and i wouldn’t marry me either, pt. 1
have u guys seen that movie plus one on hulu with jack quaid and maya erskine? ok well here’s this thing. also, tw for steve puking.
Steve is drunk. Like, really, embarrassingly drunk.
And that would be fine, really, if he wasn’t at someone’s actual, real-life wedding.
Somewhere between the ceremony and the cocktail hour, the father-of-the-bride speech that had made him cry and the cutting of the cake, he’d started thinking about Nancy Wheeler and thinking about Nancy Wheeler had led to him practically funding the open bar with the spare change he’d been sure to bring in his pockets for tips.
And the thing about it is, Steve normally loves weddings. He loves the flowers and the vows and watching the bride walk down the aisle. He loves the DJ announcing the new couple, loves throwing confetti outside the church, loves the look on the groom’s face when he sees his almost-wife in her dress for the first time. But—
“Harrington!” Tommy Hagan yells from across the room, gesturing for Steve to make his way over. Steve racks his brain for an explanation as to why Tommy H would be at this wedding; he doesn’t remember Gareth and Tommy being particularly close back in their college days. Steve stumbles his way over to Tommy’s table, keeping a secure hand around his gin & tonic, trying his best not to spill.
“Stevie!” Tommy’s fiancée, Carol, practically crows as she leans over Tommy’s lap. “Where’s Nancy?”
“Yeah, man, kinda thought you’d be the first one marching down the aisle,” Tommy laughs and Carol swats him on the arm.
Steve downs his practically full drink before slamming the heavy glass back down on the table.
“We broke up actually,” Steve grimaces. “Last week.”
Carol gives him an exaggerated pout while Tommy cringes. “Aw, baby, I’m so sorry,” Carol slurs. Steve has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, well.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “We wanted different things.”
They offer him a few more words of sympathy before Steve finally flees, making excuses about finding the bathroom. He’s too drunk for this.
He leaves the table in search of another drink.
~*~
Eddie’s just outside the reception hall, out on the venue’s terrace, sparkling with fairy lights. He’s got a stack of index cards in his hands, trying to make out his own scrawled handwriting, when someone stumbles directly into his back. He feels something wet through the fabric of his dress shirt.
“Fuck, shit, sorry, fuck,” someone says, their hands patting at the wetness.
Eddie finally turns to see a disheveled Steve Harrington, a half-empty glass clutched in his fist. His hair’s a mess, his tie’s undone, and he’s clearly drunk. Eddie had seen him stumbling around the dance floor earlier.
“Dude, you good?” Eddie asks, genuinely concerned. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen Harrington drunk. It had to be way back in college, when he’d only known Steve as that annoying frat dude that Gareth and Dustin always brought around. He’d spent a full year trying to figure out what those two saw in him and doing everything in his power to avoid group hang outs.
They’d gotten closer over the years, once they’d graduated and become, like, real, fully-formed human beings. Harrington was actually a pretty chill dude, funny and sweet and able to give as good as he got whenever Eddie was in a particularly teasing mood. Eddie’s ego wasn’t so big that he couldn’t admit he’d been wrong about Harrington, at least in the privacy of his own head.
“Yeah, man, all good,” Steve slurs, barely coherent. He raises his empty hand limply in an attempt at a thumbs up.
“Man, you don’t look so good.” Steve’s eyes are practically vacant and Eddie is feeling genuinely concerned. And he’s proven right when Steve stumbles over to one of the concrete planters lining the terrace and pukes his guts out. It’s loud and disgusting and Eddie can feel the grimace on his own face. But Steve is his friend, so he reaches his hand out to rub Steve’s back, even as he keeps his distance.
“Hey, Eddie,” he hears Jeff call from the French doors that lead into the reception hall.
“Yeah?” Eddie spares a quick glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to where Steve is groaning into the dirt of some exotic-looking tree.
“‘Bout ready to cut the cake,” Jeff tells him. “Need you in a few.”
Right. Eddie’s best man speech. The reason he was out here in the first place. He’s not nervous or anything. He’s a natural showman and entertainer, loves being in front of a crowd. And he loves Gareth and Chrissy. He has plenty of good things to say about them, plenty of embarrassing stories from when he and Gareth were kids, and plenty of sweet ones from when they’d finally met Chrissy in college. Nah, Eddie’s pretty much got this in the bag. He’s just not used to the idea of his friends being actually, real-life married. They’re only 27; Chrissy’s practically a child bride for god’s sake!
Eddie glances down at Steve, whose face is red and sweaty. Eddie’s not blind or stupid; he knows Steve’s an attractive dude. He’s a little too preppy and heterosexual (even though Eddie knows on a theoretical level that Steve does sometimes sleep with other guys) for Eddie’s tastes, but the man is hot. Except for right now. He actually looks pretty bad, possibly the worst Eddie’s ever seen him. And that’s really saying something, considering Steve had actually had his stomach pumped during Greek Week their senior year. At least Steve seems to have cleared the contents of his stomach, at this point.
“Hey, man, you good?” Eddie asks him, his hand still rubbing slow circles on Steve’s back.
Steve groans before looking up at him. “Eddie?” Steve squint. “You’re pretty. Like Nancy.” And Steve sounds so sad when he says it that even Eddie’s heart gives a little squeeze.
“Uh, thank you,” Eddie glances toward the open doors again. The cake is being wheeled out into the middle of the dance floor. “Listen, I don’t wanna leave you out here, but I gotta go give a speech. Can you, uh, stand up for me?”
“Yeah, man, totally,” Steve slurs out, barely comprehensible. He drags the back of his hand over his lips and chin, which should be kind of disgusting, but Eddie just feels sorry for him. Steve makes it one step before he’s slouching into Eddie’s shoulder, all his weight falling into Eddie’s chest. Eddie grunts and fits his hands around Steve’s waist.
“Fuck, dude, how much do you weigh?” Eddie’s voice comes out a little breathless.
“175, baby. Pure muscle,” Steve slurs back.
“Yeah, I believe it,” Eddie mutters, fingertips digging hard into the firmness of Steve’s lower back. “Okay, come on, let’s get you a chair.”
It takes some maneuvering but Eddie finally gets Steve inside and seats him at the closest table. It’s empty, since most people had been dancing and are currently crowded around the cake. Chrissy’s sister, the maid of honor, is holding a microphone, finishing her speech.
“We love you, Chrissy,” she’s saying, looking at the bride with tears in her eyes. “We know that Gareth will do everything in his power to make you happy. To Gareth and Chrissy!” She raises her glass of champagne, smiling, and everyone around her does the same, echoing her toast. “Okay, now where’s the best man?” She says, scanning the crowd.
Eddie smiles and makes his way over, taking the microphone from her.
“When I met Gareth, we were five years old. We’ve been through a lot together, from Gareth’s bug eating phase, to his wetting the bed phase, to that phase he had where he used to Naruto run to class in middle school, to his Hitchcock phase where he tried to talk in that transatlantic accent for literal months, to his bleach blonde phase, to his—”
“Alright, alright, we get it,” Gareth cuts in, rolling his eyes with an easy smile. The crowd laughs.
“Okay, okay. All I’m saying is I’ve seen a lot of versions of my best friend. But the best Gareth by far is the one he is with Chrissy. I remember when Gareth first met her, in their art history seminar. He came back to the dorm after that first week and told me he’d met an angel. ‘I’m in love, dude,’ he told me. ‘I’m marrying this girl.’ I, of course, was skeptical, especially when he pointed her out later that month in the dining hall. ‘Sorry, man, but no way. She’s way outta your league,’ I told him. But to my surprise, Chrissy Cunningham came marching up to us right then and there and asked Gareth if he’d started studying for their midterm. Gareth stumbled through that whole interaction making an absolute fool of himself. I’m pretty sure he put his elbow in my mashed potatoes,” Gareth and Chrissy laugh, “but that didn’t stop Chrissy from asking him to study that weekend. And the rest is, as they say, history.” Eddie raises his own glass of champagne in the direction of the happy couple. “When Gareth told me he was marrying Chrissy, all I could say was ‘it’s about fucking time.’ Chrissy is the smartest, sweetest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet and she somehow makes my best friend an even better dude. So thank you, Chrissy, and congratulations to you both.” Everyone raises their glasses. Over the sounds of the room toasting, Eddie can hear Steve at his table in the back corner drunkenly cheering.
“Woo-hoo!” Steve claps. “Yeah!” Thankfully, no else really seems to notice and Eddie watches over Chrissy’s shoulder as Steve tries to stand from his seat but falls back into it on his ass, looking dazed.
“Thanks, Eddie,” Chrissy whispers as they pull away from their hug. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, babe,” Eddie tells her, squeezing her hands in his. He glances back over at Steve. “I’m gonna take Harrington up to my room, let him sleep some of the alcohol off.”
Chrissy’s eyes widen. “Oh, good idea. I was a little worried about him when I saw him stumbling around the dance floor before.” Eddie gives her hands one final squeeze before wandering off to collect Steve.
~*~
Getting Steve into the elevator is a struggle. He doesn’t want to leave, keeps saying he didn’t even get to eat a piece of cake yet. He only lets Eddie shove him through the metal doors when Eddie promises to bring him a piece when he comes back up later.
They make it to Eddie’s room without further incident and once they’re safely inside, Steve starts ripping off his suit without a care in the world. His hands and arms are flying everywhere. He almost takes Eddie out with an elbow to the temple.
“Dude, calm down,” Eddie tells him, hands on Steve’s arms. “Let me help you.” He unbuttons what’s left of Steve’s shirt and hangs it over the closet doorknob before reaching for Steve’s waistband and undoing his fly. His suit pants fall around his ankles. “Okay, step out.”
Steve braces his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and lifts one leg and then the other, until he’s standing there in only his briefs and his dress socks.
“Thought about this a lot in college,” Steve mutters, still slurring his words.
And that—huh? What? Thought about what a lot? Eddie undressing him?
Eddie does his best not to react. Steve’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.
Eddie brings his own hands up to curl around Steve’s wrists and pull his hands away from his shoulders. He bends down and picks up Steve’s pants, folding them and placing them on the dresser. He folds back the bed’s comforter.
“Okay, big boy, in ya go.” He gestures toward the bed, encouraging Steve to lay down. Steve suddenly looks exhausted as he slides under the covers.
His eyes are half-closed before his head even hits the pillow.
Before Eddie shuts off the light and leaves to head back downstairs, he hears Steve call out softly, “sorry if I ruined it.” He shifts sleepily on the bed. “I always ruin it.”
Eddie feels like he’s swallowed glass as he slowly shuts the door behind him.
~*~
Steve wakes up to sunshine streaming in through the curtains of an unfamiliar bedroom. His head is killing him and his mouth feels like he’s swallowed 87 cotton balls. He groans, rolling away from the window, only to be met with the image of Eddie Munson’s shirtless, sleeping form.
Fuck. How drunk had he been last night? He vaguely remembers puking outside somewhere and Eddie rubbing his back, but he definitely doesn’t remember leaving the wedding. He doesn’t remember leaving the wedding with Eddie.
Steve spares a quick glance under the covers and is relieved to see that he’s still wearing his underwear and Eddie’s got on a pair of pajama pants. Surely he wouldn’t have sex and then put his underwear back on; that seems like something only a serial killer would do.
It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. There was that one year, just after they’d graduated, that Steve had thought maybe there was something between them, something a little more than friendship.
But then he’d met Nancy Wheeler at his new job and she’d asked him out and he’d started imagining their lives together and thoughts of anyone else had just floated away.
So, yeah, Steve’s thought about it. Eddie’s gorgeous and funny and smart. It’s not like Steve would regret it. He could certainly do a lot worse.
But if he’s gonna sleep with one of his closest friends, he’d like to actually remember it.
In between Steve’s spiraling thoughts, Eddie must have woken up, because when Steve spares another glance toward his face, Eddie’s staring right back at him, making him jump slightly.
“Fuck, dude, make a noise,” Steve breathes out before running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “We didn’t—uh, nothing like… happened or whatever, right? We didn’t, like… you know… did we?”
Eddie stares at him for a long moment before putting Steve out of his misery. “No offense, Stevie, but I’m not really into guys that can barely string together a coherent thought.”
“Oh, thank god,” Steve sighs with relief, body sagging against the mattress. He sees Eddie’s mouth twitch. “Not that I… you know, you’re hot or whatever, but like…”
“Dude, relax,” Eddie laughs, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress. “You were black out drunk. I just brought you up here so you didn’t hurt yourself.”
Steve winces. “I didn’t, like, embarrass myself, did I? Or, like, ruin the wedding?”
Eddie looks at him with something like pity and Steve has to swallow nervously.
“No, Steve, you were fine. I just found you throwing up outside and though you’d had enough.”
Steve stares down at his hands. “Thanks, man,” he says softly.
“No worries, you’d do the same for me.” He sounds so totally sure that Steve would. “Weddings are tough. Can you believe I have, like, four more to go to, just this summer? I’ll probably black out at at least one of them. Anyway, I’m gonna take a shower and then you should probably also shower. You stink.” Eddie stands from the bed and claps his hands together. “And then we’re taking full advantage of the free hotel breakfast bar.”
~*~
After they’ve showered and Eddie’s gone back to the breakfast buffet for seconds and thirds, he offers to drive Steve home and Steve gratefully accepts. He’s really not in the mood for an Uber or, even worse, the subway.
Steve keeps thinking about what Eddie had said back in the hotel room. That he had four more weddings to go to this summer alone. Steve has five of his own and the thought of going through all that alone makes his stomach clench and his throat tighten. He knows he’s going to see Nancy at at least one of them and that thought alone has Steve desperate.
“Hey, you know how you said you have four more weddings to go to this summer?” Steve asks from the passengers seat. Eddie hums an affirmative response. “I have five.”
“No shit, that sucks, man. I actually fuckin’ hate weddings, to tell you the truth.” Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off the road.
“I used to love them, actually. But, I don’t know. They’ve kind of lost their charm,” Steve doesn’t mean to sound super mega fucking depressed about it, but he knows he does.
“Fuck, dude. Sorry,” Eddie glances at him, a worried look in his eye.
“But, uh, I was thinking,” Steve powers on. “Maybe we should, like, help each other out?”
Eddie’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Like, you know.” Steve gestures vaguely with his hand. “Make it less unbearable. Like, we could go together or something.”
“You want to be each other’s plus ones?” Eddie asks incredulously.
“Yeah, man, think about it. You’d always have someone to chill with, even if the party’s fucking lame. We could make fun of the bridesmaids’ dresses together and shit. It wouldn’t be as god fucking awful if we were together.”
They’re stopped at a red light and Eddie has turned to stare directly at him.
“You do realize that would mean we’d be going to ten weddings, like, collectively, right? Why would I want to go to more weddings then I actually have to?”
“Well, nine, since Chrissy and Gareth’s is over,” Steve tells him, matter-of-factly. “Come on, Eddie, this summer is fucking torture for me. You know Nancy, like, crushed me or whatever. It would really help me out, to have you there. Just think about it.”
And, Steve thinks, that’s kind of what does it. Eddie has a savior complex about a mile wide and Steve has never been above using that to his advantage.
Eddie sighs and shifts his gaze back to the road as the light turns green.
“Fine, Harrington,” he finally says. “But you are paying for all my suit rentals and buying all the gifts.”
Steve smiles. “Deal.”
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Oh my goodness - I love your writing, I haven’t stopped reading your stuff over the last couple days!!
Absolutely LOVE your new perv!Eddie x camboy!Steve - it’s absolute filth and I’m living for every second of it! The whole “pretty boy is small”, it’s so different and it has me feral, I’m I’m here for it all day and I’m almost sorry. And I know you said mentioned Eddie’s size - but imagine with me for a second this idea…
He’s a ✨big boy✨. Not necessarily long, but he’s thick and he doesn’t realise he’s bigger than average because he’s inexperienced. But then when pretty boy sees it… gets all whiny cause it puts a couple of his toy to shame.
Pretty boy needs two hands to stroke all of him; jaw is aching before he’s swallowed all of him; and the stretch…. The ✨stretch✨!!!!
(Totally understand if this was not your thing, or the direction you were hoping for this fic)
PT. 1 of the camboy!steve/perv!eddie fic on ao3
UM NO NO THIS IS ABSOLUTELY MY THING THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN, I WILL ACCEPT MORE OF YOUR THOUGHTS AT ANY TIME......I'M DROOLING OVER HERE JUST GIVE ME A SECOND 🤤🤤🤤
okay now that i'm more composed *clears throat* let's explore this wonderful idea of yours together :)
(also i'm so glad you said this bc i've had monstercock munson on the brain for a while now so this just really hits the ball out of the park for me)
steve's been doing this camboy gig for a while now.
it's gone pretty well for him--all things considered. he makes a decent living off of it. he likes the attention. he gets to chat with cute strangers.
receiving unwarranted dick pics in his inbox comes with the territory.
he's seen everything under the sun in terms of variation in girth, length, color, cut/uncut, piercings, tattoos, hairy, clean shaven, etc. most arrive with no message at all or something like, 'i'm so hard 4 u.'
when he first started out and was trying to amass a following, he'd respond to every single one (no matter how gross or weird the messages got).
he'd take on the bratty bottom role--that he's since mastered--and numb any part of him that might have been too disgusted to continue. replying with a short and sweet comment like:
'hmm hot, but i've had bigger down my throat.'
'looking good, handsome. do you think you could handle me?'
'i'll cockwarm you until you're crying and calling me 'mommy.' '
however, as time passed and his following grew, steve realized he didn't have to respond to all of his messages if he didn't want to.
each week, he'd scroll through his overflowing inbox, select a handful at random, have a laugh at the desperate behavior occurring on the other side of the screen, and respond with one of his pre-set templated replies before automatically deleting the rest.
that was, until he met eddie munson over a quick video-call and realized keeping his emotions separate from his job was going to be much more challenging than he'd previously anticipated.
it's a friday night. steve finished his stream a few hours ago, got thai food for dinner with his best friend--robin--at their favorite local spot, and is attempting to wind down for the evening.
but, it's no use.
he's horny. his mind is an impure palace of need. his hands trail over his chest and tease the sensitive buds of his nipples while he tries to focus on the netflix documentary he picked at random.
steve's little dick throbs in his silk pajama shorts where he lays beneath the pink sheets, tossing and turning, with only one person on his mind.
his cock's wet between his legs--head slick and dripping down his hairy thigh with all the filthy ideas of what he'd like to do to eddie munson if he ever gets the chance to meet him in person.
he has no idea what eddie's working with physically. he can only imagine what may hide behind the confines of that shredded black denim.
not that steve really cares about the size of eddie's dick. in the grand scheme of things, he likes him and that's plenty. but, it is something he wonders about from time to time. especially recently.
see--steve's thought process goes a little something like this:
if eddie's as small as he is or even smaller, so be it. he'll teach him everything he knows about pleasure, frotting, edging, and more.
if eddie's average, like he claims to be, steve won't mind. average is perfectly fine with him. he'll be easy to swallow down and impress. he'll be easy to ride in a multitude of positions.
from what steve had seen of his personality, he can't exactly imagine eddie being huge.
he's a self-proclaimed loser, halfway through his twenties and still a virgin, wears graphic t-shirts with anime characters on them and has one of those intense gamer-boy headsets.
horneir than he's been in a while, steve rolls onto his stomach and grinds into his bed to try to relieve the tension building at his core.
he grips the sides of his pillow, cutely tucks his chin into the plush softness, and mouths at the fabric while he rolls his hips in grinding circles.
steve loves making out.
he loves making out with cock even more.
mouthing over a cute boy's boxers until he just can't take it anymore and cums in his pants. steve would bet money that he could make eddie cum in his pants that way. he'd pull up his jeans for him after and make him spend the rest of the day walking around town just like that. messy, deplorable, and sticky in all the right places.
steve makes himself cum in under a minute. images of eddie whining and calling him 'mommy' in muffled tones dancing like sugar plums around his delusional head. he soaks through the silk fabric of his pajama shorts and watches as a damp spot blooms in the middle.
he giggles to himself. smiles softly.
wonders if eddie would have any interest in sucking on the soiled material while steve sucks him off...
usually, he'd go right to sleep after one round, but his cock is still aching with curiosity despite orgasming, so he lazily stretches to reach for his laptop and grabs it from the nightstand.
coincidentally, he makes the split second decision to check his inbox before navigating to his favorite porn site 'lovebunny.com.'
he's planning on just clearing out the messages as he usually does, when something catches his eye and his heart skips a beat, runs a marathon, and ends up trapped in his throat where he wants the sender's dick to be asap.
to: prettyboy86
from: ethebanished
sent at 10:53 p.m.
hey steve,
hope ur having a good night.
idk why i'm sending you this. sorry. i've never sent anything like this to anyone before. bc i'm a virgin and i've never had the opportunity, but um. here it is. my dick...if u were interested in seeing it?
it's not much. probably looks small compared to what u normally see. idk. i'm also kinda high rn and my friend gareth is in the next room and he told me not to do this, but i thought maybe u would like it?
excited for ur stream tomorrow. i tried pineapple on pizza last night bc u said it's ur favorite. not bad. i actually rlly liked it.
'night,
eddie m.
attachment: 6edf45lp.jpg
steve's throbbing.
he's got a hand--he only needs one--around the entire length of his cock and he's twisting tightly around the head as he downloads the image to his computer and waits for the file to open.
he's vocal.
he's considerably vocal.
he's tipsy off of a couple glasses of rose from dinner and he's arching his back like he does when he's on camera, but this time it's genuine.
'gonna show mommy your cock, baby?' he moans highly as the image loads and he strokes himself faster, 'that's it. that's a good boy. mommy's pussy wants to milk you dry. drink up all your big boy cum for you. oh--such a good boy for me--you can handle it. deep breaths while i make you feel good, sweet thing. almost there, hold still for mommy-'
a jumble of random pixels becomes a full picture and steve harrington is a mewling, whimpering, slutty mess.
he's fucking his hand, he's rolling his balls between his palms, he's taste testing the last batch of cum that he squirted all over the inside of his tiny pink shorts. he's rubbing it up and down his shaft like lube. shoving some in his ass with two fingers, clenching hard, and closing his eyes so he can pretend eddie munson just finished inside him. pervy little virgin would cum so quick.
the picture is fucking perfect.
eddie's standing in front of--what looks to be--a bathroom mirror. the lighting's shit, but steve can see clearly enough. his red and black checkered pants sit around his upper thighs. unzipped and tugged down--chains dangling. eddie's holding his fat dick in one hand and snapping the photo on his phone with the other.
it's huge. it's practically unreal. wider than any of the toys steve has in his collection. his own hand doesn't fit around it and it's long enough to rest a solid few inches above his belly button. steve's horny brain tells him that the slap it would make against his abdomen would probably be quite loud.
there's a vein running from the underside of his shaft to the tip and the whole thing is dusky pink like his nipples. his balls are round, perky, relatively hairless. there's a thicket of dark hair that starts at his navel and spreads out over his pelvis. his v-line is defined and there's a tattoo steve can't make out on his hip. he's biting his lip and steve can't tell if it's because he's nervous or thinks it's sexy, but it's working for him either way.
it's everything he could have ever wanted.
he's so gone. he's babbling filth and cumming onto his keyboard which is going to be a nightmare to clean up, but who cares? one of his mindless followers will buy him a new one if he complains about it loud enough with a glittery dildo up his ass.
'mommy's never taken cock that big, baby. you're gonna have to be careful, give it to me nice and slow. oh it's so fucking big,' he groans thumbing at his slit like it's a clit, hard and fast, 'mommy's gonna have to keep you away from all the other boys so no one else finds out what a fat cock you have hiding in there. mmm. if only they knew, but i'll never let them because i'm gonna trap you in my pussy and cockwarm you until you promise to be mine.'
when he cums for the final time, he kisses the screen. licks it clean and saves the picture to a folder he has labeled 'work.' the nastiest part of him wants to make it his screensaver, but if eddie ever found out, he'd likely never talk to steve or watch his stream again and he can't risk that.
'you and i are going to have so much fun together,' he says before falling asleep with his laptop on his stomach and eddie munson's cock watching over him like an angel from a very sexy realm.
thanks for reading ! feedback is greatly appreciated so please let me know what you think if you enjoyed this one 🥰
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