie stay the night?!”

“What?!” Eddie hisses through his teeth.

“Sure!” His mom’s answer is immediate. “As long as his uncle knows!”

Ms. Claudia knew he was living with his uncle? How much has their sons shared about him? Has he spilled unknowingly?

“Of course!”

Eddie was for now the only person maintaining a reasonable volume. He turned his whisper-hiss on Dustin again.

“I can’t just impose on your house like that, Henderson!”

“You’re not imposing, mom said it's okay.”

Eddie throws his hands in the air. As always, Dustin was right in the most infuriating way.

“You’ll stay over until you finish the paper.”

“I don’t need babysitting to do my work!”

“You kind of do,” his friend points out, right yet again. “And here you won’t get distracted with your guitar or campaign.”

“Do you think it’s all I do?” Eddie bristles, at which Dustin waves his hand dismissively.

“Or a book, or a nap, or whatever gross shit you ‘almost adults’ get up to.” He makes a face, as apparently talking about jerking off is below him.

“A nap sounds great, to be honest…” he hums thoughtfully, his mind zeroing in on its pick. Dustin huffs.

“Well, write an outline and we can discuss a nap.”

Eddie did not expect being held hostage in Henderson’s house to write a paper, on a weekday night no less, but here he was. He’s been in worse predicaments, that’s for sure, considering this cell had a radio, a soft couch, and snacks. And as much hot tea as he can stomach, though Claudia Henderson might be underestimating his love for a good earl gray blend.

The afternoon goes more or less as usual, he and Dustin do their homework in the boy’s bedroom, and then Eddie gets dragged into a family dinner. But instead of finishing up or going home, he’s being approached by Mrs. Henderson holding a huge bundle of spare bedding.

“Is the couch okay? Steve got the guest bedroom, but if you ask nicely, he’d probably switch with you.”

Eddie is shaking his head before she finishes talking, but Dustin is first actually to speak up.

“Can’t he sleep here?”

His mom frowns.

“This isn’t a sleepover. Your curfew still applies.”

“But!--!”

“No buts! Eddie, sweetie.” She turns to the older boy again. “I’ll leave the bedding on the couch, you can sleep there or talk it out with Steve when he comes back.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at her, knowing he won’t be talking with the guy.

Dustin keeps trying to argue, so she adds:

“Dusty’s curfew is at 10 and don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“I’ll tuck him in myself, madam.”

“Traitors! Both of you!”

When the outline is done, his belly full of toast and the outside properly dark, Eddie finds himself alone in the living room. Claudia advised him to help himself to the kitchen if he got hungry and not to stay up too late. She also told him Steve had a closing shift that day and always drives his friend home, but should be back soon as well.

Eddie manages to write the beginning of his stupid essay before he hears the keys jingle at the front door. He’s itching to look up and seek out Steve, but only does so when he hears him stop by the doorway. He’s surprised to see him but quickly schools his expression into an easy smile.

“Eddie! Hi!”

“Hi.” Eddie gives him a small wave.

“Staying over?” Steve walks in, eyeing the bedding next to him.

“Yeah.” He nods and points at the notebook in front of him. “Gotta finish an essay for tomorrow.”

“Uh, good luck.” Steve winces. “Want something to eat? Drink?” He points towards the kitchen, where he’s headed. Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He’s written three sentences by the time Steve leaves the kitchen and walks towards the bathroom. The sound of a running shower is incredibly distracting. He can picture a small waterfall, deep in the forest and glistening in the golden green sunbeams. Close by is a clearing, created by countless adventurers stopping by to refresh before continuing their journey. They’d strip naked, men and women alike, fighters and mages, dipping in the chilly water to clean off the dirt of the road, the sweat from fighting off petty criminals. The water would be just deep enough to tease at the curve of his ass, lapping against the skin and mocking any bystanders for their solid form, making them wish they could liquify too and slip over the rippling muscles, trace the dips and—

Bad Eddie!

He blinks so rapidly that he gets dizzy, but the paper in front of him becomes visible again. The shower is still running and he reminds himself he’s not into jocks. He’s not into his friends’ siblings, not into whatever Steve Henderson is, no matter how objectively attractive.

He writes another two sentences by the time the bathroom door opens and he makes a point of not looking up. The smell of coconut walks by and he focuses on the tip of his pen. He hears the fridge door open and the steps reach his spot by the couch again.

“Beer?”

The water still clings to the weary adventurer, dripping from his hair. He has no shame, no place for it in the life he leads, not with a body like that. There’s a towel strewn around his shoulders and he was nice enough to put on underwear. He’s holding two cans of chilled beer, and all Eddie can say is:

“Please.”

He’s not expecting him to sit down next to him, smelling of coconut and damp skin, reddened from hot water and scrubbing it with a towel.

“Cherish it, we’re drinking half of my weekly allowance.”

“You have a beer allowance?” Eddie gapes at him and Steve just nods, like it’s normal.

“I’m not 21 yet but Claudia knows I’ve been drinking already anyway. So as long as I’m doing it safely and out of Dustin’s eyesight, she’s okay with it. We share wine sometimes.”

"That's nice." Eddie smiles, cracking his can open. "Wayne doesn't monitor my alcohol intake, but it's not like I'm partying much. I just drink with him or with my band sometimes." He shrugs and takes a sip. It's a more expensive brand than he's used to but all beer tastes the same to him anyway.

"Wayne is your uncle, right?" Steve asks, lowering his own can.

Eddie suddenly realizes it's nice to be remembered as something more than a freak or a Satanist. He gulps down the bitter liquid.

"Uh, yeah. I live with him. Been since I started middle school."

Steve nods thoughtfully, staring at the wall. For reasons he doesn't dare to name, Eddie wishes his eyes were on him instead.

"Your band is uh, something Coffin? Sorry, I don't remember." He turns towards him and smiles sheepishly and Eddie is taking it all back, take these dark brown eyes away from his face immediately. Steve knows half of his band's name? Be still his traitorous heart!

"Corroded Coffin," he chokes out.

Steve snaps his fingers.

"That's it! You guys were at the talent show a couple of years back, right?"

Be still, be still, be still.

"Yeah," he manages. "I'm surprised you remember."

Steve chuckles, but it's not a pleasant one. Eddie prepares himself to be ripped into shreds. Again. He should be used to that by this point, shouldn't he? But his ego is as easily bruised as it is big.

"How could I not? The biggest disaster Hawkins middle has seen in years."

Eddie winces. It was expected and it still hurt. At least his not-crush could finally go further into the 'not; category.

Bust Steve had to open his stupid mouth again.

"It was stupid, in my opinion. You guys are clearly talented, and the music you play shouldn't matter. Most people don't like metal--hell, I don't like metal." He slaps his hand onto his bare chest, making Eddie nod, because yes, he's listening, he's paying attention, and he is looking at his hairy pecs, thank you. "But it was a talent show, judges should be more objective." He slumps into the back of the couch. "You were great on the guitar, I've never heard anyone play like that. I was surprised you could sing too," he says, rolling his head to the side to look at Eddie, who chuckles nervously.

"Why, do I not look like I have an angelic voice?" he asks, tilting his head.

Steve shakes his head, making a lazy motion against the couch cushion. The closing shift and the beer seem to be getting to him.

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to be so..." He tilts his head to the side and rolls it back, considering his thoughts and how to voice them out. "Multifaceted?" he offers hesitantly like it's not a word he uses often. Eddie can relate. "I had heard the music teacher talk about your ear, how you can pick up any song insanely fast. I know your English essays get praised, and I know you're unafraid to be yourself, against all odds. It's something I couldn't do..." he trails off, suddenly looking sadder than Eddie knew how to deal with. But to his relief, Steve shakes his head to get back on track. "I just wasn't expecting you to have a nice voice like that. In Hellfire, too. It's like you're taking on a completely new persona. It sounds..." He hesitates before his next words." Freeing." He decides, nodding minutely to himself. "Like you can just tap into another dimension, a nice one," he presses for some reason. "And just live it out. Like for a moment, you're becoming a different person."

Eddie considers him. The thoughtful look on his face that he's still not qualified to deal with.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks and he hopes against all hope that it doesn't come off condescending. He's genuinely curious, hell, genuinely worried. What makes someone like Steve--America's poster boy, attractive and athletic--think this way?

Steve rolls his head towards him again and his smile is everything but joyful.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "The adult life is more than I've bargained for, I guess." He shrugs, but Eddie knows it's the easy, dismissive answer. And he feels like he needs to get to the bottom of this, his essay be damned. Happily.

"You live with Ms. Henderson, though. You don't have to be an adult-adult," he points out and waits, hoping he's not prying too much.

"Yeah, but..." Steve seems to be collapsing in on himself. "A lot has happened," he says as much as Eddie knows at this point. "And I've been feeling so small against the world, against the universe..."

Eddie's surprised at the mention of the whole universe, but it's not like he hasn't been thinking about it too, so he nods encouragingly.

"And I'm so grateful that Claudia took me in, I'm so relieved..." He hesitates for a millisecond before his face hardens. "That I don't have to deal with my parents anymore," he finishes with conviction. "But at this point, I don't know who I am. High school doesn't matter, the sports teams don't matter. I didn't get to college, I'm working a shitty job, and not even full-time!" He throws a hand in the air. "Actual high schoolers are taking up all the hours."

Eddie winces.

"You're talking to a super super senior here, I don't think I'm doing much better," he points out.

"But you have the band," Steve counters. "It's fun, you have friends for it and if you do it right, it's a great career path."

"If we do it right."

Steve turns abruptly towards him, eyes wide, before he settles back down with a sigh.

"I believe you can. With your insane guitar skills and all," he offers.

Eddie chuckles.

"Thanks, man. But I'm pretty sure you can figure something out, too. I don't believe your 'sports don't matter' thing, there's a lot of money put into it," he points out, not hiding his disdain but Steve only snorts at his tone. "And you probably could land a role in a hair commercial if you tried. Hell, with your looks you could easily become an actor," he reassures his reluctant night companion.

"So you think all there is to me is my good looks?" Steve asks, rolling his head towards him again, this time pouting.

It kind of is what he said, isn't it?

"Well, no." He straightens up, ready to fix his mistake. Well, maybe not ready, but hoping. "Henderson, uh, Dustin, sings you praises all the time and none of them are about your great hair."

"Good to know a high schooler values me," Steve scoffs, his pout deepening.

"So!" Eddie ignores him. "If you're a good person and a pretty face, that's a whole world opening up for you. Because as sad as it is, people are simple and need pretty things to ogle. It's what sells and you could totally use it."

He looks at Steve again and when the pout doesn't disappear, he realizes he just dug himself a deeper hole, doubling down on relying on looks being Steve's only option. He stares at his bottom lip as if it could somehow pull him out. It moves and he's hoping for some guidance, but all he gets is...

"Should I just become a stripper, then?"

The flash of images is like a bullet to his head. Steve in fishnets and ridiculously high heels, bending on a pole, chest hair sticking to his pecs with sweat and shining with glitter. His lips tinted with lip gloss--

"I mean, um..." Why is Steve's hairy chest right there for him to see? "Who am I to stop you, right?" he offers with a nervous smile. "If it makes you money, it's a job."

"I guess." He shrugs, eyes still on Eddie, but the pout is finally gone, so he can breathe easier. It's been replaced with a thoughtful expression. Steve presses the back of his hand to his arm. "Would you come to watch me?"

"Huh?" Eddie frowns at him, at the hand touching him, a single finger running against the sleeve of his shirt.

"If I was a stripper," Steve clarifies.

Would he?

It's never been something he considered, the environment more fit for sleazy older guys who can't get a girl, or businessmen too busy to bother with one. Or bachelor parties. Would he go to a strip club then, if he was invited? Probably. But would he go for someone specifically? That sounds stalkery. Would he go if it was Gareth?

Gareth would look stupid in fishnets.

But if he asked Eddie, for moral support, would he? Probably. He tries to be a good friend. So he half-nods, half-shrugs.

"If you wanted me to."

"But would you want to?" Steve presses.

"I've never been to a strip club, I don't know." Eddie raises his shoulder in a defensive shrug, kind of lost in the weird turn their conversation has taken.

Even more lost when Steve's hand drops lower, the back of his fingers reaching the hem of his sleeve and touching skin. The light scrape of his fingernails sends a shiver across his bones. He goes lower and lower, tantalizingly slow into the ticklish spot on Eddie's elbow.

"I'd give you a preview before the show, you could judge if it's good enough," he offers instead, hand sliding down to his thigh, resting just above the knee. Squeezing gently.

Eddie doesn't see Steve anymore. Just his big hand wrapped around his leg. There's a tiny mole on his wrist and a light dusting of hair all the way to his fingers.

"Would you want me to strip for you?" Steve presses, snapping his attention back to himself.

His brain is uncharacteristically empty, and It takes him a long while to register, process and understand the heavy gaze Steve's giving him, the fingers digging into the meat of his thigh, the boy next to him leaning in, his eyes dropping to Eddie's lips.

Eddie jumps up.

"What?!"

Steve is up as well, hands out like he's placating a wild animal. Understandably, because Eddie feels like one. He wants to run like a startled gazelle, or drop dead like an opossum. But he's there frozen like a deer caught in car's headlights. Are the doors locked? How much time would he lose looking for the key if it's not in the lock? Maybe he should try the window instead?

"Shhh, please," Steve's hissing in desperation, but Eddie doesn't want to look at him. "I'll leave, I'm sorry. Please forget about it, I'm sorry."

He sounds even worse than Eddie feels, so he risks a glance towards him. His face is pale in the dim-lit living room, eyes widened in panic.

Maybe Eddie has been the car all along.

He knows Steve would flee if he reached out, so he doesn't dare to, slowly shows his open palms again, empty of weapons or judgement.

"Hey, no, it's okay. I don't care about that. You just surprised me." Understatement of the century. Henderson's brother coming onto him? Impossible, abstract, a fever dream. Maybe he did have too much of Ms. Claudia's delicious earl grey. Something must have been in the tea, the school has been trying to tell him not to trust the Brits all along.

"You don't care?" Steve repeats, not looking like he's going to puke at the very least.

Eddie considers his words.

"Not in a 'I'm gonna punch you' way," he offers the best he's got for now. Which even he has to admit, is fucking shit.

Steve finally relaxes, or rather deflates, half turning towards the dark corridor.

"Thanks. Goodnight."

As the stairs creak under his steps, Eddie is still processing. He slumps back down onto the couch and for once is happy to find a distraction from his thoughts in the form of an unfinished essay. The thing gets done in no time but he barely sleeps that night.

tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank @carlprocastinator1000 @irregular-child @dreamercec @mightbeasleep @nerdyglassescheeseychick @ellietheasexylibrarian @wheneverfeasible @wormapothacary @estrellami-1 @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @blasvemous

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gregre369 · 2 hours ago

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gregre369 · 2 hours ago

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theyre brothers, ur honour

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gregre369 · 3 hours ago

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@steddiesummerexchange for @chaosgremlinmunson | part 3/3 | beta @stevesjockstrap 💚

He knows he has to tell Chrissy as soon as possible, but she'll have to wait. There's someone else he has to go through first.

He kicks off his shoes, hangs up his jacket, and accepts his fate.

"So, not a word, but I got a new tattoo."

Wayne turns away from the TV, raising one bushy eyebrow at his nephew.

"Thought you were playing DnD today."

Eddie nods his head, sways on the balls of his feet, and sighs.

"I was," he admits, and holds his hand up, palm facing his uncle.

He observes in real time as the realization hits his beloved relative and an infuriating grin spreads on his face.

"I said not a word!"

"I'm not saying anything." Wayne raises his hands innocently, the satisfied grin on his face making his wrinkles contort in joy.

"I gotta call Chris," Eddie grumbles, making a beeline for the phone. His uncle's amused gaze doesn't leave him for a second.

Chrissy is, needless to say, ecstatic. She makes plans to get ready together faster than he can explain the situation. It ends with him digging deep into his wardrobe the next day.

"I don't have any good jeans!" he exclaims, showing his friend another pair.

"Well, I want to see all of them anyway, so I can choose the ones that give you at least an illusion of an ass," she explains patiently, sitting on his bed and doing nothing else but judging.

"Rude," he murmurs, but he's aware his ass is as flat as a wooden plank so he doesn't argue. "What if he's a platonic soulmate too? What if I'm misinterpreting things again?"

"Please don't remind me." Chrissy shudders and Eddie makes a face of his own. When they first found each other, there were a couple of unsuccessful attempts at kissing before they realized they were strictly platonic. "Then he'll have to fight me because I'm not sharing. He already has his platonic soulmate, we're all due for some action."

"You know, as much as I know you," Eddie says, pulling out another pair of pants from under a pile of winter clothes. "It never ceases to amaze me how nasty you are."

"You're nasty," she throws back. "Now put these on, I wanna see some ass."

His outfit looks the same as always, with a couple of minuscule differences Chrissy insists are making a change. His pants are charcoal, not black, and his ass is almost noticeable in them, and his shirt is one of the shorter ones. If he moves his arms the right way, a sliver of his stomach will show. He barely wins the battle for his hair, though.

"We can't have the same hair!" he protests when she describes what she wants to do - a ponytail with some loose strands. She pouts, with torture devices already in hand: a brush and a scrunchie.

"I'll let my hair loose," she offers, surprising him. She always complains about hair getting in her face when it's not tied back.

"You're that determined, huh?"

She nods her head furiously.

"Fine," he sighs. "Do your worst."

In the end, he doesn't look bad, but also not exactly like he tried. Just a cleaner version of his daily look. He gets a stink eye from his friend when he throws a leather jacket over it but she doesn't say anything. She knows he doesn't have many to choose from.

They drive to the mall, where they are planning to grab ice cream before going to the cinema. When the pairs spot each other at the entrance, Steve seems to take extra joy in waving to Eddie. The dice on his palm rattles and so does Eddie's when he waves back. They both land on twenties.

Despite it all starting because of the girls, it was their first official hang-out together, so the boys hung back to give them some space. And to observe the intense stare Robin was giving Chrissy's hand, like she was too overwhelmed to touch it. Eddie could tell that Steve was barely holding back a laugh.

"What are we seeing," Eddie asks when Steve wins the fight at the register and pays for his chocolate cone.

"Some comedy about aliens. Or, there's also a romcom we can switch to."

"Nah." Both Robin and Eddie stick out their tongues with disgust.

"Well, sci-fi comedy it is."

They chat a bit at the ice cream place, mostly watching Robin and Chrissy's attempts at flirting, before moving on to the ticket booth. When Steve asks for two double seats away from each other, something must show on Eddie's face, because Steve smirks at him.

"For privacy," he says, reaching out to gently trace the outside of his hand with his fingers.

Eddie has to be pushed towards the theatre after that, too floored to move. He panics a little when separated from his soulmate, who is too engrossed in her crush to even notice.

"Hey." Steve tugs gently on the cuff of his jacket. "Relax, I'm not going to eat you. I won't even touch you if you don't want me to." He seems disappointed by that prospect but his tone is soft and genuine. Eddie knows he can trust him so he twists his wrist to squeeze his hand gently.

"It's okay. I'm just still a little surprised by it, is all," he reassures him.

"Okay." Steve squeezes back. "Just tell me if I'm too much."

"Sure."

He doesn't have to say anything, because he can barely sense his presence next to him. Other than them putting up the armrest to press their shoulders together, and Steve brushing against his hand from time to time, he doesn't press further. Eddie, though, is getting antsy, and having Steve next to him proves to be just a part of this problem. Halfway through the movie, he leans closer to his companion.

"You're never picking the movie again."

Steve groans quietly. It sounds like he's relieved.

"I know, I'm sorry," he admits his mistake. "It looked good in the trailer."

"They are supposed to look good." Eddie points out. "Wanna leave?"

Steve hesitates. They both look at where their friends are sitting. The girls are leaning towards each other though facing the screen, probably roasting the movie to shreds.

"They seem fine, I guess," Steve reluctantly agrees. Eddie stands up without further prompting and gently leads him through the dark, down the steps, and to the exit.

The light in the hall blinds them for a second but Eddie doesn't drop his hand, half-blindly pushing forward.

"Gotta use the bathroom. Then we can grab a bite or something."

"We should wait for the lovebirds," Steve protests.

Eddie rolls his head to the side, not sharing the sentiment.

"I don't know, they seem fine without us."

"But it's a double date," Steve presses.

"Okay Harrington, we can just hang around the mall I guess. Until that sad excuse of a movie ends." He gives in, shaking his head.

Steve seems happy with getting his way, which weirdly makes Eddie feel the same.

They ease their grip on each other only when they reach the bathroom. Without a word they enter stalls far away from each other, figuring the urinals would make it too awkward. When they are washing their hands minutes later, Steve gives him a grin through the mirror.

"We have the bathroom all to ourselves, you know?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow, something in his gust twisting with nervous anticipation.

"Yeah? You wanna murder me or something?"

"Uh, no?" Steve's smile falls. "I just— Sorry, that was stupid. Forget I said anything," he sighs, threading his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair.

Eddie turns sideways to face him, his hip digging into the sink.

"You know, Chris and I tried dating for like a week after we found out. Kissing her felt wrong, like I was kissing my sister, but we were both convinced we were interested in each other like that."

Steve makes a face.

"Yeah, I was so sure I had a crush on Robin for a while. But then she said she's strictly into girls and we quickly realized we're twins separated at birth." He smiles. "So I uh, understand why you'd want to feel things out first." He nods.

But Eddie bites his cheek.

"That is the opposite of what I'm saying."

Steve cocks his head, brows furrowed. He has mirrored Eddie's stance, leaning against the sink.

"What are you saying?"

"Yeah, I do wanna feel things out, but I think kissing would be most efficient."

Steve doesn't hide the smile that grows on his face. Eddie bristles at that, mostly from anxiety and embarrassment. He chuckles nervously.

"Okay, your excitement scares me a bit. You really wanna kiss me that bad?"

"I don't think you realize how kissable you are." Steve shifts a bit like he's getting ready to pounce. "Can I?"

"Be my guest." Eddie waves his hand and straightens up himself, his minimal experience making him unsure of the proceedings.

He's expecting a straightforward kiss, but it's not what he gets. Steve slides closer, his heavy hand landing on his side. His face is right there, but instead of his lips, there is a feather-light touch on his nose, where Steve gently traces it with the tip of his own, inhaling his skin. Eddie breathes softly and okay holy shit there goes the first soft peck on his lips. Then another. And two more, until he's softly murmuring "Stop teasing" against them, prompting Steve to capture his lips in a proper kiss.

There's nothing of the confusion from his kisses with Chrissy. This time the emotions are easy to pinpoint and decipher. They grow like an itch at the tips of his fingers, eager to touch, and he indulges by wrapping his arms around the man in front of him. They take a couple of wobbly steps towards the wall until Eddie can comfortably lean against it, trapped between cold tiles and Steve's warm body.

"Does it feel platonic?" Steve leans back to ask, his hand sneaking under his jacket to slide over his hip, scorching hot without the thick layer of leather.

"My dick says no," Eddie answers, making Steve snicker.

"Well, my dick agrees with yours."

They look into each other's eyes, a new form of understanding weaving between them, a bond more complex than the matching tattoos on their palms. They are each other's and there is nothing platonic about it.

Eddie muffles an unsexy sound of laughter, held back in his throat. Steve's lip wobbles.

"Maybe they should touch, they might be soulmates too."

The dam bursts, and they start laughing uncontrollably.

"Oh my god," Steve wheezes out, leaning heavily on Eddie. "You're so stupid."

"You're stupid," Eddie counters between laughs, shoving him before wrapping his arms back around him. Their tight embrace is the only thing holding them up while they laugh against each other.

They barely register the sound of the door opening, but catch the movement with the corners of their eyes. They turn in unison and spot a guy, frozen in shock by the sight of them: two guys holding one another up in a fit of laughter. The three men look at each other in silence, until Eddie squeaks and it starts all over. The man runs into the stall furthest away.

Eddie shoves Steve away, and Steve shoves back. They start a half-hearted slapfight until Steve catches his right hand, the one with the tattoo, and kisses the inside of his palm. Eddie's eyes go wide.

Steve grins and skips out of the bathroom.

"Hey!" Eddie calls after him, quickly following. "Not fair!"

The girls find them lounging on the sofas in front of the theatre, poking each other with Twizzlers. Or maybe feeding each other. The scene is unclear, but the wide smiles on the men's faces are unmistakable.

"Twizzler?" Steve offers to his soulmate while poking Eddie's cheek with the candy. The man catches it with his teeth and tries to pull it from his grasp.

"Sure, thanks." Robin grabs one from the pack without batting an eye. "I get it the date was a success?"

"Was yours?" Eddie asks back, looking at Chrissy with a Twizzler hanging from his mouth.

"Yeah." She grins, hip-checking Robin.

The girl blushes, chewing on her candy intensely. She's avoiding Steve's gaze but his stare only intensifies. He's basically peeling his eyelids back to burn a hole in her forehead with his eyes only.

"Did you guys kisssss?"

"Robin. Robin. ROBIN. Don't ignore me."

"I know you can hear me. ROBIN!"

She flinches when he mentally yells at her and he raises an eyebrow now that he has her attention. She glares at him.

"We did. Did you?"

He smiles smugly.

"Duh."

She snorts.

The exchange doesn't go unnoticed by their other soulmates.

"What was that about?" Chrissy asks first with a frown. But before any of them can answer, Eddie suddenly grips Steve's knee.

"Holy shit!"

Steve looks at him. Eddie's eyes are wide and full of awe, which is becoming his favorite expression on the man.

"Can you read each other's minds?!"

"Uh, yeah," Steve admits, suddenly sheepish about the ability he's been so happy to have. And which impressed the little nerds to no end. And the big nerd too, apparently. If the way he started shaking his knee was anything to go by.

"Steve! My man! My soul!" Steve can't help but laugh at his exaggerated antics. "Magic tattoo? Mind reading? What other freaky shit can you do?"

"Well, the mind reading is more Robin than me..."

"Still!"

"...and the other freaky shit I don't show on the first date." He grins cheekily.

Eddie's mind goes blank for a second, his excitement freezing as he reboots and processes what he just heard. Steve's grin only widens. He might like this reaction even better.

Robin makes a retching sound, as she does, so he flips her the bird, as he does. Chrissy, though, has an evil smile that lets him know she'll be a great co-schemer in making Eddie squirm.

"Uh-huh." Eddie's mind has rebooted by now, so he looks back to him. "Next date when, then?" he asks. He tries not to look too eager but fails miserably.

"I'm free tomorrow?"

"Perfect." Eddie grins at him. Steve picks his hand up from his knee and gives the tattoo there a gentle kiss. He bites back a smile at the soft gesture.

"Do you guys have any soulmate abilities?" Robin asks, always the mood ruiner. She makes another dive for the candy and Steve lets her have the bag. He'd rather hold Eddie's hands anyway. They're a bit sticky from the Twizzler fight, but he doesn't mind. Maybe he should lick them clean...

"Well..." Chrissy trails off, and it immediately picks up his curiosity.

"Don't say it," Eddie hisses at her, eyes narrowed. She shrugs with a teasing smile.

"They're gonna find out anyway. Besides," she pouts and gives him her best puppy eyes. (Steve is very impressed, after all, game recognizes game.) "Are you ashamed of our bond?"

Eddie seethes.

"I fucking hate you," he says, but doesn't stop her from saying what she wants to. He just looks away and Steve observes his cheeks going progressively redder.

"Eddie knows my cheering routine by heart."

Eddie makes a displeased sound in his throat and refuses to look back at him.

"Really?" Robin sounds impressed. "So you guys can perform together?"

"Yup. And we do. My cheer squad fucking hates it."

Steve can't help but imagine him among the cheerleaders, in a matching dress. It would show off most of his hairy thighs, and his long legs. He'd have to tie his hair up like today so they don't go in the way while he's jumping and cheering for Steve's team, pompom's shaking, skirt flipping up when he spins—

"Where the fuck did your mind just go?" Eddie's voice brings him back to reality. His face is still red, but his eyes are now narrowed in an attempt to look threatening.

"Can I see it?" he asks in lieu of an answer, though it's probably enough to clue him in. "In a cheer outfit, preferably?"

Eddie starts to sputter out protests, but Chrissy grins mischievously at Steve.

"I can make that happen."

He knew he was going to love her.

116 notes · View notes

gregre369 · 3 hours ago

Text

Henderson's-brother-centered misadventures continue [Part IV]

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie screamed. Then, he screamed some more. Then, he got hit with a teddy bear, which bounced off into the floor, barely disturbing his mane of hair.

“You get a drop of spit on my pillow, and you’re washing all my sheets!”

He groaned, like a wounded animal. If animals could be wounded by their best friend’s disloyalty.

“No, dude! You can scream into your own fucking pillow! We can jam if you need, smoke or steal a beer, hell, I can even listen to you. But don’t just come here to stink my room with-” Gareth made a flapping motion in Eddie’s general direction. “Whatever this is.”

Eddie groaned louder before finally rolling onto his back.

“I fucking hate him.”

“I was hoping you’d choose jamming,” Gareth sighed. He threw his leg over his chair and leaned on the back of it. “You mean Big Bro Henderson?”

“Who else?” Eddie threw his hands up into the ceiling. His friend barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “He’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met!”

“Good thing you can’t meet yourself, then.”

Eddie glared at him, but from this angle, it gave him a double chin which severely decreased the look’s efficiency.

“You calling me annoying?”

“Yes.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘lively’. Or ‘charismatic’! Or, or, ‘non-conforming’!”

“No, I’m pretty sure ‘annoying’ is the word. Also, ‘dramatic’.”

Eddie glared again, but since his position has not changed so hasn’t its lack of impact.

“How dare you,” he seethed. Gareth completely ignored it.

“So, what did he do this time? Give you more cookies?”

“No!” He had regretted the decision to tell him about it as soon as it left his mouth, but it was out there now. Well, the price of the blackmail material was listening to it first. “He just…” Eddie trailed off, realizing what he was about to say. ‘He let me sit in his lap for the whole length of Karate Kid’ was so much harder to explain than ‘he gave me an extra cookie for my good work.’ He scrambled to find a better approach.

“So he’s like a therapy dog,” he started, because painting the scene is important.

“What.”

Wrong approach.

“Okay, so I’ve found out he has some issues, something to do with the Starcourt fire, I think? You know nothing of it, by the way, I probably shouldn't know about it. Henderson, well, the little one, just has a big mouth.”

“And so do you. By telling me,” his friend pointed out.

“Emerson, this isn’t about you,” Eddie scolded him. “So he needs extra physical contact or something. And he might have um…” Wrong turn again. “Engaged me in it?”

“Ok, hold on,” Gareth dropped his forehead on the edge of the chair’s back and rubbed his temples. “What do you mean by that? Because I know it’s not as weird as you make it sound.”

Eddie crossed his arms, which looked extra stupid in his horizontal position. He tapped his socked foot against the mattress.

“We were watching Karate Kid, and the couch wasn’t big enough for four people. Nobody else wanted to sit in his lap and I thought it would be, you know, funny, to offer. And he just said ‘okay’, and did it!” His arms flew up into the air again.

Gareth lifted his head.

“So you sat in his lap.”

“He put me in his lap.”

“Dude, you throw your legs all over me when we watch a movie!”

“Yeah, but that’s different!”

“How?”

“Because we’re friends! We play together and shit!”

Gareth scrunched his nose because while he knew of the wisdom his friend possessed (very selective and rarely occurring in the daylight), admitting him right was painful because the cockiness he possessed was probably far greater.

“Well, maybe he’s giving you signs he wants to be friends?”

Eddie snorted.

"No way. Not possible. No."

"And why is that?" Gareth raised an eyebrow at the adamant negation.

"I'm his younger brother's friend-"

"Who's his age."

"-And we like different things. I'm a freak, I like metal and D&D!"

"So does Dustin, and they get along well."

"They are brothers!"

"Well, I actually hate my sister, it’s not a rule."

Eddie groaned.

"I don't know," he ended up saying, just to voice his internal frustration. At least he was facing the ceiling now and not Gareth's pillow.

He hummed, considering his friend, trying to understand his problem, to even locate it.

"Okay, so you don't like that he's nice?"

"Yes."

"... You want him to be mean?"

"... Yes? Maybe?"

Gareth hit his head against the chair.

"This whole conversation is lost on me."

When he looked up he met Eddie's eyes, a storm brewing behind them.

"I don't want to like him. But he makes it hard not to because he's so nice."

‘He treats me like I'm normal, like his equal’, went unspoken but Gareth could hear it anyway. It was time to end the questions for the day because getting any deeper into his friend's psyche could trap him like quicksand.

"And then I go to apologize and end up talking about BDSM of all things!"

"Nope!" Gareth straightened up and hopped out of his chair. "We're going to the garage, so I can't hear you over the drums."

"What a best friend you are," Eddie grumbled but rolled off the bed regardless. He was secretly glad for an excuse to stop talking about Henderson because he started getting lost in his thoughts and feelings himself.

The next time he sees Steve, he doesn’t make it any easier. They see each other only in passing, and the older brother doesn’t give him more than a weak smile and a "Hi, Eddie. Dustin's upstairs," before leaving.

Eddie walks up to his friend's room thoroughly confused.

"What was that about?" he asks instead of a greeting. He never greets his friends properly these days, but there are more important things like ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s.

"What was what about?"

"Steve," Eddie frowns like it explains everything. And apparently, it does.

"I think he's still upset after last time."

Eddie blinks.

"I said I was sorry!"

Dustin rolls his eyes.

"Sorry doesn't solve everything. It's like a," he snaps his fingers looking for a good comparison. "Like one of the spell components. It's not gonna work without all of them."

Guess he is casting Charm Person after all.

"Okay, but like. What are the other components?"

Dustin just shrugs.

"Hell if I know."

Eddie was burdened with the most unhelpful friends.

"What do you do when you upset him?"

Dustin's first instinct is to protest, probably point out what a great little brother he is, but one stern look from Eddie makes him shut his mouth and reconsider his words.

"Well, if I made him upset, I'd help him with dinner, make him coffee or tea, pick a movie I know he'd like. Help out with chores, mostly. He does too much by himself." The frown on his face is deep like the mystery of Steve's adoption and Eddie mirrors it.

"This sounds all great when you're brothers, but I'm not a Henderson, how am I supposed to pull that off?

"You helped with dinner once, you could do it again,"

Eddie sighs, long and suffering.

"I guess…"

"Great! Steve has left to get groceries and is making dinner later, I'm sure he'll appreciate the help!" He grins, knowing full well he just backed his friend into a corner.

Eddie sputters when he realizes that.

“What? Today?”

“No better time than the present.” Dustin shrugs smugly, like it was a universal law they can’t help but follow.

Eddie bristles, because, yeah, true, but…

“I'm not mentally prepared," he complains.

"For what?" Dustin raises his brows in this annoying way of his. "Cooking?"

"You ate my mac and cheese, you understand the severity of the situation!" he yells, accusingly pointing a finger at him.

"Ate is a big word, I spat it out. And calling it mac and cheese is also a big word."

"Exactly!" Usually Eddie didn't like his abilities slandered like that but on the rare occasion when it served his purpose…

"Steve's first casserole was also inedible," Dustin shrugs and Eddie tries to picture Mr. Perfect Housewife fucking up a dish. "You have about an hour to mentally prepare before he's back though. You can spend it finishing your readings."

Ah, right. The mundane purpose of his visit was schoolwork.

Eddie groans. He can only hope the tragic stories of holocaust victims will set him in the right mind for cooking with Steve.

They don’t. He's heavily unprepared for the confrontation when they're running down the stairs to help with the bags.

When Steve's instructing them which things he needs and which can be put away, Dustin elbows his friend in the ribs, hard. He hisses in pain, attracting Steve's attention.

"You staying for dinner?" he asks before Eddie can say anything.

"Uh, if I can help with it, then yeah," he says, feeling Dustin’s annoying beady eyes on himself.

Steve frowns at him.

"You don't have to do that, I’ve told you before."

"Yeah, but I'm done with my work for today," Eddie adds under the menacing gaze. "And my cooking skills need some guidance. Wayne is too old to stomach my food, he can't risk another food poisoning,” he babbles, earning himself a snort from Steve.

“Okay, if it's that bad,” he agrees finally, the smile Eddie has gotten used to once again on his face. "But you'll be under strict supervision."

"Of course!"

"Okay, you already got yourself a kitchen slave, so I can go finish my work," Dustin speaks up before promptly disappearing, only the sound of his rushed retreating steps left.

"Guess we're alone then," Steve comments, giving Eddie an odd look. He thought he was used to those but Steve's were always hard to decipher. Not the exact kind he usually got.

He clears his throat to dislodge the weird feeling clogging it up.

"So, what are we cooking today?"

Steve hums, looking at the ingredients before him.

"You ever cooked soup?"

"Uh, I assume you don't mean the instant kind?"

Steve makes a disgusted face, fake gags for a good measure too.

"Soup it is then. It's getting colder, and I'm sure Wayne would appreciate it," he says, eyeing Eddie questioningly, and this one he deciphers easily.

"My uncle,” he explains. "I live with him."

To his surprise, Steve smiles warmly.

"Wanna make some extra you can heat up for him?"

"That's-" Eddie's taken aback, which doesn't happen to him often. "That would be very nice, thank you."

"It’s nothing. He should know his nephew is spending his time productively."

"I'm always productive," he mutters back a complete lie. But he's been trying, okay?

"I know," Steve says, surprising him again. "Maybe I want to get on your uncle's good side too."

Eddie doesn't ask why. Doesn't want to know. Doesn't speculate. Just leaves it be, bugging him for the time being.

"I was thinking fritters too? Since they're easy to heat up later."

Eddie nods, watching him sort through the vegetables.

"Whatever you say, chef."

Steve instructs him through the soup preparations first, explaining it needs more time to cook.

“I hope you don’t mind veggie broth. El didn’t like chicken and we kinda got used to it. Also, it’s cheaper,” he says, watching Eddie pour water over the vegetables arranged in the pot.

He puts the pot on the burner and looks up.

"Who's El?"

"Dustin's friend. She moved to California though," Steve answers with a frown.

"That's a bit of a drive."

"Yeah," Steve scrunches his nose, then looks back into the pot, before reaching for a box of seasoning.

"Ok, now for the fun part."

Eddie has no idea how seasoning a pot of vegetable water can be fun, but he's not about to argue. He follows instructions and marvels at the amount of weird plants that could be added to food.

"I feel like a witch," he whispers, tossing dried herbs into his cauldron.

Steve chuckles.

"You kinda look like one."

Eddie side-eyes him from his position over the pot.

"I hope that's a compliment."

"Oh, it is," Steve says in a weird voice and Eddie is too afraid to look at him. He flips through the seasoning packets instead, reading unfamiliar names.

"Okay, so this needs a couple of hours to cook, you'll know when it starts getting together from the smell. Then we'll blanche the onions and garlic, add the tomatoes, blend it all, and it's done. Now we can work on the fritters. Have you done them before?"

Eddie thinks about it for a moment.

"I saw my uncle make them."

"Potato ones?"

"Uh, yeah? Are there more options?" he asks, eyebrows drawn together.

"Apparently, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes. “A fritter is technically anything you can grate, slap together and fry in a pancake-ish shape."

"Huh. I've learned so much today already."

Steve laughs.

"So, what do you want in the fritters?" he asks and Eddie is ridiculously giddy about having a choice.

"Can we put meat in them?"

"Yeah, I've made them with bacon before."

Eddie's eyes sparkle.

"Potatoes with bacon and cheese?"

"Holy shit,” Steve groans. “Claudia's gonna kill us, but it sounds so good." He ponders on it for a moment. "We could add corn to pretend there are vegetables in them."

"Ketchup is a vegetable," Eddie points out and Steve bristles.

"We're not eating them with ketchup!" he protests. "But… we could use some of the tomatoes to make a sauce."

Eddie never thought cooking could be this fun.

"Yesss!"

"You're way more excited than I thought you'd be," Steve observes, grabbing the potatoes to wash.

"I'm a growing boy, of course I'm excited about food. Besides, we're like two alchemists; mixing up stuff to make other stuff."

Steve laughs again.

"Are those the guys who tried turning metals into gold?"

"Precisely!"

He's tasked with peeling the potatoes while Steve puts bacon in the oven. He’s never good at it, and he huffs angrily when Steve joins him and gets through three potatoes while he peels one. What's worse, he can see him watching and his fingers twitching.

"Okay, I can see you itching to correct me. Just do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah man, unless you have some disease I could catch, I'll be fine."

Steve winces and Eddie has a lightning-fast memory of a rumour that gays spread a deadly disease. But Steve isn't gay, probably, and it's just a rumour.

Steve is still haste when he rearranges his fingers on the peeler and takes his hand away like touching him burns.

Eddie frowns. Well, that's not gonna cut it.

"Like this?" he asks, making a motion he knows is wrong.

"No, like-" Steve reaches out and hesitates.

"I don't have cooties, come on."

Steve presses his lips together and wraps his hand around his. He has to move closer too, crowding Eddie's side.

"Like this," he says, whispers really, pushing his hand in the right motion.

This suddenly feels more obscene than it is, but Eddie’s half tempted to push it further.

"Your hands are weirdly soft. Do you steal Robin's hand cream?" he asks instead.

Steve huffs at the backhanded compliment and retraces his soft, big hands.

"No, I have my own."

"Hmm." Eddie cocks his head, looking him up and down. "Should have guessed."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Steve asks with a frown, but he can tell the anger is played up.

"Nothing," Eddie shrugs. "You just look like someone taking care of himself."

Steve keeps looking at him like he is not sure if he should be offended or not so Eddie helps him out by rolling his eyes.

“Don't worry, I judge you more for your music than your hygiene.”

“Of course,” Steve huffs. “You wouldn't know much about hygiene anyway, would you?” he teases with a smirk.

Eddie gasps.

“Are you implying trailer trash don't clean themselves?” he asks, eyes wide and offended.

“What? No!” The smile vanishes instantly from his face. “Of course not!” Steve scrambles to defend himself. But then, he cocks his hip and crosses his arms.

“You know what? No. I stand by it. Your hair needs proper care, not whatever 3 in 1 you treat it with,” he says.

“5 in 1,” Eddie corrects him smugly.

“Five?”

“Hair, body, face, beard and ass,” he lists on his fingers, earning himself a look of disgust from Steve.

“For that alone, you’re washing your hands again.”

Eddie knows he doesn't have to, but complies anyway. Whatever makes the big Henderson happy. And consecutively, the little Henderson. And somehow, Eddie himself.

By the time the sun starts setting, he’s gained some valuable culinary knowledge, including the fact that as a cook, he gets to taste the dishes all the time. His growing boy tummy is satiated with a stolen strip of bacon and one of the test fritters he’s munching on, when they hear the door unlock.

“I’m home!” a woman’s voice calls out. Eddie freezes.

“We’re just finishing dinner!” Steve calls back while the man next to him shrinks on himself, looking up at him and wondering why he isn’t being pushed into a closet like a secret paramour.

“Your mom is here?!” he seethes through his teeth, eyes jumping from Steve to the door.

“Well, yeah?” Steve raises an eyebrow. “She lives here?”

“But why am I here?!”

Was Steve this stupid or did he not grasp the severity of the situation?

“You’re cooking? Staying for dinner? Studying? The fuck do you mean man?” he answers, more or less matching his volume.

“Mothers hate me!” Eddie reminds him helpfully, making Steve only roll his eyes with a huff.

“Claudia likes you.”

“She never saw me,” he reminds him. Because as soon as any of the suburban moms caught a whiff of his metal vest, his dark clothes and long hair, he felt disgusted eyes on his back.

And when the Satanist drug dealer rumours reach them? Things only get worse.

“Dude-”

“Oh, hi boys!” A tired-looking blond woman enters the kitchen. Her smile doesn’t waver despite Eddie’s presence, meaning she must have seen some shit in her life. “You didn’t tell me we’ll have a guest today.”

Steve steps in before he can put his foot in his mouth, laying his big warm hand on his shoulder.

“Eddie finished his work early and wanted to help in the kitchen. Hope that’s alright.”

At the mere thought it wouldn’t be, Eddie’s stomach twisted.

“Of course! The more, the merrier!” Claudia smiled, still seemingly genuine, before stepping closer and extending her hand.

“Nice to finally meet you, Eddie. I’ve heard a lot about you from my boys.”

Steve’s hand is still on him squeezing minutely to remind him to shake Claudia’s hand.

“Likewise.” He smiles to his best ability, unable to remember the last time he was friendly with someone's parents. Except Gareth's, maybe.

“What did boys make?” she asks, sniffing the air and trying to peek over his shoulder.

“Tomato soup, like you asked, and some fritters.”

“With veggies, I hope?” She squints at her oldest (newest?) son.

“There’s corn in them, and we made a tomato sauce.” He smiled brightly and Eddie could tell he was happy to play the good kid role.

“Good. I’m gonna change and get back to you,” she says before disappearing upstairs, probably to harass the younger Henderson now.

“Why was she so nice?” Eddie muses, half to Steve, half to himself, half to the universe in general. Wait, that's three halves. Well, he didn’t fail school because of his great math skills.

“She's always nice.” Steve steps away to work on the next batch of fritters.

“Not to me! Mothers hate me! I bet she’s just pretending but as soon as I disappear, you're gonna hear all about it!”

“Hey!” Steve turns back towards him, frowning. And uh-oh, he upset him again. On his reverse-upset mission. “Claudia’s not some uptight bitch like that. She likes all our friends and you're not an exception. Just because you dress differently isn’t gonna ban you from the house or get us in trouble.” He knocks him on the head for good measure. “You’re safe here.”

“Okay,” Eddie simply says, taken aback. Being welcomed somewhere was a feeling he still had to process.

“We're safe here,” was a soft addition he almost missed over his own loud thoughts but made him even more curious about Steve himself.

User tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank @carlprocastinator1000 @irregular-child

408 notes · View notes

gregre369 · 7 hours ago

Text

Eddie, not panicking: Henderson's older brother is a little broken and now it's my fault, apparently? :/ [Part III]

[Part I] [Part II] [Part IV]

"I smell popcorn. Do you smell popcorn?" Dustin asked, sniffing the air.

Eddie stuck his nose up in the air, imitating a rabbit to his best abilities.

"Indeed I do."

Dustin was already opening his door and stomping down the stairs.

"They're watching the new Karate Kid!" he yelled from the living room.

They could have been watching a documentary about shrimps and Eddie would gladly join them anyway just to be an annoying menace to the older Henderson. Besides, his alternative was the algebra homework in front of him. So, like a properly feral trailer creature, he buried it deep beneath Dustin’s blankets and dumped a stuffed cat toy on top of the pile before leaving the room.

The living room curtains were already drawn to create an illusion of a cinema experience. The whole room smelled of popcorn and Dustin’s smugness because he managed to plant his ass comfortably into the only available armchair.

Eddie was doomed to share the couch with the older kids - Steve and his girlfriend Robin whom he’s seen in passing before. He waved at her, and she waved back, which was their usual routine. Steve patted the empty seat on his other side, grinning.

“So glad you are joining us.”

“I’d rather be studying, but my therapist advised human interactions,” Eddie sighed heavily, falling against the cushions. His hand was immediately buried in the huge bowl of popcorn Steve was holding. The boy put it in the air instantly.

“Wait for the movie to start!”

Eddie chewed on his stolen kernels, looking him dead in the eye before shifting his gaze and raising his eyebrows pointedly at something behind him. The realisation hit him immediately.

“Robin!” he swirled around to scold her. She was sitting up on her knees to reach the bowl.

“Just start the movie!” Dustin yelled, throwing at him ammunition from his own, smaller bowl.

“Unbelievable,” Steve murmured, reaching for the remote.

Eddie exchanged a glance over his back with Robin, snickering at each other. He liked their company, despite his initial reservations. The Hendersons' house was quickly becoming a second home to him, and he was slowly but surely accepting it. Maybe ‘86 was going to be his year in more than just academics; He already got a bunch of freshmen he was embarrassingly fond of, and while he did not actually have a therapist to tell him that, he knew expanding his social circle wouldn’t hurt. A good party of adventures needs variety. And it’s so hard to find a healer. Maybe Robin would be down? Steve was probably more of a tank, which was also an asset.

The movie has been on for maybe ten minutes when a Dustin-shaped blob tried to squeeze itself between him and Steve.

“Hey!” they both protested in unison. Steve shoved himself into Eddie, squeezing all the air out of him as he was now shoved between him and the armrest.

“You have your armchair!”

“Well, it’s at the wrong angle. It’s not optimal for watching,” the boy whined, trying again to squeeze himself between Robin and Steve this time. He did the same thing though, pancaking her between himself and the couch.

“Come on!” Dustin groaned.

They did some back and forth, shifting in front of each other like in Wayne’s stupid basketball matches, until Robin decided to be a dumbass and reached for the remote to pause the still ongoing movie. Dustin saw his opening and dipped to his right, sliding between her and the armrest. Suddenly, Steve’s elbow was in Eddie’s ribs.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry- Dustin!”

“What!? Just take Robin on your lap and don’t be a pussy!”

“Ew, fucking gross-!”

“We are not fucking dating-!” they protested simultaneously, their voices overlapping with a similar sense of exasperation and annoyance.

“How bout you sit on my lap, little brother?” Steve offered, saccharine coating his words.

“Ew, I’m not a baby, Steve!”

Eddie patted Steve’s arm, the one still wedged way too close to his very bruisable ribs.

“There, there, Stevie, don’t cry. I’ll sit on your lap,” he said, sending him his best pitying smile.

Steve’s eyes were on him again, the tree bark brown of the oak tree little Eddie hung his first birdhouse on. They weren’t rolling though. Why weren’t they rolling and annoyed in that heavenly entertaining way?

“Great,” Steve said, a small relieved breath escaping him. And then his arm was living his space.

Oh, of course. Eddie overdid it this time. The joke went too far, and he was going to get his teeth knocked out again, but this time no new ones are coming to replace them.

The arm landed behind him, circling his shoulders. The other landed on his legs and in the next second he was being lifted off the couch, expecting a close encounter with the floor, or being dumped onto the armchair in the best scenario.

But then he’s not, he opens his eyes, and he’s surrounded by warmth and softness and the movie is being rewound to the point before the sitting argument.

He is embarrassed and mortified, looking at the screen like it could somehow tether him back to his previous reality. The one when he was not sitting on Steve Henderson’s lap.

He took a cautious look at the others, who didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Eddie just got manhandled into another man’s lap. He was the only one freaking out. Maybe it was a normal occurrence for Steve, maybe he was exaggerating?

He was sitting a bit to the side not to obscure Steve’s vision. The man’s arm was brushing against his spine, thrown around the back of the couch behind him to make room. He could feel the rise and fall of Steve’s chest. He could feel Steve everywhere.

It was his idea, his stupid mouth said it, and so he couldn’t back down now, even if his skin was on fire.

Everyone but him seemed to be focused on the movie, so he decided he was not gonna be worse. Just imagine it’s still the couch. A very warm, breathing couch.

Steve moved under him without warning, and Eddie stiffened up. He pressed a hand against his mouth not to make a sound, the other one gripping the flesh of Steve’s thigh, hard. There was a hand against his waist, a futile attempt not to jostle his body.

Then the world was right again, Steve settled under him. With a peace offering in his hands. He had wrenched Dustin’s mini bowl of popcorn to give it to Eddie.

He accepted it but made the mistake of looking at Steve.

There was no tree brown in his eyes, it was all technicolour reflexes of the TV, reminding Eddie of neon signs in the dark.

“Thanks,” he whispered in the dim room. Steve smiled at him, a hint of teeth shining right next to him. He stuffed his face with popcorn and reminded himself Steve was Henderson’s brother and Eddie was comfortable sitting in his lap.

And he was, for the majority of the movie, until Steve forgot himself and his hand landed on Eddie’s knee, thumb rubbing against the denim. Eddie eyed the movement, then subtly glanced at the man’s face. He was watching the movie, relaxed like none of his limbs were moving against his will. Eddie scrunched his nose, looked away and jostled his leg. Steve squeezed him gently and let go.

“Sorry,” he whispers, too quiet, too close to Eddie’s ear.

He shakes his head.

“‘s okay,” he whispers back, even if it didn’t feel okay.

He survived to the end of the movie, but as soon as the credits started rolling, he jumped up and off Steve, eager to open the curtains, let some fresh air in, and sprint across the yard as far away as possible from Steve Henderson’s thighs. The flowers beneath the window would make for a great landing spot.

Before he could leap into freedom, a familiar heat, smell and shape of a human approached him, gently pressing against his side.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Steve said, his voice quiet below a whisper. Eddie turned away from freedom, putting distance between himself and the heat.

“You should be sorry,” he scoffed, giving him his best death glare and stepping away.

He had an algebra textbook to dig up from underneath blankets.

It’s not that he was uncomfortable with touching. He was a very tactile person himself. But this level of closeness was not something to share easily, not with someone he barely considered a friend. Steve was a weird person.

Said the freak.

He was wrangling the blankets when someone coughed behind him. He was so whirred up, this time he did scream.

“What!” he turned around to find Dustin, who was positively fuming.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing!”

“No, he looks like a kicked puppy. So you must have said something.” Dustin’s frown deepened.

Eddie frowned back.

The boy sighed, closing the door and coming closer to lower his voice as much as his vocal cords could manage.

“Listen, we are still working with Steve to open up and be himself. Which, apparently, involves a lot of hugs and shit. So like, if you do anything to fuck this up, even unintentionally…” He scrunched his face like he was in physical pain saying it. His eyes were big and more childlike than ever. “I can’t have you coming over.”

There was a lot to process there, none of which Eddie expected. Being banned from the Henderson household? No fucking way.

“Shit.”

Dustin nodded solemnly.

“Shit. He’s in the kitchen right now if you want to have a word,” he looked at him pointedly. Eddie winced.

“Now?”

If eyes could kill, Eddie would be ten feet underground and rotting.

“Fine,” he scoffed. “I’ll go apologise to your brother.”

“Atta boy!”

Eddie threw him the middle finger and left the room. He stomped down the stairs to announce his presence and then knocked against the kitchen door frame for good measure. Two pairs of eyes turned towards him.

Of course, Steve’s not-girlfriend was with him.

“Can I have a moment with you?” he asked, searching Steve’s eyes and, oh shit he did look like a kicked puppy.

Steve nodded, but not at him. He nodded at Robin and walked towards Eddie to steer him back into the living room.

“Dustin told you to do this?” Steve guessed immediately.

“Yes,” Eddie admitted. “But he’s right. I overreacted. Just,” he bit his lip, because damn where was his script? What was Steve’s AC and where were the dice?

“Warn me next time?” What fucking next time, Eddie? No, there was going to be next time, because Steve needs hugs to heal, and you need Dustin to graduate. “Like, in the BDSM community, consent is the most important thing. You know?”

There was a soft sound somewhere from the house like someone facepalmed. Which, fair, Eddie would too if he didn’t have to actively participate in the disastrous conversation. So, thanks, anonymous eavesdropper for being unhelpful.

“BDSM?” Steve repeated, the corner of his lips twitching. Even the other participant in the conversation was laughing at his expense. Great.

“Yeah?”

“And you are… part of that community?” Steve cocked his head with curiosity and a curious cat was better than a kicked puppy, so Eddie was doing great.

“No,” Eddie scoffed. “I mean kinda? But not really. Hey, listen, how about we don’t talk about this,” he offered, laughing awkwardly.

Steve nodded, no traces of sadness on his face. Meaning if all else fails, Eddie could at least go around humiliating himself for laughs.

“Anyway, sorry for being a dick, ask next time. Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve smiled his warm smile, the one that always reminded Eddie of his delicious cookies.

“Can I touch your hair?”

“Really running with it, I see, but okay.” Eddie didn’t like his hair being touched but this one time he’d make an exception. Kind of like he was appeasing a toddler to stop whining.

He was expecting Steve to tug at his hair, he was kind of used to it. Maybe run a finger through them, rub at the split ends and complain about how he doesn’t take care of his curls. Eddie saw his hair products collection, and noticed the judgemental stares, alright? He knows.

Instead, Steve’s fingers brush somewhere near his ear and come back with a piece of popcorn.

“You should check if there’s more before you leave,” he said, before leaving Eddie to rejoin Robin in the kitchen.

Eddie ran.

He ran into Dustin’s room, ran from his incredulous question about using BDSM as an argument, then ran with his textbooks under his arm, towards his car and far away from the Hendersons' house.

User tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

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gregre369 · 8 hours ago

Text

Henderson's older brother is kinda fine :/ [Part II]

me: I'll write a blurb and nothing else popular demand: *slides into my DMs* [Part I] [Part III]

They finished Eddie's assignment that first day but Dustin invited him over again the next week. He told him to bring whatever homework he has, and they can brainstorm it together.

This time Eddie braced himself as he approached the door, expecting to run into the older brother again. But to his surprise, Dustin was the one to open the door.

"They left you unsupervised?" He raised his eyebrows as he stepped past his friend.

Dustin rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful.

"Very funny. Steve had the morning shift today, but he should be back for dinner."

"Ah, the things we could get up to until then," Eddie's eyes sparkled with mischief but Dustin slapped him in the stomach with the strength of a dwarf.

"Yeah, like helping you graduate."

"Oof," Eddie winced, twisting away from his deceitfully powerful hands. "You're no fun, Henderson. Where is your adventurous spirit?"

"At the DnD table, duh."

"Touché."

So Eddie put on his mom-charming pants (they worked the best when no actual moms were involved, just like all his other pants) and did not go looting around his friend's house. Instead, he spread his latest assignments on Dustin's bed, claiming it as his territory for the time being. Dustin worked on his own stuff at his desk, like a civilized human being. Barf.

An hour of relative silence had passed before Dustin set down whatever he was doing and turned in his chair.

"I think you're like Lucas."

It took Eddie a moment to even process the words. He looked up to find his younger friend propped up on his elbow and staring at him.

"Huh?"

"I think you might be like Lucas," he repeated with his customary eye roll.

Eddie thought about the sporty jock-wannabe Sinclair, scrunching his nose.

"How?"

Dustin seemed pleased to be asked that as he sat up eagerly to proceed with his reasoning. Which were for sure very scientific and not pulled out of his ass. Eddie braced himself for an impromptu lecture.

"His grades dropped when he got his own room. But he aced all his tests when it was being painted, and he had to bunk with Erica for a few days. So, we made an experiment and whenever he would study or do homework with someone else in the room, it got better results than when he worked alone," he paused, eyeing his friend. "Are you following?"

Eddie clicked his tongue.

"What I'm following is you used your friend as a test subject."

The boy threw his hands in the air in the way that always made Eddie grin. The kid was so delightfully dramatic.

"For his benefit. And now for yours!"

Eddie huffed in thought, simultaneously hopeful to find a solution for his skittery brain and irritated it might have been that easy this whole time.

"So I just need a study buddy?" he asked, scrunching his nose.

"Yep," Dustin grinned at him. "I know your uncle isn't home most of the time, but you're welcome here whenever you need to work on something."

Eddie mulled that thought in his head, weighing pros and cons and asking his gut how it felt about it. His gut likes the food in Henderson's house though, so it might be a bit biased.

"You know what, Henderson? I just might take you up on that."

As if on cue, the front door opened and closed, the sound of keys dropping in the bowl following.

"Dustin?"

"Up here!" Dustin hollered and if Eddie was a lesser man, with shittier taste in music, it might have damaged his earbuds. But they were honed in by the sweet tones of metal, therefore a screeching teenager was not enough to break them at this point.

"Oh, hi Eddie!" Steve was standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath and hair not as magnificent as Eddie got used to seeing, a poster boy from a hairspray commercial no more. Ah, what capitalism does to people.

"Your hair looks sad," he observed with a slight tilt of his head.

"Uh," the guy raised his hand to his hair, pulling at the flat fringe self-consciously. "Well, sorry I didn't have the energy to doll myself back up after 8 hours of customer service."

Eddie snorted.

“Doll yourself up? Who says that?”

“I do,” Steve huffed, crossing his arms but the reddening apples of his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment. Good. What grown-ass man refers to himself as a doll? Even one looking like an animated Ken. But that would be dark magic, which Eddie of course doesn't condone.

“I think Robin started it,” Dustin offered, unhelpfully. “She was trying to bully him, but it backfired because he actually likes it.” He made a disgusted face.

“Hey!”

“A doll, Steve? That’s kinda gay,” Eddie shook his head feigning disappointment. Instead of morphing into irritation though, Steve’s face hardened, and suddenly he remembered his nerdy friend’s brother was actually a jock. Former, reformed, doesn't matter. Abs were abs.

“Yeah? And what’s wrong with that?” he asked, eyes set on Eddie, unblinking.

He took a quick glance around the room. The window was open, but it was the first floor and Gareth would kill him if he broke as much as a finger again. So he dusted off the little matchbox of courage that was left somewhere inside him, and offered:

“Uh, nothing? Gays are cool. Dolls are cute. All is good.” He stretched his lips in the best attempt at a smile he could muster right now.

Steve still has not blinked, which was starting to stress Eddie out. Were his eyes always this piercing? He was staring for too long, could match their exact shade to one of the trees surrounding the trailer park by now, but was too afraid to look away. If he showed weakness, he might get chewed alive, spat out and stomped on, for a good measure.

“Good,” Steve said finally, and Eddie could breathe again. “We don’t badmouth gays in this household.”

“We don’t,” Dustin nodded feverishly, eager to get his brother out of the room. This indeed seemed to appease him, as he finally unclenched his jaw, uncrossed his arms and rapped his knuckles against the door frame.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower and start on the dinner. You stayin’?” he asked, eyes back on Eddie, who was paralyzed enough, that Dustin had to swoop in and answer for him.

“Yep, he’s staying.”

“‘Kay,” Steve slapped the door frame, suddenly smiling again, and closed the door. If not for the slow breeze from the open window, Eddie would be already dead in the vacuum-sealed room, because he surely took away all the oxygen on his way out.

He scooted on the bed to face Dustin, who was about to open a book and start reading like whatever had just happened hadn’t just happened.

“Soo, is Steve…?”

Dustin looked at him. Eddie looked at him back.

“Is Steve what?” Dustin prodded, in that annoyed tone of his.

Eddie was a wordsmith, he could write and lead campaigns, produce not-half-bad lyrics and lie his way out of trouble. Usually. He got this.

He opened his mouth. Frowned. He did not get this.

“Gay?” he asked quietly.

“Pshhh, no,” Dustin waved his hand. “He’s a ladies' man.”

“Right, yeah,” Eddie nodded like the bobbing head figurine on his uncle’s dashboard. “Then why…”

Dustin shrugged, the unhelpful bastard.

“I think his father is a homophobe? And Steve was kind of a jerk a few years back, he’s trying to be better now. Overcompensating a bit, if you ask me but eh,” he shrugged again. The helpfulest kid in Hawkins. Baby Henderson opened his book, closing the topic, so Eddie fell back on the bed, taking a well-needed break from his study break.

Normally, when the topic of gays was brought up, it was unpleasant and long-winded, full of exchanged opinions, usually hateful ones. Here, the Hendersons were treating it like small talk, not the can of worms that just opened in Eddie’s stomach. Okay, gross. They would crawl around, who knows in which direction? And the can itself? So many sharp edges, so unsanitary.

Needless to say, it wasn’t something Eddie would forget about quickly like they seemed to expect him to.

Alas, he was Dustin’s study-guest, so the kid gave him five minutes to ponder on the worms crawling inside him, before slapping the side of his head with a book to get him back on track. He wouldn’t even let him out on a leak pass until he showed he was done with the chapter he started.

Finally free for a second, Eddie left the bathroom but instead of returning to Dustin’s room, he was lured downstairs by the atrocious sounds of ABBA. Was ABBA gay? He was going to overthink everything now, wasn’t he? Honestly, the whole pop genre felt gay. Metal, that was manly as fuck. Very heterosexual.

For a second he stood in the kitchen’s door frame watching the older Henderson sway his hips around in a yellow apron. It would be almost endearing if the music didn’t make his brain try to collapse on itself.

He quickly approached the radio and slammed the pause button to save the poor man from further eardrum damage.

“What is this?” he asked when Steve turned to face him.

“Uh. The radio?” he frowned, the poor guy having no idea what he was saying. The top 40 made him delirious.

“What was the radio playing?” Eddie asked in his most condescending tone, eyebrows raised.

“.... ABBA?”

Eddie scoffed.

“I’ll bring you some real music, hang on a second.” And he was gone, on a quest to educate the masses. “Masses” being one Steve Henderson, but as an older brother and Dustin’s role model he had a duty to uphold and Eddie was generous enough to help him out.

He ran out to his car and rummaged through his cassettes, wondering which one was most appropriate for a cooking background. Not a thing he would practice himself, but metalheads eat too, sometimes, so it couldn't be such a farfetched concept. Right?

Eventually, he dumped an armful of tapes on the counter, grinning at Steve wildly.

“One of them has to work for…” he waved a hand in the general direction of chopped-up vegetables. “Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I will not believe you haven't cooked before.”

Eddie only shrugged at that and popped the first tape of choice into the player. Steve frowned at the tunes but wisely didn't object.

“Since you’re making yourself comfortable in my kitchen, why don’t you help me out a bit?”

“Ah, I’d love to, but there’s this solo I just have to-” he broke into an elaborate air guitar, imitating the riffs from memory while banging his head. He couldn’t see Steve’s face, but he was undoubtedly impressed. Eddie looked metal as fuck. He was super cool, super manly.

“I thought you were just taking a dump but then, guess what? I hear Iron Maiden from the kitchen!”

What wasn’t cool, was being scolded by a fourteen-year-old.

“Got lured by the sweet tunes, huh, big guy?”

“Dustin please, take him away from me.”

Dustin looked between the older boys, one maniacally jumping around, the other wielding a knife and a carrot. He considered his chances and favorable outcomes.

“If we switch to Metallica I’ll help with cooking,” he offered, to which Steve shrugged and Eddie gleefully switched the tapes.

He jumped around, watching the two Hendersons work together and to his absolute terror, he felt a teeny tiny desire to join in. Thankfully, his pride was still hidden beneath a half-dead tree.

He circled them like a curious cat, getting closer and closer, until his face almost squished against Steve’s arm, still dutifully chopping.

“What are we making?”

“We,” Steve accentuated, jostling the intruder's head. “Are making baked vegetables. You are jumping around like a lunatic.”

Eddie gasped.

“I am providing entertainment!”

“Can you provide the baking pan?” Dustin asked dryly. “It’s in the oven.”

“Only if it means I get to taste the fruits of my hard work.”

“You don’t have to help us to get dinner.” Steve bumped his shoulder with a roll of his eyes. “But, helpers get an extra cookie.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Eddie was truly a genius. He got to help out his fake little brother and his older brother without outwardly asking to be included! And to think he failed senior year twice.

“Go do your nerdy things, I’ll call you when it’s done,” Steve wiped his hands on a towel, food in the oven and the timer set. Dustin was more than happy to leave, and was first to run up the stairs. Eddie was about to follow but a light tug on his shirt stopped him. He turned around, confused, only to be met with Steve pressing a finger to his lips, which, more confusion.

Not easing his grasp, he pulled him back into the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards, where he grabbed a jar and popped it open, releasing a mouthwatering aroma.

“One,” he ordered, and without having to be told twice, Eddie reached in to find a chocolate chip cookie.

“You trying to poison me?” he asked, even if his tongue was one slip away from tasting the treat.

“I would never put poison in my baking,” Steve made a face like the mere suggestion offended him. Eddie raised his eyebrows.

“You made this?”

“Fucking- Eat it before Dustin comes looking for you. I’m trying to be nice.” Steve gritted his teeth, putting the jar back away.

Eddie felt a little bad for pushing him, but only a little. He finally put the cookie in his mouth and took a bite.

Holy shit.

“This is so fucking good!” he mumbled, crumbs flying everywhere, which earned him a disgusted expression.

“Good thing I haven’t swept yet,” Steve murmured, looking at the floor with disdain. “Now scram. Don’t show up until dinner.”

“Yes, sir!” Eddie saluted, crumbs dripping, and ran away, before Steve’s deadly kitchen rag could reach his butt.

User tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 [Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

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