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miserablekingsteve · 18 days ago

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If You Want It Good, Get Yourself A Bad Boy

written for @steddiesongfics april prompt and as fill for the @steddiebingo main card prompt: high

song inspo: Backstreet Boys, If You Want It to Be Good... | rated: E | wc: 6.037 | tags: recreational drug use, drinking, sexual content, pre steddie, hook-up, Eddie is a little shit and Steve falls fast and hard for it | full tag list and fic on ao3

Tommy’s party sucks, as usual. They can never compete with the ones Steve throws at his house but at least that means Steve isn’t the one in charge for once.

It’s nice not being responsible for what goes on, not having to stay somewhat sober in the likely case the cops make an appearance. Or having to deal with the aftermath of the party – waking up in a trashed house, having to clean all the mess by himself, hoping to God his dad won’t notice the fancy liquids missing from the cabinet in his office.

Tonight, he can let himself go without having to think about tomorrow. He can get wasted and maybe even repay Tommy for what he did to him last time, when he locked Steve out of his own goddamn bedroom just to let Carol fuck his brains out.

Wouldn’t take much to find a girl willing to go upstairs with him for some one-on-one time, that’s for sure. They never say no to him, are too easily impressed by his... reputation. But he’s not drunk enough yet, not in the mood for boring, meaningless sex just for the sake of it. And he might never be, not tonight, because the shit Tommy bought won’t get him far.

The cheap beer and that disgusting pink-coloured concoction Carol mixed into a big bowl earlier aren’t doing it for him; he needs something stronger. Something to blank out his mind and get him going. Something to counter the dull feeling inside.

He downs the rest of his drink, scrunches his nose in disgust when he swallows the too sweet punch that barely tastes of booze, and carelessly throws his plastic cup in the general direction of the sink (he knows where the trash can is, he just doesn’t care) before making his way from the kitchen to the living room.

There, he lets his eyes roam around the room, offering nods and fake smiles to anyone passing by doing the same. One of his team mates comes up to him and immediately starts talking his ear off. On the far end of the room, a girl catches his eyes – long legs peeking out from a tiny skirt, big tits squished into a tight shirt that looks like it’s barely holding on at the seams – and yeah, maybe she could be the designated one, later.

Later, because right now he doesn’t care about the girl or what Alex is talking about because he’s looking for someone else.

“Hey, uh, have you seen Munson?” Steve interrupts Alex mid-sentence, doesn’t care that he’s being rude.

“Munson? Don’t think he’s invited.” Alex snorts, seems proud of his useless comment.

Of course Munson isn’t invited. He doesn’t need an invitation, is the thing. Because while no one wants to be associated with The Freak, everyone’s always happy to shake hands with him when he shows up at parties. Selling his weed and the occasional pill or powder to anyone with a bit of spare cash in their pockets. And that’s exactly what Steve’s aiming for. He just has to find him first.

“Sorry, gotta go. Talk to you later, man,” is all Steve offers before he leaves Alex standing there and makes his way to the back door.

The backyard is empty, no people loitering or one-night-couples making out, not like they would do if this party was back at his place. This backyard isn’t very inviting, so Steve gets it. No patio, no pool, no recliners to get cosy on - it’s nothing more than a sad patch of dry grass with a few bushes and a rose bed.

The Hagans might carry themselves like they’re part of the Hawkins upper class, but Steve knows they could barely afford a house in this part of town. Knows it because his dear old dad loaned Mr Hagan a nice sum of money for it. It’s none of his business and he couldn’t care less, but it still makes him chuckle every time he watches Tommy act like a like a wealthy brat, copying Steve’s behaviour to disguise his insecurities and play the role he inherited from his parents.

Whatever makes him feel good.

Steve doesn’t really give a shit about his parents’ money, although he does appreciate what it can buy him. Like drugs. To hopefully make this awful night worth his while.

-----

“Do my eyes deceive me or is that really you, Harrington?” a voice comes from somewhere around the corner of the house, and when Steve squints his eyes to look at the moving shadows, he finally finds what he came for.

“Don’t get too excited. One might think you’ve been desperate to see me.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh and when Steve steps closer, he sees him leaning against the wall, smoking.

“Didn’t think his Highness would grace me with his presence tonight. Don’t you have your lap dog Hagan to do business for you? Wouldn’t get your royal hands dirty on a peasant like me.”

Steve bites his tongue to prevent the smile tugging at his lips from fully forming, doesn’t want to give Eddie the satisfaction of making him laugh.

The guy is always so… weird. Has these strange manners that often get him in trouble. Steve’s seen him more than once with a black eye or a bloody nose; he knows people treat him like shit sometimes and he never really understood why but again, none of his business. They’ve talked maybe a handful of times, never about anything deep, mostly about weed. Except for that one time where Steve helped him pick up his books after some childish asshole decided it was funny to shove him down the hall. People, man. Anyway, he’s not here to ponder about useless shit. He’s here for Eddie’s goods.

“How much?” he asks, pulling out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

“Well, depends. How much you want?”

Eddie pushes himself off the wall, crushes the cigarette bud under his heavy boot, and pulls out the familiar tin box from his unzipped jacket.

“Give me whatever. I just want to smoke, man. Hopefully that’ll get me through the night.”

“Party’s not living up to your standards, huh?” Eddie asks with a teasing lilt to his voice as he opens the lid and pulls out a pre-rolled joint.

“Party sucks ass, but what’s new.”

Eddie considers him with a look that is hard to read in the dark, and it makes Steve equally annoyed and impatient that the other man seems to be in no rush to get this thing over with.

“Tell ya what. How about you put your daddy’s precious money away and let me light one up to share. My treat.”

Steve contemplates. It’s not like he has anywhere to be, so what’s spending a few more minutes outside. But something about the offer seems off. Not because he doesn’t trust Eddie – he’s got no reason not to – but Eddie isn’t exactly known for giving out free smokes. Especially not to the likes of Steve. Those, he usually charges double, which- he should, to be honest. They can afford it. Or, well, their parents can.

“What’s with the generosity today?” Steve asks, but agrees wordlessly by putting his wallet back in his pocket. “Is it your birthday or something?”

Eddie scoffs, curls falling into his face when he shakes his head.

“Nah, man. You just seem kinda bored. Thought I could lighten your mood.”

He flicks on his lighter. Orange light reflects in his dark brown eyes, illuminating his face for a short moment, and Steve only realises he’s been staring when the flame dies and Eddie hands him the joint.

“Thanks. So, tell me something. Lighten my mood,” he quotes Eddie’s words back at him, smiling around the burning fumes slowly filling his mouth.

“Oh, of course Mylord. I’m nothing if not a humble jester to the king. How would you like me to make a fool out myself for your entertainment?”

Eddie bows down before him, low and dramatic, and that’s enough to make Steve laugh and nearly choke on the lungful he was just inhaling.

“Hah, fuck!“ he coughs, “You’re so weird, dude. Anyone ever told you that?”

He passes the joint back to Eddie, ignores the way their fingers brush and how that sends a warm tingle through him.

“Every damn day someone tells me. And they’re right.”

Eddie smiles self-satisfied and Steve wonders if this is just an act or if Eddie is really this content with himself and how others perceive him. Wonders what that must be like, to just- be unpretentiously okay with yourself.

“So, you like being called the Freak?” It comes out less jokingly than intended, but Eddie answers with a wide grin.

“Oh, I am a freak. Just not the kind everyone thinks I am.”

They keep passing the joint back and forth and Steve already feels a little lighter, a little better. Not quite high but less tense, less bored. A little giggly, but maybe that’s just because of Eddie’s ominous words.

“People sure have a lot of opinions ‘bout you. Are you telling me that none of the rumours are true?”

They’re side by side now, shoulders brushing where they are both leaning against the wall. Steve can’t remember when exactly they’ve gotten so close, but he doesn’t mind. It’s kind of comforting, keeps his slightly swaying body steady.

“Which ones?”

“I don’t know, man. All of them? Like-“ His brain is getting a bit fuzzy so it’s hard to remember the exact phrases written on the bathroom stall walls of Hawkins High or the things he’s heard people say, but he tries anyway. “Like, that you’ve been to prison? Or that you worship the Devil. Oh, and that you sucked Carver’s cock behind the bleachers! You know, those things.” Steve laughs, shakes his head at how ridiculous it sounds to say all that out loud.

“Huh, well. One of those might be true.”

Steve snaps his head to the side so fast it makes him dizzy, wide eyes searching for the hint of amusement he fully expects to find in Eddie’s expression. But there is none. He’s still smiling but not in the ‘I’m just fucking with you’ kind of way.

“You’ve actually been to prison? Fuck, man! What for?” His heart is racing, excitement mixing with fear-spiked curiosity at the thought of standing next to a real-life convict.

“Ouch, Harrington! Out of all of those, this is the one you think is true? You’re hurting my feelings, man.”

Eddie clutches his heart and puts on the saddest puppy eyes Steve’s ever seen, even makes his bottom lip wobble like he’s abut to cry and- it’s stupid, really.

Munson looks like a dork with his big, round eyes and his softened features, his messy curls hanging into his face, giving off this sad and pathetic wet cat energy that makes Steve almost gives in to the urge to lift his hand and tuck Eddie’s hair back behind his ear. But thankfully, Eddie drops the act before he can make a fool of himself.

“Nah, man. The only Munson in prison is my dad. And I’m taking much pride in being nothing like him.”

There’s a sincerity in his voice that Steve doesn’t miss, instantly feeling bad about the false accusation. He knows too well what it’s like not wanting to be like your old man.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to- Wait. Which one is it then?” Steve’s head is swimming; he tries to focus, looks deep into Eddie’s eyes trying to read the answer in them but comes up empty, so he resigns and asks again, “What is it, Munson. The dick or the Devil?”

It was meant to come out as a joke but something about the way Eddie’s eyes darken and his smile turns almost devilish makes him choke on his words. Makes his breath catch in his throat as he watches Eddie move closer, one shoulder pressing against the other.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The low, teasing tone of Eddie’s voice sends a shiver down Steve’s neck and back, spreading through his entire body.

Steve must be high as fuck.

There’s not really any other explanation for how he feels right now. His arms and hands prickle like there’s an army of ants crawling beneath his skin. And what’s even worse is that all of a sudden his mind provides him with flashing images of Eddie with Devils’ horns kneeling in front of Jason, whose pants are down by his ankles, plush lips wrapped around his-

Fuck.

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