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[steviesummer]

Steve and Robin getting so used to their habits all the time. Whenever Robin comes into a room, if Steve is sat on a couch he will automatically lean forward bc she always wriggles into the space behind him so she can cuddle him like a lil backpack.

[steviesummer]

For Someone Who Cares by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

The first date scene was just too pretty not to

[steviesummer]

Trailer park Steve AU part 63

part 1 | part 62 | tumblr masterlist | ao3

cw: references to canonical horror. short update today while i restructure some stuff in the next scene <3

“I’m staying with him,” Steve says, toeing a weed in the soft soil. Testing the give. Thinks maybe he’ll be doing that for the rest of his life. 

“Uh,” Robin objects. They’re at the top of the hill again, halfway to the car — everyone but Eddie, who refused to leave the boathouse after telling them in horrific detail how a cheerleader floated up to the ceiling and popped like a cheap balloon, and whose pale, frightened face Steve can see staring at them through a grimy window, two black dots hardly daring to blink. 

“Steve.”

“Huh?” 

Max calls him a total space-case.

Robin groans up at the sky. "As much as we would all love to have a spooky sleepover with you two under a tarp—”

“Mm, would we love that?” Dustin wonders. 

“—I'm not so sure our parents would be too thrilled about us not coming home when there's a freaky evil killer magician on the loose!"

Max snorts at that; mutters under her breath. “My mom probably wouldn’t mind.”

Dustin whines, “Mine would!”

Three people turn in unison to lay into him for being a dick, but he’s already holding up his hands in surrender, cringing so hard it folds his face like crumpled paper. “Sorry,” he winces. “Sorry. That was rude.”

“Yep,” Max agrees with a flat smack of her lips.

Eddie's still waiting by the window.

Steve just nods at them — arms folded, shoulders broad. "Dustin’s right.” He turns to Robin. “You both are.”

“Thank you,” she sighs, the sound long and airy, sweet with relief that he's seen reason.

She takes a wide step toward the car.

Steve says, “Which is why I'm staying here, and you're all going home."

Her foot falls back down to the ground; legs stretched in a standing split, shoes slipping on wet grass. “Oh, my god." This sigh is sour. "Oh, my god, of course you are.”

“We’re not leaving you,” says Dustin.

“Wasn’t asking,” Steve replies.

Robin lets out a strangled noise of frustration and shimmies herself upright. "Steve, please!" She marches over. "I know you’re all” —her hands come up around her head, voice warbling; wooOoo-ooh— “about your boyfriend-slash-not-boyfriend-slash-whatever being in danger, and I get that, babe, I really do, but I don't! Know how! To drive!"

Steve turns to Max. 

She’s looking right at them, mouth pinched in a flat line over the laugh she's holding back. Restrained as ever, but Steve can see the glimmer of excitement at the edge of her expression — the subtle twitch of her nostrils, the muscle jumping in her jaw. 

I've driven it before. 

"...Do not," he warns as he presses his keys into her palm; closes her fist around the metal, "fuck this up."

—

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[steviesummer]

Eddie doesn’t like spending time away from Steve. 

He’s fine during the day. He can do his job and chat with his coworkers and do what he needs to do without thinking too much on it, but there is nothing in the world that he looks forward to more than being able to come home every evening to the love of his life. Nothing more gratifying than being the person that makes Steve smile when he walks through their front door. No better feeling than Steve welcoming him home.

So call it unhealthy, call him whipped or codependent or whatever else, but Eddie doesn’t like spending extended time away from his boyfriend. Maybe it was the more-than-one near death experience, the nights they spent in hospital waiting rooms, not allowed to be at each other’s bedside, but being away from Steve, especially at night, makes him anxious. Makes his heart rate pick up and his palms sweat, makes him ruminate on whether or not Steve is okay.

So Eddie hasn’t exactly been sleeping. Or eating all that well. Not for the past three days, at least. Because Steve is at a teacher’s conference in Chicago for the week, only leaving under Eddie’s profuse and continued promises that he’d be fine. That Eddie can survive a week without him. 

Which he can. It just doesn’t mean it’s exactly pleasant. Especially today. Because Eddie has the day off, and there’s not much to distract him from the gaping, Steve-sized hole in it. 

He starts by doing the laundry. Washes their sheets. Washes every throw blankets and every towel, moves onto the kitchen while the washer rumbles and does all the dishes. He goes on the truly spiritual experience of cleaning their dishwasher. Which, why must things that do the cleaning need to be cleaned? He scrubs the grime from the shower and wipes the spit from the sink, vacuums the rugs and wipes down the windows, organizes their pantry and cleans out the fridge. 

By the time he’s done his fingers ache. His back smarts from where he spent too long hunched over their tub, and still he misses Steve. 

Who is coming back tomorrow. Late in the evening, sure, but realistically Eddie only needs to survive another 30 hours. 

Which is far too long. 

He considers baking something. Like those those blueberry muffins Steve likes so much, but Eddie just knows by the end he’d have shitty muffins and a dirty kitchen.

So he tries to read. Tries to play guitar and write some songs, tries watching TV and listening to music, even tries going on a walk to pick up some dinner he knows he won’t eat, finally taking Steve’s advice on fresh air to heart. But as the clock ticks on, the itch under his skin only gets worse.

Not even their nightly phone call helps. 

He can tell Steve knows something’s up, keeps reminding him he’ll be back tomorrow, that it’s just one more night, because despite Eddie’s best attempt at deflection Steve knows him far too well.

“Tomorrow.” Steve reminds him, again, at the end of their call.

“Tomorrow.” Eddie repeats. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Eddie misses his boyfriend. 

He tries to sleep. Can’t, of course. He tosses and turns in his bed and then tosses and turns on the couch with the TV humming staticky with whatever late-night garbage he has it on. 

And he just—has to do something. Keep occupied until the sun comes up and he can go to work and lose himself in whatever car some idiot brought in because he didn’t change the oil. Keep his hands busy enough to keep his mind busy, too.

He sits bolt upright. Remembers, suddenly, the bleach and hair dye he’s almost positive Robin left here. 

It doesn’t take him long to find. He’d organized them, without even realizing, nestled them between all of Steve’s bottles and jars and potions. 

Never one for instructions, Eddie remembers Steve mixing the bleach with something else before he smeared it over Robin’s hair. 

It was white. He remembers that much. Thick and gloopy. Like… conditioner?

He mixes the two together in an old Tupperware with a toothbrush, the smell sort of making his eyes water. 

He can’t see much of the back of his head, but he’s just getting the ends, anyways. 

Eventually the toothbrush becomes cumbersome, and he massages the last of it in with his fingers. 

He’s pretty glad that part goes quick because after a minute he can feel his cuticles begin to burn. 

He remembers Steve wrapping Robin’s hair in a plastic bag, and he finds one, eventually, has to fish out a crumpled receipt but sticks that over his head. And waits.

He forgot about the waiting part. That he’d have to sit here while the bleach did its thing and then again when he puts on the red. 

He sits on the toilet with the lid down, picking at his firey cuticles. The clock in the hallway reads nearly 5 a.m., which means Eddie has at least four more hours to kill. 

He goes through their drawers again, wondering if Steve maybe has a different color hiding around. He thinks green would be cool. Maybe pink.

But Eddie doesn’t find another color. He finds, instead, his sewing kit. And he thinks of all the goofy tattoos his has. The goofy tattoos he gave himself. His dice. His Tree of Gondor. His triceratops. And, really, how it’s a shame he hasn’t gotten one for Steve. 

He knows what he’s doing and where before he even has all the supplies, snapping a ballpoint into a small dish and sterilizing the needle with his lighter. He shaves his inner thigh and washes out the bleach from his hair, which is a little underwhelming, honestly, having done little to lighten his dark locks. 

He puts the red in regardless, puts his plastic bag hat back on and gets to work on his thigh. 

And that’s how Jeff finds him. Appearing, in Eddie’s bathroom doorway, two coffee cups in hand. He takes in the plastic bag, smeared with red, on his head, Eddie’s bald and inky leg.

Eddie has no idea what time it is.

He looks down at himself. “I think Steve is… 86% of my impulse control.” 

Jeff doesn’t say anything. Just rests the coffees on the sink and crouches to look at Eddie’s fresh ink. 

“Is that… hairspray?”

“Three puffs!” Eddie answers, a little deliriously, and dips the needle back into the ink to start the third said puff. “How’d you get in here?” He asks, not taking his eyes off the needle. 

“How do you always forget you gave me a key?” Jeff snorts, and then, a little softer, adds, “Steve asked me to swing by before your shift today, you know. Bring you some food.”

Eddie’s gaze flicks to the coffee as he dips his needle in again. “I only see caffeine, here, Williams.”

Jeff’s quiet for a moment before, “how about you finish that up, wash that dye from your hair, and then I’ll give you the food?” Jeff’s voice is still all gentle and obnoxious, and Eddie resists the urge of poking him with the needle.

But Eddie’s almost done with the last puff, anyways, and… breakfast does sound nice. 

“‘M almost done.” He mumbles. 

Jeff sits on the bathroom floor, sipping his coffee and watching Eddie finishes. Then he helps him untangle the plastic bag from his hair. Then makes sure whatever soap they have is unscented, makes sure whatever Eddie’s about to slather all over his thigh won’t turn it septic. 

Damn paramedics. 

In the shower, though, Eddie’s exhaustion starts to creep up on him. Four days with little sleep makes his eyelids droop in the warmth. Makes his shoulders sag as he washes the dye out of his hair. Makes his limbs heavy as he cleans his new tattoo, which, looks pretty damn good, if he does say so himself.

A can of hairspray. Three puffs. 

Eddie towels off, only a little disappointed that the dye didn’t do much. He can see it, a little, but only if the light hits it just right.

Jeff’s waiting for him with a greasy breakfast sandwich and coffee, and Eddie bites into it before he’s even seated, moaning at the taste. 

“Jesus.” Jeff mutters, “let’s wait until Steve gets back for that, okay?”

Eddie doesn’t have the energy to bite back, just takes another bite before he swallows the first. “Fank ‘oo,” Eddie grunts, word garbled around egg and sausage and cheese. He swallows. Looks down at his hands. “For.” The skin of his inner thigh is pink. “Everything.” He takes another bite. 

Jeff smiles. “And miss whatever disaster just happened in your bathroom? Not a chance, Munson.” He puts down his coffee cup. “I did call you in sick from work today, though. Just so you know.”

Eddie drops his sandwich. “Jeff!” Egg flies across the table. “What the fuck!”

Jeff raises his eyebrows and dusts Eddie’s food from his shirt. “You can barely keep your eyes open. I’m protecting you from dropping a car on yourself during a tire rotation.”

Eddie swallows, hands already twitching, “dude. I’m gonna go insane here by myself.”

Jeff raises his other eyebrow.

“More insane.” Eddie corrects. His leg starts to bounce.

“Good thing I’m gonna be keeping you company, then.” Jeff leans back in his chair, picking up his coffee and tilting the styrofoam at Eddie. “Movie marathon?”

Between he and Steve they only have about three decent movies, but Eddie finishes his sandwich on the couch as Jeff fiddles with the VCR. 

The movie begins, and that wave of exhaustion returns. Floods him. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. He leans into Jeff’s side. Who isn’t Steve, but who smells nice. Like linen.

Jeff rests his cheek on Eddie’s head. “Sleep, man.” He mumbles.

So Eddie does.

He doesn’t know how long he was asleep. But he wakes to a hand in his hair. To fingers massaging his scalp, and he knows before he even asks. “‘Teve?”

“Hi, baby.” Steve whispers, his hand stills, and he pulls Eddie closer. 

Steve feels so good. Warm and strong and here and here. 

Eddie opens his eyes only to bury himself in Steve’s chest, his boyfriend falling back onto the couch to accommodate, his arms winding around Eddie’s middle. 

“I missed you.” Eddie murmurs, and breathes Steve in, presses his nose into his sweatshirt and curls closer, fists his hands into Steve’s clothes and holds on tight.

“I missed you, too.” Steve sighs. He sounds tired. “Let’s… not do that again.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Never again.” He agrees. 

Steve shifts, opens his legs so Eddie falls between them. “I played hooky on the all-hands luncheon today.” Steve admits, quiet. “Didn’t feel like sitting around with them all day when I could be here with you.” Steve’s hand returns to his hair, twirling the strands between his fingers. “Did you… dye your hair?”

“N’ got a tattoo.” Eddie hums.

Steve giggles, and kisses the top of Eddie’s head. “I like it.” Steve’s fingers dance across his scalp, and Eddie never wants to go another night without this. 

“I like you.” Eddie volleys back, and he feels Steve laugh, feels it rumble through his chest because Steve is here and he’s laughing and then there’s another kiss placed on Eddie’s head before Steve murmurs, “I like you too, baby.”

My permanent tag list 💗: @hotluncheddie @hitlikehammers @hbyrde36 @littlewildflowerkitten @chaotic-waffle

@westifer-dead @perseus-notjackson @finntheehumaneater @theheadlessphilosopher @spectrum-spectre

@itsall-taken @marvel-ous-m @bookworm0690 @acasualcrossfade

(Sorry taglist that you’re getting tagged late I’m still getting used to tumblrs new STUPID TAGGING SYSTEM)

[steviesummer]

concept: eddie has heard many a rumor about king steve, but he's actually never really bothered to seek him out. and while he was doing his lunchtime monologues, steve was usually hanging out with tommy and carol in the parking lot. so despite hawkins high being a small school, he's never connected the rumor to the boy.

he HAS however seen steve, he just doesn't know it. and it's basically love at first sight, but eddie is never able to catch up to him and learn his name. so whenever he talks to his friends, he just calls him the guy with the Fat Ass.

and his friends always brush over steve harrington whenever eddie tries to point out the "love of his life." so it becomes a running joke that eddie is in love with some sort of ghost with a Fat Ass.

then one day, steve peeks into the drama room, looking for dustin. and all eddie can do is point and say "you... you fat ... fat ass." and steve is just like "rude."

[steviesummer]

written for @steddiemicrofic prompt: fool | words: 454 | rated: T

"Am I a dumb hoe?" Steve asks out loud, more to himself than anything.

Robin blinks at him and seriously considers his question. "You're never dumb, but you used to be a hoe."

Steve sighs and fights the urge to throw himself under the library counter. "Maybe I should go back to being a hoe."

Robin snorts. "We both know there's only one person you want to do that with."

Steve immediately thinks of Eddie. He's been nursing a crush on him since Eddie showed up at the library three months ago looking for this Horror book that is also one of Steve's favorites. Through becoming friends, Steve's feelings towards Eddie have shifted to something... more.

Not that Steve has acted on it.

"I'm just a fool, then," Steve announces out loud.

"Who called you a fool?"

Steve almost throws the book he's holding. "Eddie?"

"Here we go," Robin murmurs and, traitor that she is, leaves Steve alone with his crush.

"Who called you a fool?" Eddie asks again, scowling. "Do I need to beat someone up?"

"Like you could do that," Steve blurts out despite himself.

Eddie, for his turn, doesn't look angry. Instead, he nods. "You're right. I could spread some mean rumors about them, though."

"I called myself a fool," Steve explains. "Thank you, though."

"I will always defend your honor, Steve." Eddie rests his elbows on the counter and leans into Steve's space. "But why are you a fool?"

Right, Steve thinks. This is his chance.

By the way Robin gives him a thumbs up from behind Eddie right before she dips back to hide between the stacks, she agrees.

"Well," Steve starts. "There's this guy I like."

Eddie's face is a blank mask. Nothing gives him away. "Oh?"

"And I've been meaning to tell him."

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "That you like him?"

"Yup. But I haven't exactly..."

"Gotten the guts to do it, right," Eddie adds. "I totally get that."

Steve swallows hard. "You do?"

"Yeah." Eddie leans even further into Steve's space. Steve's stomach flips when he says, "I've been sort of going through the same thing."

"Yeah?" Steve whispers, not moving away.

"He's this cute librarian I met some months ago, right here." Eddie taps the counter with a finger. "Maybe you know him?"

"I might," Steve replies, fighting back a smile. "And I might have on good authority that he likes you back."

"That's good," Eddie murmurs. "Is he gonna be upset if I kiss him at his work place or—"

Steve doesn't let Eddie finish. He grabs him by the front of his Metallica shirt and kisses him, firm and sweet, and feels Eddie smile against his lips. Somewhere between the stacks, Robin whistles.

[steviesummer]

Eddie wants to be suave one time and tries to push Steve onto the bed only to aim so badly that his boyfriend bounces off the edge of the mattress and hits the floor.

[steviesummer]

date night <3 thank you for voting in the polls to help me make this! you can grab a print here x

[steviesummer]

[steviesummer]

Steve agrees to play npc parts for Eddie's big one shot that he's been planning forever, but only if Eddie will play basketball with him. So they meet Lucas and Max at the court in the park and Eddie will not shut up about everything.

It's hot, his shorts are rubbing his legs weird, the sun's too bright. Just in general being as annoying as possible. It doesn't bother Steve even a little, he's too busy being smug about getting Eddie into basketball shorts at all. Sure he was still wearing a band shirt, but the shorts were a win.

It starts pretty normal, Max is absolutely ripping them apart verbally and it's working weirdly well to balance out her actual basketball skills, which are nothing to write home about. Eddie whines everytime hes got to run up or down the court, but he does ok at controlling the ball and manages to catch it when Steve throws it to him.

Steve's being blocked by Lucas who's the same height now, and Max is running for Eddie and the ball. Steve's yelling at him to throw it, just aim for the net, and he does. He sinks it, the ball barely touches the rim. He shouts in victory and runs to Steve for a congratulatory kiss, losing the ball to Max, completely worth it.

Over the course of the next few minutes he sinks two more. Steve calls for a pause in the game and simply hands Eddie the ball and tells him to shoot. Another basket. He moves him farther back and Eddie makes it again. Eventually he's standing at the free throw line having scored 7 consecutive baskets and he looks at Steve in wonder and says

"hey, I think I'm good at this?"

Max and Lucas are losing their minds, Lucas is somewhere behind him saying "of course he's good at this." Over and over again.

Steve can't decide if he's more frustrated or charmed, but what he says is "what the fuck, we could have won the championship if you hadn't been a nerd."

[steviesummer]

truth, dare, spin bottles you know how to ball, i know aristotle

[steviesummer]

Steve brushing Eddies hair to the side when it's cold so he can bury his face in his neck

[steviesummer]

a drawing from one of my absolute favs <3

(if u all know if the writer is on tumblr PLEASE tag them!!)

[steviesummer]

my favorite flavor of steddie is like, eddie who is on the cusp of unhealthily obsessed with steve like if you angle it a certain way it would be Toxic™ but it's like a true and sweet enough love that it just falls short like he's not controlling and manipulative and he can do his own thing without steve but his brain is just STEVE STEVE STEVE in the background the whole time. and then you have steve who is looking at eddie like he's the coolest thing in the world, and LOVES eddie, but like in such a lovely mundane way like he daydreams about holding eddie's hand and cooking him breakfast and picking out curtains and planning a fall wedding for them kind of love.

just steve who deserves to be someone's first choice no matter what and eddie who deserves someone who looks at him like he's a regular person who deserves a normal life and chooses every single day to love eddie no matter what

[steviesummer]

What the future holds

Part 8 | masterlist

You horny dogs (affectionate) just want them to bang asap huh

When Eddie comes back, they light up the joint again. This time, Harrington takes it from him to inhale; Eddie tries not to be upset about it, and not overthink whatever the fuck that was, earlier. (Because it was nothing, okay?) He’s also very normal about the way their fingers brush every time they pass the joint back and forth. 

Harrington doesn’t break into any more coughing fits, but yeah, he’s definitely a lightweight. A few more hits, and he already looks dazed, falling backwards on Eddie’s mattress with a goofy smile, all relaxed and boneless. Eddie tries not to look at him beyond a passing glance, the thought  ‘Steve Harrington is in my bed’ repeating in his head like a scratched record; but when Steve stretches, the hem of his sweater rising to expose the beautiful expanse of skin skin hair skin, well… Eddie’s only human, and very gay, and also a little bit high.

He’s not sure how much time has passed with his eyes glued to Harrington’s exposed midsection; when he finally manages to kick himself out of that stupor and drags his gaze back up to Steve’s face, he freezes, feeling the beginnings of a cold panic and the urge to run (however ridiculous, it’s his goddamn trailer, after all). Because Harrington definitely noticed; there’s no way he didn’t, with the way he’s watching Eddie, it’s completely obvious. Eddie fucked up. 

Except there’s no anger on the guy’s face, no frown of disgust that suggests Eddie’s about to get his teeth kicked in; he looks surprised, and maybe a bit thoughtful, like he's trying to figure something out. And Eddie just stares back, desperately scrambling through his clownish brain for something funny to say and defuse the weird moment, and coming up blank. 

Steve's not stupid or clueless. Contrary to popular belief; because of course he's heard people's opinions about himself. How he's self-obsessed, a mindless jock, how he cares only about parties and boobies.

He's never done anything to change those opinions, because... honestly, why bother. He's not a rebel like some people; like Munson right here, the prime example of breaking down stereotypes and constantly drawing attention to himself, rarely in a positive context. Besides, Steve genuinely liked sports, so being a jock was just easy. Society put him in a neat little box with specific characteristics - rich, narcissist, party boy, womanizer, King - and up until recently, Steve was fine with that. It was convenient, familiar, it got him through year after year of school, he had friends - or so he thought at the time.  

It also let him make a rather interesting discovery. How easy it is to notice things about people when they don't think you're looking. Because why would the King lower himself to paying attention, right? Except Steve has always been good at noticing.

He’s not sure when exactly he first came to one particular realization. Some girls look at other girls the way most girls look at boys. And sometimes, boys look at other boys the way most boys look at girls. Quietly and subtly, but it’s there. 

It was much later that his brain connected the notion to the various distasteful words he’s heard and seen written in bathroom stalls. And while that never sat right with him, it was relatively easy to ignore, to just accept things for what they were. But sometimes, especially when he’d catch similar hidden looks directed at himself from a few guys on the team, he’d wonder about it. About why it bothered everyone so much that those kinds of looks needed to be carefully concealed. Why guys would make gagging noises at the idea of being hit on by a faggot. The thought never made Steve feel disgusted; honestly, he was perplexed. Wasn’t it supposed to be flattering, when someone finds you attractive? 

It’s not like Steve had much chance to do anything beyond wondering. Even letting most guys know that he’d noticed them looking was beyond dangerous. Simply not worth it to satisfy his curiosity. 

He knew for sure that Tommy was like him. Curious about it. Steve knew it when they’d smoke and casually shotgun each other, lips almost touching. When Tommy would collapse against him and practically bury his face in Steve’s neck as they laughed at some stupid joke. When they’d sometimes fall asleep on Steve’s bed and wake up practically snuggled together, and laugh off the morning boners like it was no big deal. 

But it was weird, to think that way about Tommy. He was Steve’s best friend, and he had a girlfriend, who Steve was also friends with, and so the idea of crossing some invisible line between platonic closeness and something more was unsettling. 

And now, there’s a guy looking at him the way Tommy would look at him, except he’s not Tommy. They aren’t friends; they’re barely acquaintances, really, even though after tonight Steve weirdly feels like he’s known Munson for much longer. And the guy just checked Steve out, doing a rather poor job at keeping it subtle, and Steve… Steve’s intrigued.

But Munson looks like a deer in the headlights, and Steve doesn’t know what to do about it, how to give him a sign that it’s okay, it’s fine, he’s not one of those guys who’d freak out about it. That he can look... if he wants to.

Soooo what do you think happens next?

Option 1. Seeing how freaked out Eddie looks, Steve decides to change the topic to ease the tension in the room. He looks around the room and spots a basketball in the corner. Raising his eyebrows, he turns back to Eddie. "So… was it you who stole a ball from gym class a couple of months ago?"

Option 2. Steve decides to thread carefully, realizing that turning on his full flirty charm he normally uses on girls is probably not the best idea. He casually puts his arm behind his head as a makeshift pillow and looks at the ceiling as he asks, "So, Munson… you ever shotgun before?"

Option 3. Before Steve can say a word, Eddie starts rambling, trying to sound casual and averting his eyes. "Uh, sorry, Harrington, just don't remember you being so hairy. Did you use to, like, shave your torso or something? Not that I ever paid attention, of course, just saying." With each word tumbling out of his mouth, he's cursing himself inwardly as he realizes he's only digging himself deeper into this awkwardness.

Option 4. As Eddie's face keeps getting redder, Steve decides to feign innocence and asks, "Hey man, you okay?" Eddie makes a show of tugging on the collar of his shirt. "Uh, dunno. Is it just the weed or is it awfully hot in here?" Steve's eyes widen, because… come on, that's such a classic line, he's used this on girls a million times before (well, maybe minus the weed part). Unsure if Eddie realizes that, Steve decides to take the bait anyway. "Yeah, I guess it is," he says and sits up to tug the sweater over his head, leaving him in just a thin white T-shirt underneath.

[steviesummer]

Steve watched Eddie's van turn the corner and shut the front door, closing himself away from the outside world so none of his neighbors could see him as he rested his forehead against the painted wood.

"I'm not going to cry," he told himself.

He said it even as his eyes began to burn and his face began to twist, teeth grinding and throat closing. He wiped quickly at his face, again and again, as he stumbled to the couch to sit, drying each tear as it rolled down his cheeks, clinging to his jaw.

"I'm not going to fucking cry," Steve choked, and then doubled over into himself, arms around his thighs, and he began to sob.

So what if he was twenty-two, living in his parent's house alone, working the same dead-end job with a sixteen year old manager. So what if all his friends and family were in college, spread out from New York to Chicago to Los Angeles. So what if his boyfriend was moving to Seattle for his band and they broke up, because Steve was never going to be his parents, resenting and being resented for keeping his partner from his dreams. So what if he was too scared to ask Eddie to stay, to ask Eddie if Steve could go with him. So what if everyone moved on and Steve couldn't?

Steve grew up lonely. He could get used to it again.

He didn't realize how hard he was crying until the front door burst back open and Eddie hurled himself at Steve's feet, long limbed and clumsy and babbling.

"Baby, oh fuck, I'm sorry," he said, already untangling Steve from himself, tying all his loose ends back up together with his until they were a knot of their own. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Stevie. I never should have— I wanted to—"

"I'm sorry," Steve sobbed back. He gasped and swallowed it all back down. Eddie had already gotten them raveled up again, it would take forever to pick it back apart. Steve knew it would hurt worse this time. "Fuck, Ed, you didn't have to— I'll be okay, I don't want to hold you back—"

"Come with me," Eddie burst.

And Steve couldn't help himself, and began to sob again.

"Please," Eddie begged over Steve's crying, his voice shaking and his face wet enough to match Steve's. "Please, sweetheart, honey, please just come with me?"

Steve took a shaky breath, embarrassed and now too full of hope and fear. "You sure?" he whispered. He pressed his face into Eddie's neck, breathing him in again for what might be the last time, again. "Eddie, don't—"

"I'm so sure," Eddie said. "I'm so fucking sure, Steve, please."

"Okay," Steve breathed. Eddie had always been the braver of the two of them, especially when it counted. Steve leaned back so he could look at him, red faced and watery eyes. He tried to give Eddie a smile, but he knew it was wobbly and weak. "Okay."

All of Steve's fears meant nothing as he watched the happiness break like dawn over Eddie's face.

[steviesummer]

Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."