motherofpirates

[motherofpirates]

Steve, at The Hideout: Every time I come here, I tell the bartender that Hopper is just outside and told me to get him a beer.

Steve: I tell him to put it on Hopper’s tab and he does

Steve: Hop is practically an alcohol, he’s not going to notice another beer or two on his tab.

Steve: I’ve never paid for beer here.

Steve: I’m not even old enough to drink

Steve: This will never backfire

Eddie: Your criminal ways have betwixted me.

[motherofpirates]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

You Look Pretty Under These Lights

Prompt #22 - Friday Night Lights | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: AU, Corroded Coffin Gig, Meet-Cute

Gareth is walking down the center aisle of the venue, coffee cup in his hand. He's late to soundcheck, but Jeff and Goodie are even later, so Eddie says nothing. It's Friday, and they're all moving a little slow from the week of shows they've already played. It's not like Eddie to be the first one ready to go, though. They should probably make note of this momentous occasion.

Approaching the stage, Gareth pauses, staring at Eddie.

"What?"

"Nothing. You look pretty under these lights," Gareth says, and Eddie quirks an eyebrow, amused. Okay. That was out of the blue and random.

"Well, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Now, tell me, are the stagelights too hot and cooking your brain?"

Gareth laughs, shaking his head.

"I wasn't flirting," Gareth says, hopping onto the stage, not spilling a drop from his cup. 

"No shit," Eddie answers.

"Well, maybe a little," Gareth adds, tapping Eddie on the ass with a drumstick.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

"If you're on the good shit, you gotta share. You know the rules. What's yours is mine."

"Yeah, yeah," Gareth says, kneeling down to rearrange his kit to his liking. Eddie tried, but nobody, not Eddie, nor any tech on earth can do it exactly how he prefers. "The lighting is just flattering in this place. That's all."

They're used to playing in older venues. Lights are lights in those places a lot of the time, and as long as the crowd can see them, then well, that's okay. Job done. This place is newer, nicer, and apparently the lighting set up is good. 

Eddie looks up. He can't see the lighting without being blinded. But flattering lights is excellent. Maybe the lighting tech in this place needs a raise.

"Something wrong with the lights?" a disembodied voice asks from the control booth.

Eddie waves both hands, yelling, "Nope! Apparently you've made me look pretty! Which I appreciate!"

Eddie preens.

There's a laugh through the sound system, and it warms something in Eddie's belly, "Well, I tried."

Eddie smiles.

"And you're mic'd. No need to yell."

Eddie laughs, of course they are. There's no privacy in venues, ever. So, of course the lightning tech heard all that nonsense. Embarrassing. But Eddie's been embarrassed a lot in his lifetime. The road isn't very forgiving, and this is nothing. 

He turns back to Gareth, "Are we gonna have to fetch those assholes or what?"

"We're here, we're just waiting on you to stop flirting with the eye in the sky," Goodie says, as he walks in next to Jeff.

Eddie's gonna kill him.

Eddie is standing backstage, swaying back forth. Bouncing on the balls of his feet. He's nervous. But he's always nervous. It's just never gone away, no matter how many shows they've played.

"Calm down, it's fine," Jeff says, and Eddie can't just calm down. It doesn't work that way.

A soft blue light comes on overhead. It's subtle. But no coincidence, he's sure. Eddie looks towards the rafters, finding a hanging overhead mic and says, "Thank you, lighting god."

His earpiece crackles to life, "You're welcome."

Jeff doesn't seem to react, so it must just be only on his channel. Eddie takes a step back, flicking on his handheld mic, "Are you lighting the opening act just as pretty? Or am I special?"

The light overhead flickers.

"Wouldn't you like to know." 

"Other people are hearing this, Steve," another voice cuts in, clearly annoyed. Eddie laughs. They aren't as alone as he thought.

Eddie's about to banter back when the lights on the stage shift, hard. Bright and bold as the crowd is screaming. The opening act is done, and the place starts bustling, immediately. The stage is being turned over, reset for them, and Eddie knows the tech is busy.

Doesn't mean he didn't want to keep playing with Steve.

After the show, a stagehand takes his mic and he almost wants to protest. It's stupid. The lightning tech is surely long gone, his job done. 

Eddie will just have to live with the mystery of never knowing anything about the Steve he was flirting with. 

Showered, and bags packed back up, they're led out into the back holding area. There are security guards, which is overkill. Nobody is after them, not really. One shines a flashlight right in Eddie's face, and Eddie shields his eyes. Asshole.

"This lightning's a little less flattering," the guy says, lowering the flashlight and Eddie recognizes that voice. Steve.

He's a little blinded, but he searches for him, desperate to put a face to the voice.

When he lays eyes on him, he nearly chokes on his own tongue. The lighting god is hot.

"Steve," he says, and Steve holds the flashlight under his own chin, like he's telling a ghost story.

What a weirdo.

Eddie's enamored. 

"You moonlight as security?" Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head, "Nah, I just showed up down here. Brought my own flashlight and everything."

"You don't say," Eddie snarks. The other guards have light wands for traffic control. Steve has a MagLite. 

"Well, lead the way," Eddie says, and Steve grins, walking next to him out to their rented tour bus.

They stop at the door, and Eddie turns to Steve, "You coming in, or what?"

Steve smiles, following him on up into the back of the bus, with only minor complaints echoing from the rest of the band. 

Eddie holds open the door to the only private bedroom in the place, and Steve walks inside. Looking down at the bed, and then up at all the can lights in the ceiling that are lining both sides of the room. 

Steve's hand immediately finds the dimmer dial on the wall, and slowly adjusts the lights down to a low, warm glow.

"There, that's more flattering," Steve says, flopping onto the bed, arms tucked behind his head, like he's always belonged here, like maybe he'll never leave.

Eddie can hope.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[motherofpirates]

Steve goes out on tour with Corroded Coffin and Eddie gives everybody earplugs because, “Steve is loud at night, if you know what I mean.”

They did not know what he meant.

They thought they would have to worry about hearing two people bone a could feet away from them. That’s not it.

Apparently, Steve talks in his sleep.

They were in no way prepared for his apparent world war three night terrors that way them up screaming.

[motherofpirates]

[motherofpirates]

a little bit 🚬😆

[motherofpirates]

Wayne Munson is Mother, pass it on.

[motherofpirates]

be careful what you wish for .. 🦇

[motherofpirates]

S3 Steve Harrington constantly seeing Eddie in the mall but only in short glimpses so he thinks he's a girl with a unique sense of style. he's just deadset on her being his first 'YOU RULE' tally but the girl will never come into the store and it's getting on his nerves.

Finally he sees her walking towards the store, the confident sway that had intrigued him in the first place, and he turns to Robin. "Watch this."

Obviously Robin knows who this is, she's pays attention to her schoolmates enough to know who they are, so she just smirks and raises her hands to gesture him to take it away.

Eddie walks with his friends to the counter, turns to meet Steve's eyes and Steve just freezes because...that's not a girl.

"Um...hello,hi." Steve stutters out, not off to a great start but at this point he's not sure if he should stick to his plan or jump ship.

"Hi sailor," the man says confidently.

[motherofpirates]

Steve and Eddie who kind of flop in life and end up poor, living in a trailer in a different small town living quiet lives of no import.

The kids, Robin, Nancy, and Johnathan all seem to take the small handful of opportunities offered to them by the government in the aftermath of the Upsidedown to take off and make something of their lives. They're off writing headlines, making news, and living their lives to the best of their abilities, but Steve and Eddie find themselves stuck.

Steve stayed in Hawkins until the kids graduated and left for college. By then Nancy, Johnathan, and Robin are all in their second or third years of college. John and Nancy have their own apartment in New York together and don't reach out all that often, only seeing the rest of the Hawkins crew on Holidays and some vacations. Robin is flourishing at an all-women's college in Maine and has a partner and a cat and plans for graduate school brewing. She's always saying Steve can come out and join her whenever he's ready, but when the time comes it feels like he would just be trying to insert himself in the middle of a life he doesn't know how to fit into, so he turns to Eddie instead.

Eddie is permanently disabled in a number of ways following the events of season four. He struggles with chronic pain, has breathing issues due to the loss of part of his right lung, and lost enough muscle mass in his left leg that walking will never be easy or done without the use of a walker or arm bar crutches. The doctors said he recovered as well as he could have. The kids said he would get better with time. Wayne said it didn't matter if he never got better, he could do anything he set his mind to.

Steve is the only person who tells him the truth.

Steve tells him that it sucks. Tells him that it will probably always hurt. Doesn't give him false hope when he's trying to grieve the loss of the life he wanted to live. The goals he wanted to reach. When he falls deeper and deeper into himself, stuck in the muck of depression, Steve is the only person he lets in. The kids try their best but their lives are moving fast, and taking care of someone like Eddie is exhausting, no matter what they try to say. Eventually, everyone but Dustin gives up on reaching out, the younger boy showing up every Sunday to try and get Eddie out of the house. He always leaves disappointed.

When Steve asks him if he wants to use what's left of their partly government payouts and Steve's equally meager Family Video savings to buy a truly shitty trailer in a town an hour and a half south of Hawkins in the fall of 1990, it feels like the first boon he's been given in almost five years. He'll never be who he could have been if he had ignored Chrissy that day in 86', but he's always thought maybe he could be more than a ghost between Wayne's walls if he could just get out of this god-forsaken town full of people who know too much and too little of what's happened to him.

They get the trailer, pack what little they have, let Wayne hug them close, and leave.

Steve has already transferred to their new town's Family Video, moving up to claim the dubious honor of being the opening manager. Mostly he just unlocks the door, signs into the computer, and makes sure nothing catches fire. Eddie hoped that moving would miraculously make him fit to enter back into the world, but he spends most of his days with a blanket on the front porch, watching people pass by. He does, though, finally accept that he needs to apply for disability to help Steve keep the lights on and the water hot. That last little bit of hope that he could be what he used to be dies, but he's learning to be content with what he does have. He starts taking a walk, just ten minutes around the loop of the trailer park saying hi and trading polite nods with his fellow residents. He's not ok, but he's starting to build a new community of people not too different from himself.

The new trailer only has one bedroom. Eddie sleeps on a fold-out mattress in the living room. It had been a major argument when they first moved in with Steve insisting that Eddie needed the bed. Eddie argued that it wasn't fair for him to take the room when Steve was the one working 40 hours a week to keep them afloat. In the end, Eddie was the more stubborn of the two. It helps that Eddie has absolutely no qualms about crawling into bed with Steve on the nights when the couch bed really won't cut it for his aching body. Steve never questions it, just shuffles over a little and lets the other man in.

Steve doesn't question a lot of stuff.

He doesn't question when all their effects are shared between them with no effort to distinguish between yours and mine, Eddie's and Steve's. He doesn't question it four months in when Eddie starts to get his feet under him and decides to take up cooking, always trying his best to have everything done just as Steve walks through the door. He doesn't question when a good chunk of Eddie's first disability check goes to buying Steve a sturdy, if not very fashionable, new watch for his birthday since his old one went bust almost a year ago.

He doesn't question it when Eddie holds his hand for the first time under the stars hanging above their front porch.

He doesn't question it when Eddie introduces him to one of his new neighbor friends with a hand resting comfortably on his lower back

He doesn't question it when Eddie starts sleeping in the bedroom every night.

Or makes him box mix cupcakes for Valentine's Day.

Or kisses him for the first time on the couch that's never a bed unless they want to spend the day binge-watching bargain bin films.

Because really, isn't this how it was always going to go? Wasn't this exactly what Steve was asking for when he asked Eddie to skip town with him?

Isn't this what Eddie was hoping for when he said yes?

[motherofpirates]

Eddie pointing to a sign that has a dog on it that says," Keep your dogs leashed at all times." Eddie elbows Steve and goes," Awh man we gotta leave!" Before Eddie could joke about being a wild animal, Steve leans real close to his face and says," If you wanted me on a leash Munson, you could have just asked."

Steve winks and walks away while Eddie's brain blank screens and dies

[motherofpirates]

starcourt, ‘85

(or eddie munson was there when back to the future aired at starcourt and saw a sailor uniform wearing steve harrington with his face busted open and being totally out of it while he asks robin “okay but why is it back to the future then?” and thought yep that one)

[motherofpirates]

Wayne comes home, finds a boy beat halfway to hell and back sitting on his couch. He is both openly bleeding and open-mouth breathing, looking up at Wayne with one good eye and the other swollen shut.

He says with his bleeding mouth, “Hi.”

He says, “You must be Eddie’s dad.”

He says, “Eddie beat me up.”

“No, I didn’t,” Eddie says, coming into the room with their dingy first aid kid. There’s a girl following behind him like an excitable puppy. “I found him like that.”

“He hit me with his car.”

“It’s true,” The girl - her name tag says Robin - nods gravely. “I was there. He bounced off the hood line Gumby.”

“Gumbo.”

“Oh my god, no. It’s Gumby!”

“I’m pretty sure-“

“It’s been like this since I found them,” Eddie pleads with his uncle. “Please help.”

[motherofpirates]

steddie as textposts (pt??)

[motherofpirates]

ao3

Steve can’t really blame Robin for forgetting her trumpet: they’ve been chatting the whole ride to school like normal, and Spring Break is fast approaching, excitement in the air—so infectious that Steve feels it too, like he’s still at school, like Robin’s anticipation is partly his own.

They barely stop talking for long enough to draw breath; it’s a surprise to them both when Hawkins High comes into view, and Robin has to take her seatbelt off in a hurry, climbing out and rushing through, “So yeah, I’ll keep you updated and—yeah, yeah, my work stuff’s in my bag, okay, see you later, loveyoubye!”

Steve realises the trumpet is still in the backseat as he’s pulling out of the parking lot. He stops, honks his horn, but it’s too late: Robin must’ve already gone inside. Several students look over at the noise, but no-one Steve really knows; Claudia is dropping Dustin off today, but he can’t see any trace of him, otherwise he would’ve…

He does another quick scan—spots one familiar face at the last second.

Yeah, he thinks, you’ll do.

He twists in his seat to pick up the trumpet case and opens the passenger door.

“Hey, Munson!” Eddie’s a couple feet away; it seems like he’s kicked the habit of hardly ever showing up to homeroom. He just looks at Steve, like he’s faintly baffled, so Steve feels the need to tack on, “It’s Steve. Steve Harrington?”

That does the trick: Eddie shakes his head as if Steve’s just said something completely pointless.

“Yeah, no shit.” He heads over to Steve’s car and cocks his head at the case. “Are you trying to uh, trade? I’m cash only, Harrington.”

“Ha ha,” Steve says flatly. “No, it’s—you know Robin, right? She’s in your year.” At Eddie’s blank look, he adds, “Robin Buckley,” trying not to sound judgemental. It’s just now that he knows her, he can’t imagine how it’s possible for anyone to not know her. It’s Robin.

Eddie glances at the case again; the penny must drop, because he says, “Oh. Yeah, duh, she’s the one in band? Fluent in, like, everything?”

Steve smiles. “That’s her.” He hands the case over. “Thanks, man, she’s gonna freak when she realises she doesn’t have it. They’re practicing for the game, so—”

“Swiftest of deliveries, got it,” Eddie says, and he actually manages a little salute while holding the trumpet case.

Steve almost laughs.

He doesn’t think any more on the exchange until he’s picking Robin up again. He’s temporarily locked Family Video—what Keith doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Thank God he’s out of town for Spring Break; Steve’s counting down the days. A whole week of just him and Robin, and whatever movies they want to throw on and enthuse about. He’s already picked out his choices, though he still needs to check if the store has them or if he should go through the tapes he’s got at home.

He brings out a notepad from the glovebox and scrawls a reminder to do just that before he sees Robin walking out of school, trumpet case swinging by her side.

She spots his car without him needing to use the horn—claps her free hand to her forehead, and he shakes his head, smiling. It’s a gesture they keep doing at each other, especially when making mistakes at work, getting more and more stupidly exaggerated each time. Then she switches to a thumbs up which Steve returns enthusiastically with both hands, as she opens the door to the backseat and puts the case back inside the car.

“Glad the delivery was successful,” he says, craning his neck to try and meet her eye.

“Yeah, it—” The clunk of the door being shut, soon followed by Robin opening the passenger door and sliding in, still talking, “—was all good, I just, um—ooh, you have gum in here! Great, thanks—what was I—? Oh yeah, I think I confused him?”

“You confused him?” Steve echoes with amusement: an incontrovertible fact of Hawkins High is Eddie Munson’s talent for confusing other people.

“I didn’t mean to! It’s just—okay so, he showed up, like, ten minutes into first period, but you know how Taylor’s stressing about the pronunciation of—basically Rebecca said fam-eel instead of fam-ee—”

“Quelle horreur,” Steve interjects wryly.

Robin snorts, then nods in approval. “Très bien, see, you sound great! But, like, poor Rebecca, she lost her shit—Miss Taylor, I mean, though Rebecca was—anyway, the point is Taylor’s so incredibly strict about talking in French the whole time. I mean, the whole time.”

“The whole time, got it,” Steve says as he reverses out the parking lot. “Wait, the whole time? What if—”

“Whatever you’re about to say, I guarantee you Taylor doesn’t care. Unless someone’s actually dying, and even then—”

“Okay, but what if there’s—like, what if someone’s gotta get pulled out of class—”

“No-one interrupts Miss Taylor,” Robin says gravely. “No-one has dared try.”

Steve starts to grin. “I see where this is—”

“So, Eddie Munson—Taylor always shuts the door but I see him coming, and he’s, like, looking through the window, and I’m trying to wave without being obvious about it so Taylor doesn’t murder me, and I guess I don’t do it great ‘cause he’s looking at me like…”

There’s a pause. Steve huffs a laugh, knowing that Robin’s probably doing a not all that faithful interpretation of what Eddie looked like.

“Rob,” Steve says patiently, managing a brief side glance, “I’m driving.”

“Right, okay, basically he looked like he thought I needed medical attention. And then he’s lifting up my trumpet case, and I’m trying to, like, signal with my eyes like, yay, great! Please just leave it outside the door if you wanna get out alive, but he doesn’t get it, so he knocks and Taylor. Just. Goes. Silent.”

“Ouch,” Steve says. He knows that type of silence well—thinks namely of Mr Mundy’s ire whenever he showed up late to math.

“And Eddie opens the door, and Taylor just speaks the most rapid French at him, and he basically does the world’s most startled mime act, like, pointing at the case then at me, and he’s got these eyes, Steve—”

“Woah, he has eyes? Hadn’t noticed.”

“—that are just begging you for help. And I’m trying to talk for him, in French, obviously, but I’m trying to widen my eyes like, dude, leave, but he just looks even more confused, but then it must click ‘cause he stammers out Bonjour, and Taylor’s staring him down, it’s so—”

“Sounds painful.”

“I mean, it was kinda worth it in the end.”

Steve chuckles. “Really? How?”

“A: I got my trumpet. And B…” There’s a giggle rising in Robin’s voice as she says, “Eddie Munson might not know much French, but he does know how to say Monsieur Harrington.”

“Bullshit, he didn’t say that.”

Silence, quickly broken by Robin’s hiccuping laughter—which, of course, means Steve starts laughing, too. Much later, he’ll recall just how much he smiled; how he told himself he didn’t quite know why.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes!” Robin says. It’s more of a squeak. “He even tried to make your name sound French, oh my God, I can’t breathe—”

“I mean, doesn’t it sound pretty French already?” Steve says, already planning how he can keep this going; maybe he’ll steal Robin’s beret when she isn’t looking. “Don’t I have that je ne sais quoi?”

“Oh, you are so corny, it’s unb—and don’t act like you don’t know it’s all anyone would talk about after, the whispers.” Robin’s voice rises comically. “Did he say Harrington? As in Steve, Steve Harrington?  Oh, my cousin was in his year, he’s so—”

“Shut up,” Steve says fondly. Then, faux smug, “Told you I’m still cool.”

They’re stuck behind a little build up of traffic, just before the turn off to Family Video—and just as Robin starts to reply, she cuts herself off.

Steve gives her another sidelong glance. She’s trying to slide down in her seat.

“… What are you doing?”

“Shh, Steve, he’s right there!”

“Who’s right—oh.”

Eddie Munson must be walking home today, because there he is on the sidewalk. He’s not noticed them, he’s just readjusting the strap of his bag across his shoulder.

Robin keeps wriggling.

Steve snorts. “Jeez, what’re you so scared of? He’s not gonna turn you to stone.” He thinks about it. “Well, actually, there was that one time where—but that’s just ‘cause one of the Murphy twins freaked at—”

“I’m not scared, I’m just mortified, Steve! I’ve basically ruined his life.”

“Uh-huh, totally. Look at him over there, that’s a broken man, all right.”

The traffic starts to move.

“Oh no,” Robin says. “Oh no, no, no.”

Steve grins mischievously. “I’m gonna say hi.”

Robin sounds like he’s just suggested they go rob a bank. “Steve, don’t you dare—”

“What? I like honking the horn, sue me!”

Which is true: whenever he stumbles upon one of the kids—when he’s not actually giving them rides—he loves seeing their reactions when they spot his car. He’s still got a warm glow from passing by Dustin and his mom on his way to work at the weekend, their enthusiastic waves.

They catch up to Eddie, and Steve sounds the horn in a short rhythmic group of three, like a little song.

He glances over in time to see Eddie’s eyes widen in recognition, a red flush creep up his neck. His hand lifts and hovers in the air like he doesn’t know whether to commit to a full wave or not.

Robin, evidently still panicking, winds down the window. She shouts wildly into the wind, “Merci!”

Steve makes it to the parking lot before he loses it.

“Merci?” he wheezes with laughter, as Robin frantically slaps him in the chest. “Merci?”

“I panicked!”

“Oh my God, really? No-one would know.”

“He’s gonna think I’m a total—”

“Freak?” Steve cackles. Robin socks him in the arm. “Ow!”

“That did not hurt. Ugh, maybe—maybe he didn’t know it was me?” A beat. “Steve.”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t realise you wanted me to lie to you.”

This time Steve avoids the punch, gets out the car and retrieves Robin’s work vest from the back. He tosses it to her over the roof of the car, shakes his head with exasperated affection.

“Rob, seriously, relax. Eddie Munson’s probably just praying he never sees us again.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Oh, well, in that case.”

But she does relax as she puts on her vest; she’s already enthusing about the movies they’ll watch over Spring Break by the time Steve unlocks the front door.

“You need to pick some, too, Steve.”

“Dude, I have a whole list, it’s in the car.”

“Très bien, Monsieur Harrington.”

“Jesus.” Steve scoffs. “Was that supposed to be an impression?”

“No! Eddie was more like…” Robin does an incredibly odd movement with her jaw, as if preparing herself.

Steve flinches back in mock horror. “Oh my God! Never mind.”

“Now, Monsieur Harrington—”

“Uh, no. That is not becoming a nickname.”

“Pass me those tapes, please.”

“No.”

“Whatever you say… Monsieur Harrington.”

“Robin,” Steve says, breaking again into laughter—and the sight of Eddie Munson so obviously blushing gently drifts to the back of his mind. “Ta gueule!”

[motherofpirates]

⚕️⚕️⚕️

Woo! More Paramedic Steve, coming in hot!

’Oh.’ Eddie’s mind unhelpfully supplied, ’He could probably toss me around like I weighed nothing…’

“It’s, uh. It’s hot— sexy— fine! It’s so fine.” Eddie stuttered, trying his best to shut his brain up before he said something even more stupid than he already had, “I should have watched where I was going. I’m a klutz, seriously, my best friend tells me all the time that if my head wasn’t literally flesh-prisoned to my neck that it would roll off and I’d never find it again—”

What the fuck, Munson — why would you say that?!

Make Me Write!

There's More To Me Than You: Start From The Beginning!

[motherofpirates]

Obvious Pretense

For @steddiebingo summer prompt "party," and main card prompt "hand jobs"

Rating: E | WC: 4,722 | Tags: Pool Party, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Crush, Awkward Flirting, Dirty Talk | ao3

“I’m sick of this pretense.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Steve mutters. He takes a swig of Diet Coke and very purposely does not turn to look at Robin, because although she has a wider vocabulary than he does, he can still see what she’s getting at. The two of them are in their usual loungers, watching over the chaotic scene of a half-dozen teenagers laying claim to his parents’ pool, and she just caught him leering at the back door as it closed behind Jonathan and Eddie.

“It means, dingus,” she says, and he doesn’t have to see it to know she’s rolling her eyes, “that this whole thing is a charade. A ridiculous little dance. I’m tired of acting like these parties are anything but an excuse to see a certain other dingus in his skivvies. Just put on your big boy panties and go ask him if he wants to make out or something.”

“Jesus, keep your voice down!” he hisses. Thankfully, the kids are too absorbed in whatever game they’ve invented to hear her anyway.

Ignoring him, Robin goes on, “Do me a favor and wait until you’re upstairs to put your tongue in his mouth, though. I don’t want you to scare the children.”

Steve puts his drink on the table between them and finally meets her eye, glaring. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” she shoots back. “You said it yourself. It’s just like with Vickie.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he snaps. He’s fully aware of what the paused copy of American Gigolo Eddie returned last week implies. “It’s more about the fact that we’re already friends. If I ask him out and he says no, it’ll make things weird.”

“He won’t say no.” Robin raises her eyebrows and sticks her lip out in a dramatic pout. “Don’t you trust me?”

“About this? No.”

The pout disappears, escorted away by another eye-roll. “Well, you should. I promise you, Stevie—he’s waiting for you to make a move.”

“Oh, really? How are you so sure?”

“Uh, because I have eyes? It’s the first week of July, and you’ve thrown, what…seven pool parties already? And at every single one of them, I have had to watch Eddie Munson making goo-goo eyes at you when you’re not looking.” Steve fixes her with a skeptical glare, but she meets it without wavering. “I’m serious! He looks like he’s undressing you with his eyes even when you’re fully clothed. In your swimsuit…well, he looks like he’s about to keel over.”

Steve scoffs, but he doesn’t argue. How can he? Eddie’s pretty good at hiding it, but Steve has caught him averting his gaze more than once, just this afternoon.

“I think you should go flirt with him,” Robin reiterates as the back door opens, and Eddie walks out of the house with a paper plate.

“Yeah, right.”

“I do! In fact, I dare you to.”

Steve narrows his eyes and says, “You dare me? What is this, the fifth grade?”

“May as well be, the way you’re acting like some lovesick schoolboy.”

She’s got him, and she knows it. Robin knows he can’t turn down a dare, no matter how ridiculous or—as in this case—how juvenile. “What’s in it for me?”

“A boyfriend, dingus.”

“That’s—”

“I know that’s not what you mean, but it’s what you’ll get. I’m not kidding. Turn on some of that oh-so-legendary Harrington charm and go get yourself a date.”

Steve sighs, glares at her for another moment, then rises from his lounger, muttering, “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“You’re the most socially inept cool-guy I’ve ever seen. Now go get him, Casanova.”

He’s already on his way toward the patio, so he waves dismissively over his shoulder without turning back to see her smirk.

Eddie has just taken a seat at the patio table, Hawaiian pizza piled high on the plate in front of him. They’d opted for pizza this time around, because Robin was wrong—Steve has thrown eight pool parties in the past month, and he got tired of barbecuing a couple weeks ago. He’s also pretty sure he’s spent an entire paycheck on sunscreen and pop by now. But that’s the furthest thing from his mind as he approaches Eddie, whose chest is on full display and whose swim trunks are still damp from his last dip in the pool.

He must not see Steve on his way over, because he jumps a little when he flops into the chair next to him. “How’s it going, Munson?”

Giving him an odd look, Eddie replies, “Fine.” He blinks a few times, then turns his attention to the pizza, separating his two slices. “Thanks for having us over.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I like having you guys around.” Steve leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table and cradling his chin in his hands. “I like having you around,” he adds, then internally cringes for laying it on so thick right away.

The slice in Eddie’s hands pauses halfway to his mouth. His brow furrows, and suddenly he’s looking at Steve like he’s grown another head. “Um…okay. Cool. Thanks.”

“Yeah. Y-You’re welcome.” Shit. What did Robin get him into? He can’t flirt with Eddie. He can barely flirt with anyone anymore, not since the latest nosedive his confidence took (he told a girl he might have rabies—a joke, but one she hadn’t taken well, and it had cost him dearly). He clears his throat and leans back in his chair, deciding to start out aloof. It’s the safest angle, considering his shaky footing. “So. Been to any good parties lately?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Other than yours?”

“Yeah. ’Course.”

“Not really.” He grins a little. “Don’t have time for much else, now I’m over here all the time.”

A few coquettish responses fly through Steve’s mind. He could say You’re welcome to come over anytime, or You must like hanging out with me as much as I like hanging out with you, or even I just can’t help keeping you all to myself. Instead, his traitorous lips stumble over a nonsensical amalgamation: “You must like hanging with me. I like hanging out with myself.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he has to resist the urge to slap his own forehead.

Eddie barks a laugh. “Man, you sure are humble.”

“Sorry. That’s so not what I meant to say. Must’ve got some wires crossed in my brain.”

“That happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

Steve looks at him and tilts his head, thinking. “I…guess so. Yeah. Point is, I didn’t mean to sound like a self-centered asshole.”

“Well, lucky for you, I already know you’re not. You’d have to say a lot worse for me to start thinking you’re self-centered.” Eddie purses his lips and looks to the sky. “Asshole…maybe.” Then he meets Steve’s eye again with a coy smile as he finishes, “But never self-centered.”

“Thanks,” Steve breathes, smiling back.

“So, big boy,” Eddie says, and he has to know what that nickname does to Steve, right? “You leave Buckley to come over and talk to me for a reason?” He finally takes a bite of pizza, and a chunk of pineapple comes loose and falls onto his chest.

It gives Steve an idea. One he’ll have to act on quickly. So he throws caution to the wind and acts.

It happens in one swift motion—his fingertips brushing against one of Eddie’s tattoos, the fruit squeezed between them, his own tongue scooping it into his mouth. He miscalculated, he realizes a moment too late, because it tastes a bit like the remnants of pool water and Coppertone. He manages not to make a face, though, instead donning his sweetest smile and muttering, “Are you always such an animal?”

For a moment, Eddie just looks stunned. Then his cheeks start to redden, and he mutters, “Ah, well. You know me. I, um…” He trails off, seeming to lose his nerve.

Not wanting him to clam up or anything, Steve decides to switch gears again. He quickly says, “To answer your question, I wanted to talk to you. I can’t just hang with Robin all day; what kind of host would I be if I didn’t do the rounds? And I wasn’t talking out of my ass when I said I like spending time with you.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Eddie says. His typical sly grin returns, though it’s more bashful than before.

Confident he’s not about to send him running, Steve dares to reach out to the untouched pizza on Eddie’s plate and pluck another piece of pineapple from it. He holds it up in front of his own face and pretends to have just remembered something. “You know,” he says, casual as can be, “I wonder if that whole thing about pineapple is true, or if it’s just an urban legend.”

Eddie blinks. “What thing about pineapple?”

“You know,” Steve replies, raising his eyebrows. “The thing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He can’t tell if Eddie is playing dumb on purpose, or if the rumor was confined to the kind of guys Steve used to hang around. All the same, he pops the second pineapple chunk into his mouth, and he’s in the middle of coming up with a clever, seductive way to explain himself when he makes the mistake of glancing towards the pool. Because Mike is there, sitting at the edge with his legs floating in the water—and he’s eyeing the two of them with great suspicion.

Steve falters, suddenly conscious of the fact that he’s being so obvious right in front of all the kids. He tries, “I, uh…I guess there’s probably no truth to it. Otherwise you would know what I mean.”

Eddie’s quizzical look is back. But just underneath, there’s something else that Steve can’t name. Is it uncertainty? Alarm? Or is it just deeper confusion?

Whatever the case, Steve has finally lost what remained of his courage. He doesn’t wait for Eddie to reply before muttering, “Anyway. I’m s’posed to get Robin a ginger ale. You want anything while I’m in the kitchen?”

Eddie stares, looking like Steve just pulled the chair out from under him. “Oh. Uh, n-no. I was just…”

“Right,” Steve says, biting his lip. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll, uh, see you later, man.”

“See you later,” Eddie echoes. He narrows his eyes—not with the same suspicion that Mike still wears when Steve glances his way again, but like he’s thinking hard about something.

“Yeah,” Steve repeats, then he hurries inside. By the time he gets to the fridge, he has to wrack his brain to remember what he told Eddie he was coming in for.

🍍🩳☀️

Having thrown eight of them in the last month, Steve knows the party won’t wind down until the sun goes to bed. Nancy is always long gone by that point, because she hates seeing the pool after dark. That usually means Jonathan is gone, too. But the kids have taken to watching the sunset before they either bike home or beg Steve and Eddie to drive them.

As the sky starts to change from the pale blue of a summer afternoon to the pink and orange that has them lining up at the edge of the pool with their feet dangling in, Steve looks around, confused. “Hey, guys. Where’s Eddie?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Dustin says.

“You don’t know?” When he shrugs, Steve turns to Max. “What about you?”

“Who am I, his parole officer? I don’t keep tabs on him,” she gripes.

“Cut the crap. You know I’m just saying he wouldn’t leave without talking to you.” He shakes his head. “So nobody’s seen him?”

There are varied murmurs that all amount to no, and inexplicable panic shoots through Steve like lightning. Inexplicable, because he knows how right he was about Eddie making sure Max has a ride home; but it’s panic all the same.

Did Steve’s flirting make him uncomfortable? Is he ever going to come over again? This is exactly what Steve had been afraid of before Robin insisted he should make a move. Why the hell would he ever listen to Robin when it comes to how he should approach a crush?

A sardonic voice breaks into his spiral as it says, “I’m surprised you don’t know where to find him.” Steve snaps his attention towards the voice and finds Mike regarding him with something like pity, but far snarkier.

Steve stares for a moment, startled by the kid’s tone. Then he sighs and mutters, “I guess I’ll go look for him, if nobody else will.”

“What a surprise, loverboy,” Max remarks. She says it under her breath, so Steve isn’t sure he heard it right until the other kids start snickering.

Robin meets his gaze with a smirk and an arched eyebrow that says, See? Even the Young Ones know what’s going on.

He doesn’t respond. He just marches toward the house, quietly grumbling about his feelings being so transparent that a goddamn toddler could figure them out. It’s such a frustrating realization that when he steps through the back door, his “Eddie? Where the hell are you?” is a lot more gruff than he means for it to be.

There’s no answer, but Eddie’s shoes are still by the door. That means he must be in here somewhere.

“Munson, seriously. Are you—?”

Steve cuts himself off. What was that?

He strains his ears, listening intently for another quiet thud. When one doesn’t come, he creeps down the hall, passing by the downstairs bathroom just in time to hear a sharp gasp from behind the door, and he freezes.

He knows that sound.

Before he can make another move, something else hits his ears like a freight train: an annoyed sigh, Eddie’s frustrated voice murmuring, “Why you gotta look so good in that goddamn suit, Harrington?” and a groan that can’t possibly be voluntary.

His mouth goes dry. For a moment, the only thing in Steve’s brain is a loop of the words, over and over, until he starts to grasp what they mean. He doesn’t notice his fist moving up to the door until he hears the knock. It’s followed by a startled yelp.

“Eddie? You in there?”

The silence that follows is so long, Steve starts to think he hallucinated this whole thing.

Eventually, he gets an uncertain reply. “No?”

He bites his lip. “You sound like Eddie.”

“I’m not. I’m a burglar.”

Steve can’t help the airy laugh that escapes him. “Should I call Nance? Tell her to come back with her gun?”

“That’s not necessary,” the self-proclaimed burglar says—still in a voice that’s unmistakably Eddie’s, though it’s a couple octaves higher than usual. Underneath it, Steve hears shuffling movement.

“It’s not?” He can feel his lips curling into an uncontrollable smirk.

The door opens, and Eddie stands there, completely red in the face.

“You look like Eddie, too.” Steve folds his arms across his chest, grinning wider as Eddie’s flush creeps down his neck and all the way to the faded black widow under his collarbone.

“What a coincidence,” Eddie says quickly. His eyes dart around, probably looking for a way around Steve without having to touch his bare skin. With a lame chuckle, he tries, “Well, you caught me, so I guess that means your valuables are safe for tonight.”

Steve reaches out to lay his hand on the doorjamb, putting his arm right in Eddie’s path before he can duck by. “What if I like the idea of you taking my valuables?” He leans in, forcing Eddie to either take a step back into the empty bathroom, or to stand his ground and let Steve crowd him.

To Steve’s delight, Eddie chooses the latter.

“Go ahead,” he half-whispers. “Take whatever you want.”

Eddie’s lips part with a small, barely audible, “Oh.”

Enough of the pretense, Steve thinks. Right in Eddie’s ear, he murmurs, “Touch me, Eds.”

“Fuck, okay,” Eddie sighs, and the hand he cups at the front of Steve’s trunks is so firm and sudden that Steve chokes on his next breath.

He would be lying if he said his dick wasn’t interested as soon as he’d heard Eddie behind the door, but he doesn’t really start to get hard until that moment, with Eddie’s palm pressed against him and his fingers squeezing briefly. Even through his trunks, it’s almost too much, finally having that hand on him.

Eddie hums. “God, that noise was so pretty. Do it again.”

“Gotta give me a reason.”

He arches an eyebrow. “What kind of reason?”

“How ’bout I take you upstairs and show you?”

“Mm. That’s a long walk. I don’t think I wanna wait ’til we can get upstairs, big boy.”

Steve shudders, though he can’t tell whether it’s more from the extra sultriness in that old nickname, or from the way Eddie takes him by the waist and drags him into the bathroom. All he knows is that there’s a pleasant tingle up his spine as the door shuts behind them and he falls against it with a loud thump.

“Careful,” Eddie chides, as if he wasn’t the one who shoved Steve backward to pin him with hands on his hips. “We should be quiet. Don’t want anybody to catch on to what we’re up to.”

“Think they might have an idea, anyway.”

He pauses. “Wait, what?”

“Apparently,” Steve says, smiling sheepishly, “everybody out there knows how into you I am. Guess I wasn’t as great at hiding it as I thought.”

“For the love of god, Steve. Why were you hiding it? I could’ve been ogling you this whole time without a care in the world. We could’ve been ogling each other!”

He narrows his eyes, smirking again. “According to Robin, you were doing plenty of ogling, anyway.”

“Well, yeah, but I had to be careful about it. Why the hell do you think I was hiding in the bathroom?” Eddie shoots back.

“Has it got something to do with how good I look in my suit?”

He lifts his chin. “You heard that?”

“Sure did.” Steve grins. “I heard you moaning, too. Talk about pretty noises.”

Despite the way his fingers press into Steve’s sides, digging into the skin just above his waistband, there must be some room left for playing coy. New color rises in Eddie’s cheeks, so that he looks adorably bashful when he says, “You really did catch me with my hand in the cookie jar. Sorry for being so greedy.”

“I’ll let it go, as long as you share.” To make it clear what he’s implying, Steve trails his fingertips down the middle of Eddie’s chest, past his solar plexus, and all the way through the coarse hair dusting his lower abdomen, until he can offer a feather-light brush to the obvious erection tenting the front of Eddie’s shorts.

It gets the point across. That much is clear when Eddie, through labored breaths, replies, “You wanna get out of these suits?”

“Absolutely.”

The next few seconds are spent fumbling with drawstrings and elastic. Steve peels the damp fabric of his swim shorts away from his skin, leaving it cold in the air from the vent overhead. Eddie’s hands are warm in contrast when they settle on his hips again—lower now, kneading almost at the tops of his thighs.

“You first,” Steve murmurs, skimming his knuckles along Eddie’s cool skin, letting them follow the crease of his thigh until he can slowly wrap his fingers around his cock. “Wanna make you feel good, Eds.”

“Fuck. Okay, big boy.”

He decides right away that it’s a nice cock. Eddie’s got a very nice cock, indeed. The weight of it in his grasp, the subtle thrumming of Eddie’s pulse, the curve that has Steve imagining what it might feel like in places other than his hand—it’s all perfect. Even so, it’s nothing compared to the reactions he gets when he experiments with different ways of stroking.

Eddie, it turns out, is just as talkative with a hand on his dick as he is in his everyday interactions. He babbles everything from curses to praise, encouragement to instructions. Steve appreciates it for more than just the sound of his voice; it’s also nice not having to guess what Eddie likes, because he tells Steve in real time.

“No, not like that,” he breathes. “Twist your wrist, more like—yeah, holy shit! Fuck, you’re a quick study. Goddamn, baby. Shit.”

Steve smiles. “You’re such a motormouth. I like it.” He flexes his fist and relishes the stuttering cry it causes. “Keep telling me what you want, Eds.”

“Want you to keep doing just what you’re doing, Stevie,” Eddie says. His breath hitches. “Shit, that feels good.”

“You close?”

Hooded eyes meet Steve’s, and a crooked smile shows off teeth he wants to feel scraping against his skin. “Am I that obvious?”

“Is it obvious how much I want to see it?”

“Hm. That does explain why your grip keeps gettin’ tighter.” Eddie’s head falls back, and he closes his eyes.

Steve, seeing an invitation, ducks his head to kiss the column of Eddie’s throat. He hums into his skin, savors the delicious vibration of another groan right against his lips.

“Oh, fuck. You keep doing that, and it’s all over, big boy.”

“C’mon, Eds,” Steve encourages, without pulling away. He nuzzles his nose under Eddie’s jaw and breathes deep, smelling chlorine and cigarettes. The wisps of hair that have escaped from Eddie’s messy ponytail over the course of the evening tickle Steve’s face, and Eddie’s labored breathing reaches a fever pitch, with a short whine on every exhale.

His pulse pounds in his neck and his cock, quickening as he nears his climax. Wanting to feel more of it, Steve lays his free hand on the other side of Eddie’s neck, cradling his chin with his thumb. And just like that, Eddie’s coming; with Steve’s name on his lips, his whole body jerks, and his hips chase the pressure of Steve’s fist around him.

It’s enough to have Steve drooling, shaking in anticipation of his own release. It won’t take long for Eddie to make him come like this. He’s almost there already, and he hasn’t given himself so much as a passing thought until now. With cum dripping over his knuckles and Eddie panting in his ear, though, the throbbing between his legs demands more of his attention.

“Fuck,” Eddie sighs one last time. His hand rises to the back of Steve’s head and smooths over his hair gently, but follows it up with a tug to pull his head back and force him to make eye contact. His gaze is far from the serene, sated one that Steve expects right after he came. “Your turn,” he growls, and Steve shivers.

The hand still on his hip starts to migrate, sliding over his skin with steady purpose. Eddie’s movements are slow and deliberate, and Steve swears he could count to a million between the moment those nimble fingers wrap around the base of his cock and the playful squeeze at the end of their first, long stroke. All the while, he maintains eye contact—dark eyes boring right into Steve’s soul, seeming to read every desire he has.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Eddie purrs. “I like watching you in the pool, with these hairy tits out, all glistening in the sun. But this is so much better.”

Fearing the sudden wobble in his knees, Steve steadies himself with his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. When he does, he spots his own cum-covered hand and just gets wobblier. The half-moan, half-whimper he makes could be considered undignified, if he bothered considering it.

“Mm, don’t hold back, big boy. If somebody does catch us, I don’t want ’em thinking I can’t rock your world one-handed.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Steve gasps. “Fuck.”

“That’s it, baby. Tell me how much you like me jerking you off.”

“God, it’s so good,” he chokes out. “Please don’t stop.”

“You gonna come already?” Eddie puts on an exaggerated pout. “But we only just got started!”

Steve tries to say they can do more once Robin and the kids leave. He wants to say they can do more every day for the rest of the summer, for the rest of forever if Eddie wants. But Eddie starts pumping his fist before any of the words come out, and they melt together into a guttural noise somewhere between Steve’s throat and his tongue.

“I guess we can have some extra fun once we’ve got the house all to ourselves, if it’s okay with the man of the house,” Eddie says, reading Steve’s mind. “We could actually use that big ol’ bed you got upstairs. If you’re lucky, I might even stick around and make you breakfast. You like Pop-Tarts, right?”

Something like a chortle comes from deep in Steve’s chest, though there’s so much lust in it that it may as well be another groan. “Wouldn’t trust you with the toaster,” he manages to reply.

“Hm. And yet you’ll trust me with this,” Eddie counters, and he gives Steve’s cock a rough tug.

Steve cries out—no words, just a shouted “Ah!” that he starts to repeat with each breath as Eddie’s hand works at a punishing pace. His ahs morph into half-coherent pleas and gasps of Eddie’s name, and he can feel himself starting to come undone. He’s surprised he lasted this long.

But not a moment longer. Eddie doesn’t slow down, and right as Steve reaches the peak, there are lips and teeth at his neck, biting and sucking in a way that he knows will bruise. He doesn’t mind—not when the thought of walking out of the house all marked up by Eddie Munson gives him a few extra moments of ecstasy.

The first thing he notices after his orgasm is the way his fingers are digging into Eddie’s biceps, his nails no doubt leaving little pink crescents. The second is that without hesitation, Eddie has sucked two of his own fingers into his mouth, presumably to lick them clean.

That sends another shiver up Steve’s spine, and if he weren’t utterly spent, he would be mere seconds from coming all over again. “Christ, that’s hot.”

Eddie moves on to his thumb, smirks, then lets it pop from his lips. “And you don’t even need any pineapple.”

“So you did know what I was talking about earlier,” Steve giggles, breathless.

“’Course I did. I was scared I might accidentally admit I want to suck you off, so I played dumb.”

“You didn’t get that I was flirting with you?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “You were?”

“Yes, I was! Robin forced me to. Said you were into me, but you were waiting for me to make a move.”

“She was right. I’m a fucking coward when it comes to this kinda shit.”

Steve grins. “Could’ve fooled me, mister rock-my-world-one-handed.”

In spite of having just dirty-talked his way through a stellar handjob and cleaned up the mess with his tongue, and the fact that he still technically has Steve trapped between the bathroom door and his own naked body, Eddie blushes. “Well, at that point I had a little more confidence.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Eddie, head bowed, looks at Steve through his lashes with a tiny smile on his pursed lips. Steve smiles back, knowing he must look ultra-dopey with all his muscles relaxed the way they are, but not caring at all.

“You know…everybody’s probably wondering where we are. Looking for somebody to give ’em a ride,” Steve eventually points out.

With a dramatic, put-upon sigh, Eddie says, “I guess I’ll be the chauffeur tonight. But only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

He leans in, and Steve realizes just before they do that they haven’t kissed yet. It’s not even over before he knows he wants to do it again. Eddie pulls back after just one, but there’s promise in the answer he gives to Steve’s question.

“You better be ready for your own ride when I get back, big boy.”

[motherofpirates]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest and @steddiebingo.

Slippery When Wet

Steddie Bingo Prompt: Thunder | CCF Prompt #20 - Without Limits | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Lingering Upside Down Trauma | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie, Platonic Stobin | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Roommates, Friends to Lovers

Eddie jolts awake, sitting upright in his bed as he feels his heart hammering against his chest. He's sick of this, this constant thrum of fear that lives inside his body.

"It's thundering," Steve says from the doorway, and Eddie nods. It is. He can hear it now.

Steve approaches the bed, and pulls back the pile of blankets, crawling in beside him. Bare arm sliding against Eddie's.

"Gross, you're sweaty," he says, and Eddie laughs. He is. He wonders if it was the storm that woke him up, after all. Maybe he was having a nightmare. "Maybe if you didn't dress for winter to sleep, you wouldn't wake up in a puddle of your own excrement."

Eddie barks out a laugh, his voice dry from sleep, "Excrement is shit. I didn't shit the bed."

"Oh," Steve says, then doubles down, "no, I'm pretty sure it means sweat, too."

Eddie's pretty sure it doesn't. But he's not gonna fight about. He runs hot these days, and he worries he's got some kind of festering infection when he wakes up perpetually damp. 

It takes him a few minutes to realize what Steve meant, "You meant excretions."

But Steve doesn't move, doesn't answer. Doesn't seem to mind the sweat after all, because he's already rolled onto his side and has fallen back to sleep. Eddie knows this visit to his bed is for Eddie's benefit, not his own. Steve Harrington can sleep anywhere, anytime, unbothered.

Still. Eddie appreciates it. States away from Hawkins, he hasn't shook off the damage it inflicted. There's no limit on the blast zone, apparently. He's gonna carry it around forever.

At least Steve Harrington helps shoulder the load.

"Breakfast!" Robin yells, banging a wooden spoon against the door frame of Eddie's bedroom. Eddie groans, and rolls over, only remembering that Steve's next to him when his knee brushes Steve's hairy thigh. 

"Unggghh," Steve bemoans at the banging noise, and Eddie chuckles. His thoughts exactly.

But they get out of bed, and Steve stretches, hands over his head, shoulders rotating. Eddie should be used to this. Used to seeing Steve in only his underwear, but he's not. 

If Steve can feel his eyes gliding over his body, from his chest hair, to the solid trail down his chest to his belly, disappearing into his briefs, gratefully, he doesn't mention it. 

Steve cups himself, making some kind of adjustment, and only then does Eddie tear his eyes away.

In the kitchen, Eddie's in his sweatshirt and cut off sweatpants. Steve, well, he's still barely dressed. 

"Steve! Clothes are not optional at the table. They are required. Super required," Robin chides, but Steve doesn't cave to her demands, and perches on the bar stool in his underwear, back hunched over his plate.

"I'm covered," he argues. 

"I can see your nipples." 

"Oh no, not my nipples!" he declares, being a sarcastic ass. Eddie loves it, even if Robin doesn't. 

Eddie wants to count the moles on Steve's bare back, wants to trace them. With his tongue, preferably, but decides his fingers will do.

He finds the largest one, and works from there. Feels the slightly raised scars that haven't quite faded from Steve's skin where he was dragged across the dry riverbed. Steve says nothing, he's used to Eddie being weird by now, undoubtedly. So he traces a pattern, then starts spelling a word. Steve cocks his head. Able to tell the difference. 

"K," he says, mouth full of eggs, then pauses, paying attention as he chews. "I-N-G-S-T," he says, then brushes Eddie's hand away. "Very funny, asshole."

"King Steve is grouchy this morning," Eddie pokes, and reaches over his shoulder to steal a piece of his toast even if his own plate is sitting right there. Robin makes breakfast. They make dinner. That's the deal.

The thunderstorm from last night is lingering, rattling the flimsy apartment windows, and Eddie hopes it clears off soon. He doesn't care for the thunder.

It didn't clear off. In fact, it felt like a storm cloud was over his head all damn day, like he was Charlie Brown. When he walks into the apartment he's soaked to the bone, and starts shedding his clothes at the front door so he doesn't track water all over the place.

Having just dropped his wet boxers, he nearly jumps out of his skin when Steve appears across the living room.

"Jesus Christ!" Eddie shouts, clutching at his bare chest. He's usually home first. Not today, apparently. He doesn't usually like himself on display, the scars bother him, but this is just Steve. He's seen them fresh, raw and bloody. Healed is nothing in comparison.

Steve just grins, and squats down to pick up Eddie's wet pile of clothes, "Cock out in the living room. I'm telling Robin."

Eddie laughs, a little too hysterically, willing his dick to ignore everything that's happening right now. Steve, crouched at his feet, his cock nearly eye-level. It's a lot to ask, and it jumps, starting to get hard.

Steve notices. There's no way he doesn't. Eddie shoves at Steve's shoulder, desperate to escape this situation.

"I'll throw these in with mine. Take a shower, warm up, then we'll start cooking," Steve instructs. And Eddie follows his directions, because it's easier than having to make his own decisions while he's this embarrassed.

Eddie grabs clean clothes, and the warm shower does feel good. 

Then, he hears the bathroom door squeak open.

Privacy is non-existent. 

"Hey, Ed?" Steve calls out.

"Yeah?"

"Were you hard for me, or just, like, the breeze?" Steve asks, and Eddie wishes Pennywise would appear to pull him down this shower drain immediately.

"Steve," he says, hoping that'll be enough to shoo him away. To stop this conversation.

It doesn't. Steve pulls back the shower curtain, looking right at Eddie's face, "If it was, I'm climbing in. If not, we'll never talk about it again."

Eddie scoots back, making room, "Watch your step, Harrington. It's slippery when wet."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and @steddiebingo to follow along with the fun! 🦇