#steve harringto fanfic

[ghosttotheparty]

lonely with you

part two also on ao3 cw: alcohol; weed; panic attack; nsfw

“Hey, uhm. Can we talk for a minute?”

Eddie pauses as he rummages through his bag, crouched on the floor as he shoves the worksheet he just got to the bottom of his bag. (He’ll probably forget about it. Again.) He looks up to find Steve Harrington standing over him, looking down at him with an almost anxious look in his eye.

“Uh.” Eddie pauses, looking him up and down. “Sure?”

“Like…”

Steve gestures with a tilt of his chin down the hall, toward the bathroom. Eddie glances down the hall, his hand still in his bag, and then he nods, zipping his bag up and tossing it over his shoulder as he follows him down the hall.

Steve’s hair moves while he walks, almost bouncing with each step. It’s shiny. It’s so much healthier than Eddie’s is. It looks soft.

Eddie pushes the thought away as the door shuts behind them as Steve turns to look at him after checking to make sure there’s no one in the stalls. His arms are crossed over his chest like he’s defensive, like he’s hiding, and he leans against the wall by the sinks.

“I don’t have anything on me today,” Eddie says, dropping his bag. “I can take an order and get back to you, or…”

He trails off when he sees the confusion flicker in Steve’s eyes, and then Steve blinks.

“That’s not… Uhm. What I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Okay. What’s going on, then?” He leans against the wall across from him, pushing his hands into his pockets as he eyes him confusedly. He’s never had an actual conversation with Steve Harrington, nothing beyond weed or pills exchanged for cash at parties, but Steve has always been different from the others that Eddie sold to. He always smiled. Nobody else ever smiles, not unless they’re already high. But Steve, fully sober, always, always gives Eddie this soft, kind, friendly smile that always lingers in Eddie’s mind afterwards.

It’s not that he has a crush. Steve Harrington is attractive, Eddie knows that. Everyone knows that. He’s Steve Harrington. But Eddie apparently has a little bit of a soft spot for anyone that’s kind of him, anyone that smiles at him like he’s just a person instead of the local druggie, weirdo, freak. And apparently anyone is just Steve.

“Uh.” Steve hesitates, lifting a hand and biting his thumbnail anxiously, looking at the floor. “I’ve heard some, uhm. Rumors. About you.”

Eddie blinks, raising an eyebrow. There are lots of rumors about him.

“That you’re…” Steve continues, his eyes shining brightly, nervously. He’s shaking a little bit. “That you’re— you’re queer?”

Eddie blinks again.

His stomach twists, and part of him wants to snap at him. Fuck you, Harrington. Because the last boy that pulled him aside and brought that rumor up, that asked if it’s true, just had Eddie kneel on the floor and suck him off before he left. Eddie liked it, liked the weight of his dick in his mouth, the feeling of his fingers in his hair, but he didn’t like the way the boy coldly said Keep your mouth shut about this as though Eddie would have told anyone. And he didn’t like the way the boy barely looked at him ever again, except when he bought from him in front of his friends, and he didn’t like the way the next time Eddie tried to talk to him he snapped at him that it was a one-time thing.

I’m not— I’m not like you. I just wanted to get off.

Eddie wants to walk past Steve, to let the door slam behind him, because he never wants another boy to look at him like that again. Disgusted. Like he didn’t ask for it. Like he didn’t beg for it.

But Steve is staring at him, unblinking, his eyes shining so brightly it looks like he might start crying, and he’s shaking, and Eddie is saying, “Yeah,” before he can say anything.

“Is it… Is it true?” Steve asks quietly, whispering.

“Yeah,” Eddie says.

Yeah.

He’s never said it out loud before. That he’s gay. Queer.

He never had to say it out loud to Wayne. He knew the day Eddie moved in with him, murmured that everything was okay as he put the colourful band-aid on his face.

Steve exhales. He nods. Looks at the ground.

Eddie waits. It’s quiet in the bathroom, and one of the sinks is dripping, the quiet tap tap tap tap tap echoing in the tile room.

“Why do you ask?” Eddie asks after a long minute. Steve lifts his head. His lips are pressed together, and he looks away from Eddie as a tear falls down his cheek. “Whoa, what’s wrong?” Eddie says, panicking a little, standing up straight off the wall he’s leaning on and moving a little bit closer. “Are you okay?”

“I—” Steve wipes his face quickly, and Eddie’s stomach twists again. “I think I might… be like you.”

Eddie freezes, looking at him.

“Like me,” he repeats slowly. Steve nods, blinking tears out of his eyes, and he looks so… scared. Eddie’s whole body hurts. “Oh.”

“I just… I’m kind of freaking out about it, and I— I don’t know what to do, and I didn’t know who to talk to about it, but I needed to…”

“It’s cool,” Eddie says reassuringly, trying to smile. “Steve, it’s fine, man, alright? I won’t tell anyone.”

Steve nods, squeezing his eyes shut and wiping his face again. Eddie steps past him into a stall and grabs some toilet paper, bunching it up before he gives it to him, and Steve takes it with a quiet, “Thank you,” and then a muttered apology.

“You don’t have to be sorry, man,” Eddie says softly. “It’s cool.”

Steve uses the paper to wipe his face. His cheeks are pink, and they redden more as he rubs tears off his skin too roughly. Eddie kind of wants to take over, to wipe his tears softly, gently, the way he deserves. He doesn’t.

“It’s…” He hesitates. Steve looks at him. “It’s cool to… know there’s someone else. That gets it.”

Steve nods, half-smiling.

It’s quiet for a moment as he sniffles, looking at the ground again, at his clean white sneakers next to Eddie’s dirty black chucks. Eddie reaches out for him hesitantly, touching his forearm, and he pulls gently. Steve falls against him easily, and their arms wrap around each other tightly. They sway slightly, quiet as they embrace each other, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut.

“Steve,” he says after a few moments. “You listening?”

“Yeah?”

Eddie pulls back enough to look at him, holding his shoulders firmly. Steve’s hands find his forearms, gentle and tentative. Eddie hesitates for a moment before he speaks.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says firmly. Steve’s lip quivers. “You understand me?” he says quietly, leaning closer as he speaks, and Steve’s hands tighten on his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Okay,” Steve says weakly.

“Okay,” Eddie repeats softly, He squeezes Steve’s shoulders.

The bell rings as Steve is taking a deep breath, and Eddie pauses as he watches Steve lean down to pick up his bag. He looks tired now, drained and exhausted, but he isn’t crying anymore.

“Uh, hey,” Eddie says before he can leave. Steve looks at him. “...You know where I live, right? Cherry Lane?” Steve nods, looking at him curiously. “...Do you wanna come over tonight? Just to— to talk about it?”

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile, and he nods.

“Thank you,” he says quietly before he leaves.

Eddie leans against the wall Steve had been leaning on, sighing heavily and rubbing his face. He drops his hands after a moment, and he feels different. Lighter. He can’t place exactly what it is that’s different now, but he turns to look in the mirror to see if he looks any different. He doesn’t. Still messy-haired, still weird. He picks his bag up off the ground and leaves.

— — — — —

Wayne leaves for work just as Eddie is getting home, and he pauses in the living room as Eddie is nudging his boots out of the way to ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead. Eddie swats him away, pretending he doesn’t love it. Wayne’s done it since Eddie was a kid, since before he moved in with him. Even Eddie’s own parents never showed him affection like this, but Wayne always did, on his way in and his way out of Eddie’s parents’ house. Eddie always looked forward to it. Now it’s daily, a regular standard for what makes a good day. When Eddie misses him on his way to work he misses it.

Eddie waits in the living room, laying upside down on the sofa with a book above his head. He’s changed into sweatpants and an old sweatshirt that’s stained with bleach, the dark fabric reddish-orange in spots. His hair is falling from the bun he tied it up in as he turns the pages slowly, tapping his feet in time with the music that’s playing from the boombox in the corner. (They got it from one of the neighbors that moved away two years ago; Eddie loves it with all his heart.)

He scrambles up when there’s a knock on the door, stumbling over his own feet and dropping the book. He stoops to pick it up, losing his page, just before he opens the door to find Steve, wide-eyed.

“You okay?” Steve asks, glancing at Eddie’s messy hair.

“I’m very clumsy,” Eddie says, remembering how thin the walls in, and he steps aside, gesturing with the book. “Come on in.”

“I’m aware,” Steve says, stepping past him. “We had gym together last year, it was like watching a baby giraffe learn to walk.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says, shutting the door, snorting as Steve shoots him an amused look, and they fall quiet as Steve looks around the living room and kitchen. “Uh, it’s not much, but…”

“I like it,” Steve says. He seems to sense Eddie’s disbelief, and he shoots him another look. “I’m serious. It’s nice.” He looks back around. “It looks like you actually live here. My place looks like a goddamn catalogue set.” He wanders slowly, eyes scanning Wayne’s hats and mugs, the stains on the walls. “White walls, white carpets.”

“No childhood mudstains?” Eddie asks, leaning against the table by the door.

“Once,” Steve says, pausing to read one of the trucker hats, smiling absently. “Dad beat the shit outta me and the carpets were replaced within the next three days.”

Eddie blinks, and Steve pauses again, seemingly realizing what he’s just said. He turns a little, his face pink as he looks at Eddie.

“Anyway.”

Eddie scoffs at the lightness of his tone.

“You want a beer?” he asks, heading to the kitchen, wondering what he did in his life to deserve this, Steve Harrington exploring his living room like it’s a fine arts exhibit, like it’s a gallery.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Eddie gets two beers from the fridge and cracks them open with the bottle opener magnet before he passes one to Steve over the sink, and then he beckons with a tilt of his head.

“Think you might like my room,” he says, leading him down the hall.

“Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Hah.” Eddie ignores the way his face flushes with heat, but Steve doesn’t say anything else before they’re in Eddie’s room, and Eddie moves out of the way as Steve lets out an earnest, “Whoa.”

Eddie grins, taking a sip of his beer as Steve looks, wide-eyed, around the room. The music is still playing in the living room.

Now the tears, they fall like rain I'm alone again without you

Steve wanders slowly, looking at the posters on the walls, the drawings and ripped-out magazine pages, the faded photographs and newspaper clippings, the CORRODED COFFIN tapestry, the guitars. He looks like he’s in awe, almost smiling as he gazes at everything.

“I like it,” he says finally, turning to look at Eddie, who’s sitting on the edge of his bed, and Eddie quirks his eyebrows at him. Steve rolls his eyes and sips his beer, moving to sit on the floor, looking around again, this time at Eddie’s bed and the posters above it, at the mess on Eddie’s nightstand. Eddie slides off the bed onto the floor in front of him.

They’re quiet for a moment. Steve crosses his legs and draws his knees to his chest like he’s trying to shrink in on himself, and it feels odd to see the King like this, small and vulnerable and quiet.

“How did you know that you’re, uhm…” Steve trails off nervously, his lips brushing the top of his bottle.

“You can say gay, Steve,” Eddie says quietly. “‘S not a bad word.”

Steve glances at him.

“How did you know that you’re gay?” he asks. His voice is tentative, soft.

“Don’t think I ever really realized it,” Eddie says. “I think I just kind of always knew. I realized it wasn’t… I don’t know. Normal, I guess. When I was, like, thirteen.”

Steve is listening intently, looking at Eddie over his bottle and his knees, and his eyes are shining in that way again, bright and nervous and shy, and Eddie wonders how this boy in front of him ever became the King of Hawkins High when he’s looking at him like this.

“I kept quiet about it,” Eddie says, sensing that Steve doesn’t have anything to say. “After my dad found out, he… He wasn't happy. Wayne doesn’t mind. We don’t really talk about it, but…”

“How does he know?” Steve asks quietly. Eddie tilts his head.

“Dear old Dad had some choice words to say about me the next time Wayne came to visit. I went home with him that day. I was fifteen. And then the next year, Ma and Dad left town.”

Steve blinks his pretty eyes.

“‘M sorry.”

Eddie shrugs.

“Nothing to be sorry about. I don’t miss them.” He pauses, sipping his beer, then lifts his chin at Steve. “How’d you realize?” he asks, avoiding The Word, because it’s Steve Harrington. Notorious ladies’ man.

Steve shrugs shyly, looking down at the bottle in his hands.

“I don’t think I ever really liked girls,” he says quietly. “I only went out with them after I knew they liked me. I can tell when they’re flirting with me, and it just kind of… I don’t know. Felt like an obligation. I’d get them off if they wanted, but I think they could tell I wasn’t really into it, so we just kind of… Went on.”

Eddie blinks, a little surprised. Steve is still staring at the bottle, his eyes glazed over, and he speaks again, his voice soft like he doesn’t realize he’s speaking out loud.

“I could never get hard. Thought there was something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Steve,” Eddie says gently. Steve looks at him, his eyes wide like he’s startled, and then he looks away again, his gaze aimless as he looks at the ground. “...Steve?”

Steve takes a shuddering breath.

“...I think I’m dying,” he says so quietly Eddie almost doesn’t hear it. His hands are shaking now, the bottle moving with them, and when his eyes find Eddie’s again, shining with panic and unshed tears, Eddie realizes what’s happening. He reaches out to take the bottle as he sets his own aside.

“You’re not dying, sweetheart,” he says quietly, setting Steve’s bottle aside and moving a little closer. “You’re okay.”

Steve takes a sharp breath, and his eyes flicker back and forth between Eddie’s.

“My heart’s beating too fast,” he says weakly, panting, and Eddie’s chest aches at the fear in his eyes.

“I know,” he whispers, moving forward to touch him, pressing a hand firmly over his chest, over his heart. “It’ll slow down if you slow your breathing, okay?”

“Eddie—”

“Slowly,” Eddie says softly, nodding. “Breathe with me, you got it.” He inhales slowly, watching the way Steve’s eyes lower to watch his mouth. Steve’s hands raise a little bit, reaching for Eddie before they fall. “You can touch me,” Eddie says. “‘S alright.”

Steve’s hands find Eddie’s arms as his legs fall, and he pulls, closing his eyes as he tries to breathe slowly.

“You want me to come closer?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods.

Eddie shifts closer, moving so he can put his legs around him, and Steve clutches at his arms.

“I can’t breathe,” he chokes, opening his eyes to look at Eddie desperately. Tears fall down his cheeks as he gasps for breath.

“Yes, you can,” Eddie says softly, reaching with his other hand to wipe his face, and one of Steve’s hands jumps to it. Eddie thinks he’s about to swat it away, but he holds it to himself, closing his eyes again. Eddie brushes his thumb over his cheek. “Slowly, Stevie, inhale.”

Steve inhales, hiccupping and gasping, and Eddie presses against his heart.

“Hold it for a moment… And out. There you go,” he murmurs, watching the way Steve’s brows furrow in effort, watching the way he’s holding Eddie’s wrist tightly, his fingertips pressing into the fabric of Eddie’s sweatshirt. “Again, in, slow…”

He does it with him, guiding, demonstrating, blowing his hair out of his face as he exhales, and Steve’s breaths slow after a few minutes. His grip on Eddie’s wrist loosens, and he blinks his eyes open. Eddie brushes his thumb over his cheek.

“Alright?” he whispers.

“Sorry,” Steve says softly, turning his face into Eddie’s hands.

“Don’t,” Eddie whispers. “It’s okay.”

Steve takes a long, slow, breath, shuddering. Eddie moves a little closer without letting go of his face. He moves his other hand down, running over Steve’s waist before it rests on his leg.

“I’m…” Steve looks at him, his eyes glistening. “I’m so scared, Eddie,” he says weakly, his voice wavering. Eddie’s chest clenches.

“I know,” he whispers.

“I think— I think if my dad finds out, he’ll actually kill me, I—” He gasps, and Eddie leans in, his own eyes stinging.

“Hey, listen to me,” he says softly. “He won’t find out, okay? This is just between us.”

Steve sniffles, looking at him.

“You know how good I am at keeping secrets?” Eddie says, and Steve laughs wetly, reaching to wipe his face, but Eddie beats him to it. “No one else has to know,” he murmurs. “You’re safe here, Steve.”

Steve closes his eyes, and Eddie holds his face between his hands. They’re quiet for a moment, and Steve touches his wrists, running his hands down to squeeze his forearms like he’s grounding himself. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

“Why do I feel so…” He pauses, furrowing his brows again like he’s uncomfortable, like something is poking him. “Why do I feel so… dirty?” he whispers.

Eddie’s chest aches. He’s familiar with the feeling, the filth of existing.

“You’re not dirty,” he whispers back. “That’s how they want you to feel.”

Steve looks at him. Eddie pauses, swallowing, and his throat is tight now, because he’s never to explain this out loud, any of this. These thoughts that occurred to him late at night as he stared up at the ceiling in the dark, these thoughts that he wanted to whisper to the moon but was too scared to say out loud. He used to think saying it all out loud would make it real, but he knows now that it doesn’t matter how loud it all is. It’s real even when it’s just in his head. It was real before he was even born.

And he realizes at this moment, as he holds Steve’s face tenderly, as he feels Steve’s fingers press into his forearms and watches another tear slip over his fingers on Steve’s cheek, the feeling that he felt earlier today when Steve left him in the bathroom. The shift he felt under his skin like his cells were moving into place, like he has a whole new body.

Nothing is different, not really.

He just isn’t lonely anymore.

It’s like his body knows there’s someone else in this stupid fucking town that knows how he feels. Someone that matches him.

And he gets to say this out loud now. It’s not as scary when there’s someone to hear it. Someone to understand it.

“They make us out to be…” He pauses, licking his lips as he thinks. “These… filthy, perverted monsters. They talk about us and lie about us and make shit up about us being weird freaks, which, I mean, me personally, I guess it fits,” he says, his chest tightening when Steve half-smiles, scoffing. “But you, Steve Harrington,” he says, shaking Steve’s head lightly, making his smile widen, “are an upstanding citizen.”

“I buy drugs from you,” Steve says, leaning forward, and Eddie laughs lightly.

“You are not my most frequent customer.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head, but Eddie is still holding his face. He doesn’t let go.

“You are a good person, Steve Harrington,” he says quietly.

“You hardly know me,” Steve whispers.

Eddie looks at him. At his eyes. They’re hazel up close. Specked with green and brown and gold. He looks at the spots on his skin. Eddie wants to memorize them like constellations. There are tears caught in his eyelashes, and his nose and cheeks are rosy, and Eddie’s stomach flips over as he realizes just how beautiful he is. Not just hot, or attractive, but… Pretty. Lovely.

“You always smile at me when you pay me,” Eddie says softly, absently. “No one ever does that unless they’re high. But you smile every time.”

Steve blinks. Smiles. He has a beautiful smile.

“That makes me good?”

“That makes you better than the others,” Eddie whispers. “Makes you my favorite.”

Steve’s cheeks turn pink. Eddie smiles, brushing his thumbs over them.

“Tell me about you,” he says softly. “I wanna know you.”

Steve's smile falls. He’s quiet for a moment, running his hands over Eddie’s forearms before they fall to rest on his legs, and then his fingers play absently with the folds of his sweatpants.

“I’m lonely,” he says after a few moments, breathing the words quietly. “All the time. When I’m with my friends, when I’m at parties or at basketball practice or at games, I’m… I always feel like I’m hiding.” Eddie brushes his thumbs over his cheeks, listening. “I feel like I’m some… statue. Dressed as me, and— and pretending to be me, but no one really knows me.” He closes his eyes, turning his face into Eddie’s palm, leaning closer, pressing his hands over Eddie’s legs, and his voice shakes as he speaks again. “...I’m so lonely.”

“Me too,” Eddie whispers.

Steve sighs quietly, and he opens his eyes finally, looking at him.

“Can we be lonely together?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “I’d like that.”

Steve smiles, and then he closes his eyes, turning his face into Eddie’s palm again and sighing. Eddie gazes at him, and something settles in his chest. Something different than before.

— — — — —

“Have you ever kissed a boy?” Steve asks later as he passes the joint back to Eddie. They’re still on the floor, but they’ve moved to sit across from each other, Eddie with his back against the bed, Steve with his back against his dresser. Their empty beer bottles are on the ground with them, one of them knocked over, and the room is dim, lit up by the golden glow of the lamps next to Eddie’s bed. Steve bites into a red Twizzler as Eddie shakes his head, taking a hit.

“I’ve touched a few dicks,” he says, and Steve snorts, his eyes squinting as he giggles, chewing, holding the rest of the Twizzler in his hand. He’s so cute. “Sucked a grand total of two.”

“Was it nice?” Steve asks. Eddie shrugs, taking another drag.

“Was nice until they both insisted they’re not gay.”

“I’m assuming these were separate occasions,” Steve says, reaching for the joint.

“No, the three of us had a conference actually,” Eddie says sarcastically, and Steve rolls his eyes, taking a drag, and Eddie smiles, watching him. “Have you ever kissed a boy?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head, exhaling the smoke slowly.

“Kissed plenty of girls,” he says quietly. “But I assume they’re different.”

Eddie watches him take another drag, hesitating before he decides to just do it.

“Do you want to?”

Steve looks at him, his eyes flickering across his face as he exhales again, and then he nods. Eddie smiles, beckoning with a tilt of his head.

Steve puts the joint out in the ashtray that’s between them before he moves closer, sitting in front of Eddie, who sits up straight. Their knees touch when Steve crosses his legs, and they both pause, just looking at each other quietly.

“Okay?” Eddie whispers. Steve nods.

They pause again, and it’s awkward, and then they’re both giggling, quiet and muffled like they’re children at a sleepover, staying up past their bedtime.

And then they’re leaning in, and Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, and their smiling lips press together.

Steve is so soft.

All of him.

His hair, his face, his lips, his heart.

And he touches Eddie like he’s soft too, like he’s fragile. Steve touches his face, his fingers touching his cheeks before he’s holding them in his palms, tilting his head as his lips part. He tastes like artificial strawberries, and Eddie wants to kiss him until the taste fades.

Slowly, Eddie reaches out to him, finding his waist as Steve’s teeth catch his lower lip, and he pulls at him. Steve lifts onto his knees without pulling away, still kissing Eddie (kissing Eddie), and he holds Eddie’s jaw to tilt his head back, holding him in place. Eddie suppresses a shiver, his body tensing, when Steve’s tongue slips across his lower lip.

Steve pulls back, and Eddie tries to follow, exhaling as he lifts his chin. He opens his eyes blearily, looking up at him. His eyes are glassy, shining as he looks at Eddie, as he caresses his face, and a moment later, his lips spread into a slow smile. Eddie smiles weakly, hands holding Steve’s soft waist.

Steve leans back down and kisses him again, sliding a hand up into his hair to hold the back of his head, and Eddie exhales roughly, his hands tightening on Steve’s waist and pulling him closer. Steve pulls away to look down as he reaches down and pulls at Eddie’s leg so he straightens them out so Steve can crawl into his lap, straddling his hips. He’s heavy on Eddie’s legs, and Eddie lets out a soft groan, wrapping his arms around his waist as Steve kisses him again.

He lets Steve lick his mouth open, gathering the fabric of Steve’s shirt in his hands. He’s probably wrinkling it, but Steve doesn’t stop him. His breath is warm, and Eddie’s never felt so… peaceful. The room is nearly silent except for the soft, slick sounds of their lips and the breathy hums they can’t hold back, but Eddie doesn’t mind the quiet now. He pulls Steve closer, sliding a hand up his back and smiling when Steve shivers. And then Eddie shivers when Steve’s fingertips dance over his throat lightly. It tickles, but in a way that sends chills down his spine. Steve grins, biting Eddie’s lip again before he sucks on it gently.

Eddie hums, and Steve wraps his arms around his neck, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, and his lips curve into a smile against Eddie’s when Eddie presses a hand into the small of his back. Eddie moves slowly, carefully, gently, shifting so he’s kneeling and opening his eyes just enough to glance past Steve at the dresser as he turns slowly. Steve’s legs wrap around his hips as he leans over, lowering Steve onto his back.

Steve hums softly, holding Eddie’s neck as their tongues slide, and when Eddie lifts his head, they’re both breathless, panting into each other’s mouths, smiling and smiling and smiling.

“Do you still feel dirty?” Eddie whispers quietly. Steve’s hair is splayed around his head on the ground like a halo, and his face is relaxed, blissful, beautiful.

“No,” Steve breathes.

“How do you feel?” Eddie murmurs against his lips before he kisses him slowly. Steve’s fingers run through his hair as he kisses his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck, just under his ear, his lips pressing slowly, lingering. He reaches down and slips his fingers under the hem of Steve’s shirt, pressing into his skin. It’s so soft. And warm.

“...Beautiful.”

Eddie smiles. He slides his hand farther under the shirt, lifting his head to watch Steve’s expression just in case, but Steve just smiles and tilts his head back, baring his throat. Eddie kisses it.

They undress. Slowly, softly. Steve’s shirt goes first because Eddie can’t keep his hands off him, pressing under the fabric to press into his skin, and then after it’s tossed aside, Steve is tugging at Eddie’s sweatshirt wordlessly. Eddie sits up, kneeling between Steve’s legs as he tugs it over his head, Steve watches, his eyes glassy and flicking back and forth between Eddie’s face and his torso. He sits up a little, propping himself up on his elbow as he reaches for Eddie’s chest, brushing his fingertips over his tattoos. The spider and the zombie, the letters inked over his ribs that he did himself, late at night in his room with headphones on and a needle between his fingers. The words no one has ever seen before. Not even Wayne.

The letters are faded, the ink spotty and uneven, and probably a little crooked, slanted, wobbly like a child’s handwriting, reading THE URGE TO followed by two words, one atop the other.

CREATE DESTROY

Steve touches them tenderly, and he pushes Eddie so he leans back as he tilts his head and leans close enough to kiss the letters softly. Eddie smiles.

Steve’s hands are warm as they run over Eddie’s stomach, over his waist and chest, and Eddie feels beautiful, too, now. He’s never felt beautiful before.

He runs his own hands over Steve’s chest as they kiss again, tilting his head to lick into his mouth, sighing as Steve reaches up to push his hair back again. And Steve lowers back onto the floor again, his hands gentle as they pull Eddie down with him, and Eddie thinks he would go anywhere if Steve was the one pulling him along. Through the depths of hell. Off the edge of the earth.

He holds himself up on his elbow next to Steve’s head, and he can push his fingers through Steve’s hair without moving, so he does. It’s soft, and smooth, and Eddie loves it. Steve’s legs wrap around Eddie’s hips again, pulling him against himself, and then they’re both gasping and giggling into each other’s mouths, because they’re both hard, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do. He presses down against him again, and a soft, desperate noise escapes Steve’s throat as his hand tightens in Eddie’s hair.

Steve reaches for the drawstring of Eddie’s sweatpants. Eddie reaches for the button of his jeans.

They’re both breathing hard as they shed their pants, their faces close like they can’t stand to be apart, and Eddie presses his face into Steve’s neck as they toss them aside, followed quickly by their underwear, and Steve’s fingers press into his hair, holding the back of his head and Eddie gently pushes him back to the floor. And his whole body is so warm, covered in soft hair and moles that Eddie wants to trace. He wants to connect them all, with his fingertips, or with his tongue. Steve’s skin is tanner than Eddie’s, especially in the quiet glow of the lamps, and when Eddie glances down at their bodies pressed together, they look like silver and gold, and Eddie decides that are beautiful. Separately, and together.

Eddie holds his hand up, and Steve takes it wordlessly, turning his face away from Eddie’s to slide his tongue across his palm slowly, and then his head falls to the ground again as Eddie reaches down. He sounds so pretty as Eddie touches him, letting out soft moans and curses, whispering Eddie’s name like it’s all he knows. He kisses Eddie. Again, and again, and again.

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie, and he buries his face in his neck, and he’s kissing him, kissing him, kissing him, and Eddie is groaning and whining and crying. There’s going to be a mark (or a few) left behind, he already knows, and he already can’t wait to see it in the mirror tomorrow morning. Steve lets out a choked noise when he comes, his back arching, and Eddie keeps crying.

— — — — —

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, looking up at the ceiling, watching the smoke drift up and fade. Steve’s head is on his chest, and he sighs to blow the smoke out as they finish the joint they abandoned earlier.

Steve shifts to look up at him, lifting the joint to Eddie’s mouth for him, and Eddie smiles, parting his lips for it. Steve lets him take a long drag, and then he leans over him as he pulls the joint away, kissing his lips softly and opening his mouth for Eddie to blow the smoke out, into his lungs. Eddie opens his eyes when Steve pulls away, passing the joint to him as he exhales the smoke slowly.

Steve lays back down as Eddie smokes, his head resting on Eddie’s chest, hand raised to trace the spider that’s in front of his face, his fingertips light as he touches the legs of the spider, running down them slowly and carefully, like he’s worried about scaring it off. Eddie scratches at his scalp gently, combing his hair.

He can hear Steve’s heartbeat. Soft, and slow, and sleepy.

They got dressed after cleaning each other up quietly, pressing kisses to each other’s skin. Steve out on Eddie’s sweatshirt as Eddie was putting on his sweatpants, and Eddie just smiled, watching him shake his hair out of his face.

Their legs twist under the blankets, and Steve sighs again, sliding his hands over Eddie’s chest gently. Eddie knows without looking that his eyes are closed, and he shifts, tapping the joint out in the ashtray and then flicking off the lamp. The room goes dark except the sliver of moonlight coming through the small window across the room and the softly glowing end of the joint.

“I still feel beautiful,” Steve whispers as Eddie closes his eyes. Eddie moves down to wrap his arms around him, and he kisses his temple.

“Good.”

[robinskey]

Steve x Nancy’s Childhood Friend! Reader (pt 6)

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five

A/N: Even if you haven’t read the rest of the series, you can totally read this part! It could pretty much be its own stand-alone one-shot. The series just adds a little more context.

If you have been reading the series, (yay! hi again!), you’ll notice that the formatting is different than usual. I started doing this part in bulleted points, but I decided to go with a more traditional format since this part of the story focuses on one main scene. It’s also a HECKING LONG part (at least for this series-it’s about 3K words), so I’m going to put it under the cut for anyone who doesn’t want to scroll through the whole thing.

Warnings: Swearing

Half an hour later, you and Steve are sitting in a little red booth and squinting at menus in the dim lighting of the diner. Posters and framed pictures line the teal walls, along with colorful neon signs and license plates from just about every state. Elvis Presley croons from the jukebox in the corner of the room. His voice mixes with the sound of feet shuffling across the black-and-white tile as servers bustle between tables. The tantalizing smell of juicy hamburgers lingers in the air, mingling with the sweet, fruity scent of the freshly-baked pie.

Your stomach growls in protest. If the waitress takes much longer to get to the table, you’re going to start slobbering all over the menu.

“What’s good here?” you ask casually.

It’s more of an attempt to make conversation than an actual question. At this point, you don’t care what it is, as long as you get food in your mouth ASAP. Fortunately, Steve assures you that “everything’s good here. You can’t go wrong.”

“Okay,” you say, laying the menu down on the table. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

Steve lowers his menu and raises his eyebrows.

“Are you sure about that? I can eat a lot of food.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“So can I, asshole.”

That was probably a little harsh.

But if anyone can take it, it’s Steve Harrington.

“Fine, fine,” he sighs.

Over his shoulder, a busty waitress makes her way toward your table.

“But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, then proceeds to order half of the items on the entire menu. “And the same for the lady.”

The waitress peers over the top of her cat-eye glasses at the boy in front of her.

“Now, you’re not about to order all this food and then skip out on the bill, are you, Harrington?”

“Now, Janet, have I ever cheated you or this fine establishment?”

The woman’s tight corkscrew curls bounce as she shakes her head gently, the whisper of a smile on her lips.

“Not that I know of. But you’re full of surprises, Steve,” she says, then directs a wink at you.

You’re still staring after Janet when Steve’s voice tears you from your thoughts.

“Don’t mind Janet. She’s a little loony,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes.

“How do you know her, anyway?” you ask, swirling the straw around the glass of water Janet’s just delivered.

“Oh, I’ve been coming here for years. My parents used to take me here after Little League games for a celebratory milkshake when my team won. That stopped around the age of ten, when I finally admitted to my dad that I didn’t actually like baseball, and my mom convinced him to let me quit,” he says, laughing despite himself. “My parents quit coming, but I eat here at least once a week.”

“Yeah?” You’re still staring into the glass as you add, “I guess you bring all the girls here, then, huh?”

“I don’t, actually. I brought Tommy H. and Carol here once, and all they did was complain about the jukebox because they’re assholes with no taste in music,” he says, and his matter-of-fact tone makes you laugh.

“I thought they were your friends?” you ask. You knew he hadn’t been hanging around them much lately, but you figured they still partied together, at the very least.

“Nah. Not anymore. To be perfectly honest with you, I shouldn’t have ever been friends with them,” he says. His tumultuous chocolate eyes meet yours for a microsecond before his gaze flickers to his own drink. “The only person worse than Tommy H. and Carol is ‘King Steve’ Harrington.”

“Was,” you correct him. He looks back up at you for clarification. “‘King Steve’ was the worst. But just because you were a piece of shit in high school doesn’t mean you have to be for the rest of your life. You can change as a person, evolve as a human being-in fact, I think you already have.”

Steve stares at you for several moments longer. His lips finally part, as if he’s about to speak, and-

“Hot stuff coming through!”

The steel kitchen doors swing shut behind Janet, who pushes a metal cart stacked with plates of steaming fried foods across the tile floor. To your surprise, she stops at your booth and unloads the contents of the entire cart onto your table. By the time she’s done, plates cover every square inch of the surface.

“Hope you’re hungry, sweets,” Janet says, throwing another wink your way before disappearing back into the kitchen.

You’re so overwhelmed by the mountain of food in front of you that you completely forget about the conversation you and Steve were just having. Thus, when you notice him still watching you,

you figure it’s because he’s smugly waiting for you to admit that you’ve made a mistake-that there’s no way in hell you can consume even half of this feast.

But you, being the ultra-competitive, incredibly stubborn person you are, refuse to accept defeat without putting up a fight.

“I bet I can eat more of this than you can.”

Steve simply blinks in disbelief.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can. I’ll prove it to you,” you say, picking up a fry and popping it into your mouth. “We can make a little competition out of it. And whoever loses has to pay for everything.”

You reach for another fry, but Steve swats your hand away.

“Stop it. You’re getting a head-start.”

“Oh, a two-fry head-start. Consider me the world’s biggest cheater,” you say, waving your hands in the air mockingly.

Steve uses this opportunity to grab a fistful of fries and shove them into his mouth.

“Hey! That’s not fair, jerk!”

“Fight me,” he says, the words muffled by the food.

You kick him under the table hard enough to give him a dead leg.

“Ow!” he yells, just loud enough to make an older couple at the next table shush you both. Steve glares at you.

“What? I thought we were playing street rules.”

“When have you played this game on the street, Y/N?”

“Shut up.”

It takes a whopping twenty-three minutes for the two of you to polish off the buffet of food. And by the two of you, I mean Steve. You tap out about ten minutes in, after devouring your third plate of greasy goodness. As much as you don’t want to foot the bill for this meal, you definitely don’t want to vomit all over the floor of Steve Harrington’s BMW.

Janet’s not nearly as impressed by Steve’s food feat as one would expect her to be when she returns to check on you. Apparently, this isn’t even the most Steve’s eaten in one sitting. Clearly, you were doomed from the start.

Janet even has the audacity to ask if either of you would like dessert.

You answer with a resounding “no.”

But Steve practically yells, “Hell yes!”

“Mr. Harrington! Language!” Janet says, tsking with her tongue. “What would your mother say?”

“Oh god. Please don’t tell her. She’s already on my ass about college-damn it, sorry! Wait, sorry again, sh-shoot.”

Janet laughs at her flustered customer.

“You want your usual?”

“Of course-”

“Now, wait a second,” you interrupt. “I’m cutting you off, Harrington. Unlike your stomach, my wallet isn’t a bottomless pit.”

A denim-clad knee bumps against yours under the table.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I got this.”

“But the bet-”

“-that I never even agreed to?” he says with a disarming smile that makes it impossible to argue.

“I’m lost. Am I getting you ice-cream or not, baby?” Janet asks.

“Yes, please, Janet. And the bill, whenever you get the chance, so I don’t have to bother you again. I know you’re swamped.”

Janet nods, still half-confused, and wanders into the kitchen.

You glance around the diner. Aside from a group of college students gathered around a corner booth and a couple sharing a banana split at a nearby table, the place is completely vacant.

“Swamped?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at Steve.

“Well, not exactly. But Janet...she takes her time. She’s one of those waitresses who will promise to ‘be right back with the bill’ and then disappear for an hour,” he explains. “I figured you probably have some sort of curfew, so it would be best to avoid that.”

“That was really considerate of you,” you say, and the shock in your tone is probably evident, but Steve doesn’t comment on it. “And speaking of considerate, thank you for paying for dinner. We could have split it or something.”

“Don’t worry about it. I ate most of the food, anyway,” he says. He pauses, then adds, “Besides, it’s a small price to pay to spend an evening with a pretty girl.” 

Thank goodness for the dimness of the lights hanging overhead, because your cheeks are as red as the scarlet booth you’re sitting on. At this point, you’re pretty sure he’s flirting with you. Then again, flirting is Steve Harrington’s main mode of communication, so it probably means nothing. 

You remind yourself of this enough times to finally get your blushing under control-until Janet returns with a tall strawberry milkshake with two bright red straws sticking out the top.

She drops it off at the table and tells you two “lovebirds” to enjoy. Steve’s too interested in the milkshake to notice your coyness. It isn’t until he’s drained a third of the glass that he realizes you haven’t had any.

“Aren’t you going to taste it, Y/N? I ordered the larger size for us to share.” 

“I didn’t want dessert, remember? That’s your milkshake.”

“There’s two straws for a reason.”

“Yeah,” you say, flicking yours toward him. “Use both, and maybe you can give yourself a brain freeze even faster.”

“Come on, Y/N. This is the best shake in town,” Steve pouts.

You swear the strawberry milkshake is turning his lips more pink.

“Fine,” you huff, leaning forward and taking a sip.

A stream of sugary yet slightly tart ice cream flows into your mouth. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted. You’re so distracted by the deliciousness that you  don’t notice Steve bending down for a sip until his lips are curled around his straw, inches from yours. You jolt back so fast that you choke on milkshake. Steve watches with wide eyes as you cough violently into the fold of your arm for a few seconds. Finally, you get your cough attack under control, and Steve asks if you’re okay.

“Yeah,” you say, voice raspy, “it’s just-mm. Too...too sweet for me.”

“Really?” Steve asks, tilting his head slightly in confusion. Then he shrugs and says, “More for me, I guess.”

You watch with secret jealousy as Steve finishes off the glass.

You offer to leave the tip, but Steve insists on covering it.

“My dad would kill me if he knew I let a girl pay for anything.”

“Well, your dad’s not here. And besides, isn’t that a rule for, like, dates or whatever?”

“Not necessarily. It’s just a rule of chivalry.”

He lays a few extra dollars down on the table and gestures for you to lead the way out.

“Steve Harrington: Master of Chivalry,” you tease, elbowing him as you walk past.

On the drive home, Steve cranks the music up and the windows down. The two of you sing along to just about every song. When he doesn’t know the words, Steve makes up ridiculous lyrics that clash terribly with the melody.

You cackle with laughter almost the entire ride home. And when he pulls in your driveway, there’s a part of you that wants to stay in the car forever. You unbuckle your seatbelt, dial down the radio volume, and rotate in your seat to face Steve.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me, too,” he says, beaming so bright that it seems to glow in the dark. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, we should.”

There’s a pregnant pause, interrupted only by crickets chirping in your yard and an owl hooting somewhere down the street. You look out the car window. Outside, stars are sprinkled across a velvet sky like sparkling confetti, but none shine as brightly as Steve’s eyes as he looks at you

Finally, Steve shatters the silence with a simple offer that comes out as more of a request:

“Can I walk you to your door?”

You can’t stop the giggle from escaping your lips.

“My porch is literally right there, Steve. Nobody’s going to jump out and murder me on my ten-foot trek to the front door.”

“You can never be too safe, Y/N,” he says with the most serious expression he can muster.

“Fine, dork. Walk me to my door,” you laugh.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t force your stomach to digest the butterflies currently swarming around in it.

After approximately eight steps, you’re on your porch, and that nagging feeling of I don’t want to leave you returns. Unfortunately, you know you can’t stay on your front porch forever, so you tell Steve “goodnight” and start to twist the doorknob

“Wait!”

“Yes?” you ask, hand still on the knob.

“Could we talk for a minute?”

“Yeah, of course,” you say. You gesture toward the porch swing.

As soon as the two of you are seated, Steve finds the planks of your porch fascinating. His eyes scan them as if there are letters carved into the wood. He speaks slowly, as though he’s reading those words.

“Do you...do you remember what you said earlier? About...the whole ‘King Steve’ thing?”

You rack your brain for a moment. You eventually recall the conversation at the diner that Janet’s appearance had cut short.

“I don’t remember my words verbatim,” you say, “but yes, I remember the gist of it.”

“You said that just because I was a piece of shit in high school doesn’t mean I have to be one for the rest of my life. You said I can grow and change as a person-that you think I already have changed,” he says. 

“I did,” you say, scooting slightly closer to Steve, “and I stand behind everything I said-except for that last little bit. I don’t think you’ve changed. I know you have.”

Finally, he turns to look at you. His eyes shine with years of regret.

“You really believe that?”

And suddenly, it’s not King Steve sitting on the porch swing on your house. It’s not the idiot who broke your best friend’s heart. It’s not Steve “the Hair” Harrington, whose mane is almost as high and mighty as his attitude.

It’s just Steve-a broken boy yearning to be better.

And that’s when you wrap your arms around his neck for the second time today. This time, you’re much more gentle. Steve only freezes for a millisecond before his arms twine around your waist. It’s been so long since someone’s held him like this, and Steve’s starved for physical contact, so he pulls your body flush against his. He buries his face into your neck as a single drop of water soaks through the sleeve of your shirt. One of your hands gravitates toward his hair; you comb your fingers through his soft curls soothingly.

You stay like that for several minutes, embracing the boy you could have sworn you hated two days ago. 

When the tears stop falling, Steve raises his head. His damp face shines in the moonlight. Before he can pull away, embarrassed by this show of emotion, you reach up and lay a palm on his cheek. You tenderly dry his face with the sleeve of your sweater, then press a kiss to his forehead. His eyelids flutter shut, and you can’t resist making your junior high fantasy come true by pressing another kiss to his mouth. Steve’s lips are as velvety as you imagined and even sweeter than you could have dreamed, thanks to the strawberry milkshake residue left behind.

Steve’s eyelids peel back as soon as you pull away. His eyes flicker between yours, focusing on one and then the other. Clearly, he’s panicking. He didn’t want to kiss you. And now-

Steve’s lips crash onto yours like a tidal wave. He tightens his hold on your waist, and you tangle both your hands in his hair. You both break away at the same time, breathless. Steve leans his forehead against yours. The two of you admire the stillness of the night.

“Bark! Bark! Bark!”

“I’m coming, Rufus. Mama’s going to let you out to potty.”

Steve leaps out of your embrace, nearly falling off the porch swing, as a light flickers on in your kitchen.The luminescence spills out of the window and onto the porch, darkened only by the silhouette of a woman in curlers.

“That’s my mom,” you hiss at Steve. “You gotta go.”

Steve pecks the top of your head, then sprints to his car. He peels out of the driveway and takes off down the road as your mother swings open the front door. The family dog trots out and onto the lawn to do his business. Mom squints at you, and you offer a tiny wave.

“Y/N? Is that you? I didn’t realize you were home.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I haven’t been here long. I was just-looking for constellations,” you say, pointing to what you think might be the Big Dipper.

Your mother narrows her eyes at the sky. But considering she can barely recognize her own daughter’s face a few feet away, you know the bodies of gas in the sky, light-years away, are all a blur to her naked eye. 

“Did you have a good time tonight?” she asks.

“I did,” you answer, standing and brushing off your jeans. “I really did.”

“Good,” she says, then grimaces. “It wasn’t your boyfriend who made that god-awful screeching tire noise a few minutes ago, was it?”

Her question’s annoying, sure, but you can’t keep the smile off your face as you say, “No, it wasn’t.” 

Technically, it was his car. 

“And he’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

Not yet, anyway.

A/N 2: So that’s that! I think this is a pretty good stopping place for the series, but if you guys want more parts to it, I could probably do a few more. I love you all. Thanks for reading. :)

Taglist: @novaddictx  @irreplaceable-ecstasy @swiftxdreams @ahoycapnsteve @write-from-the-heart @yllwtaxi @httpakasha @asheseiler @broadwayandnetflix @readinthegarden12 @yessii-i 

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