Hideout

hideout

also on AO3 based on this post i made even tho i said i wasn't gonna write the actual fic (i lied) There’s a new singer at the Hideout. Eddie falls hard, watching from where he’s sitting on the bar across the room, his beer almost slipping from his fingers. The singer’s voice is smooth and soft, and it makes the rest of the world go silent and Eddie’s head go cloudy.

The only problem is that Eddie recognises him from physics.

Eddie didn’t recognise him at first. He’d been taking a sip from his beer when he was announced, introduced as Anonymous, and then the boy appeared on stage, guitar in hand, tossing the chords out of the way so he didn’t trip on them. Eddie had lowered his bottle, his eyes narrowing, but he was too far away, and the lighting hadn’t adjusted on stage, and the boy’s face was lowered.

The boy stopped in front of the microphone. Slid his fingers down the neck of the guitar, making the strings squeak. Took a breath that Eddie could hear over the speakers placed around the bar, even though it’s noisy with chatter and laughter and the sound of glasses on wood tables.

And then he started playing. It was a soft, slow melody, much much different that what Eddie plays. Perfect for the beginning of the night. Eddie had tilted his head, listening intently, setting a foot on a stool by the bar, almost leaning over to listen harder. The room fell a little quieter, and then it fell even quieter when he started singing.

His voice was soft.

Smooth and low and almost soothing, and just as Eddie realised who he was listening to, the lights on stage flicked on.

And now Eddie is sitting on a bar, staring at fucking Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, who’s playing guitar and singing into a microphone in front of a room full of people who have no idea who he is.

Eddie sets his bottle down next to himself, setting and elbow on his knee and and tilting his head as he listens.

He doesn’t know what Steve is singing about.

Something about “flower-faced demons and father figures.” Something about the monsters under his bed, and a baseball bat. Something about kids with decades in their eyes and blood on their sneakers. Something about hiding away in his closet when the booze comes out, about his back hitting glass bottles taken with nimble fingers and desperate hopes.

Eddie almost wants to cry. He doesn’t know why.

If they could see me now would they still care about those cigarettes

Eddie leans back onto the counter, finding his beer and taking a little sip as he watches. Steve’s hair is perfect, of course. He isn’t wearing one of those cute polo shirts like he always wears at school. (Eddie chastises himself for thinking they’re cute. There’s nothing cute about them. Even if they make Steve look like a preppy school boy that should be giving out church pamphlets or something, and even if that makes Eddie want to see him on his knees. He pushes the thought away with a little shake of his head.) He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt, and a pair of pants that reach to just above his chucks.

My head hurts and the sun is too loud, but I’m scared of the dark and the storm clouds

Steve can’t see him from the stage. Even if he could, he spends almost the whole time with his eyes half-shut, looking at the edge of the stage or at his feet. Like he’s shy. Which feels out of character for King Steve, though Eddie supposes he’s never been quite as obnoxious as Tommy H. Or as obnoxious as Eddie himself.

When he finishes singing, there’s scattered applause around the room, and Eddie sets his bottle down to clap, smiling when there’s a little hoot from behind him and Steve smiles bashfully.

“Thanks,” he says quietly into microphone, and Eddie wants to cry again. He doesn’t know why.

Corroded Coffin performs later that night. Eddie sits on the bar all night, waiting to see if Steve comes by to get a drink, but no dice. He doesn’t even know what he’d say if he saw him, if they made eye contact and if, by some small mercy from God, Steve recognised him.

Eddie tosses the chord of his guitar aside, blinking in the intense light that shines on him and his band mates, looking around the bar as some people crowd up around the edge of the stage.

“Good evening, Hideout,” their singer says loudly into the microphone as he tunes his guitar. “How we doin’?”

Eddie grins as cheers fill the bar.

“Eddie, say hi.”

His grin widens, and he steps up to his microphone.

“Do I have to do this every time?” he asks through his smile, and a few laughs scatter around the room.

“Yes, you’re the heartthrob.”

Eddie shakes his head, strumming a chord as the drummer hits two beats in a row. The lights flash.

“Hi,” he says softly into the microphone. A girl screams in the back of the room, and he throws his head back with a laugh.

He spots Steve when they’re on their second song, as he almost yelling into his microphone, and he falters slightly, but manages to catch himself and continue. He can’t tell if their eyes have met or not. They’re too far away and the bar is too dark, the light flashing too much for Eddie to really see him clearly. But it’s definitely Steve. Sitting in the same place Eddie had sat earlier.

He looks away when the song ends, rubbing his cheek and turn away to take a breath. No one can really tell in the dark.

“Our next song is called Class.”

Eddie almost laughs out loud, turning back to face the mic, spotting Steve by the bar again, sipping a beer. The song starts abruptly after a soft two, three, four, and Eddie plays with a grin throughout it all. It’s one of his favourite songs of theirs, and the thought of rich boy Steve Harrington listening to them, and a bunch of people around the stage, belt about how much they hate rich people, amuses Eddie to no end.

You don’t know how good you got it, cash and checks in your silk-lined pockets

Steve is watching, an elbow set on the bar, his chin in his hand. Eddie is out of breath, sweating and panting, and his fingertips hurt like they might be bleeding, but Steve is watching him.

Pay your bail off for the same shit I do, but of course it’s not the same

Eddie takes a deep breath before he speaks into the microphone as the music cuts off, switching to sharp, monotonous beat. His voice is low and scratchy and soft, right up against the mic, his eyes lowered to the edge of the stage.

“Coke is classy on a silver tray instead of the dashboard of a broken down car. Day drinking if it’s a champagne glass instead of a paper bag, celebration instead of self pity. You pay thousands for art in gold frames, but hate the art on the streets. You claim to work for everything you earn, even though your rough start was in the family business. Must be nice to not worry about it all. Must be nice to have a table to put food on. You stare in the streets because I’m not a cookie-cutter man from a cookie-cutter house. Look at those jeans, bet he smells like a trailer park. He has long hair, he must be a fag. He has art on his skin, he must be the antichrist. Don’t look, kids, don’t look! He’s fucking trailer trash!”

His voice escalates through it all, and he shouts the last words before they begin to play again, music crashing down in the bar like a tidal wave, loud and nearly discordant.

Eddie is smiling.

Steve’s eyes meet his a while later, while Eddie is sitting on the edge of the stage talking to a boy with spikey hair and heavy makeup. Eddie’s voice gets caught in his throat as he looks over at him.

He’s pulling the strap of his guitar of his head, and he seems to falter too, but he looks away sharply and goes outside.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking back at the guy sharply. “Sorry, I’m here.”

He laughs lightly. His black lipstick is faded on his inner lips, probably left behind on rims of glasses.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says again, shaking his head with a smile. “Tired, y’know.”

He laughs again, giving him a sympathetic smile, but Eddie interrupts before he can say anything.

“Sorry, I’m—“ He hips down from the stage. “I need, uhm. Some air.”

He leaves before he can say anything else, only feeling partially guilty about leaving the boy hanging, but Steve is already gone by the time he gets outside.

Steve definitely recognized him. It kind of makes Eddie happy. Kind of makes him excited, even though he absolutely hates that it does; Steve Harrington is just a preppy rich boy that doesn’t give even half a shit about anyone like Eddie.

There was that one time he’d told Tommy H to cut it out, man when he tripped someone in the cafeteria that one time. Not that it really meant anything.

Eddie spends the whole weekend worrying.

—————————

Their eyes meet in the hallway on Monday. He’s by his locker talking with Nancy Wheeler, and he looks at Eddie as Eddie passes by.

Eddie looks away.

He doesn’t see him again until physics, second to last period. He’s sitting at his desk staring at the worksheet blankly, watching letters and numbers and symbols swim around the paper, when something drops onto the page in front of him, and he blinks. It’s a folded piece of paper, and he cuts his eyes up without moving to find Steve walking to the teacher’s desk. He says something to the teacher and then turns to the door, glancing back at Eddie.

Eddie looks back at the paper, tentatively unfolding it to find Steve’s pretty girly handwriting.

Bathroom. 5 min

His face flushes with heat, and he covers it with a hand, pulling his hair across his face and folding the note again before he tucks it into his pocket.

He waits a few minutes, glancing at the clock, and then goes to the teacher.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

The teacher looks up over his glasses at him. Eddie holds back a deep sigh at the judgement shining in his eyes.

“Did you finish the worksheet?”

“I… No?”

“You can go when you finish it.”

“But.” He pauses. “My bladder doesn’t care about your worksheet. I need to pee.”

“Edward—“

“I’ve been drinking a lot of water lately—“

“Alright, go,” he interrupts, frustratedly. “Whatever.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says curtly.

Steve is leaning against the wall in the bathroom when Eddie gets there. They look at each other silently as Eddie shuts the door behind himself, taking a deep breath and moving to stand across the room, leaning against the graffitied tile and twisting one of his rings.

He looks at Steve. Steve looks at him.

He’s wearing a white shirt. It’s tucked into his jeans with a little belt, and his hair looks perfect even though he’s running his hands through it.

“Hey,” Steve says finally.

Eddie almost flinches, expecting a jeer at his ripped pants and frizzy hair, but Steve isn’t looking at him the way the others do. He face almost looks soft.

“Hi,” Eddie says quietly. He pulls a ring off and twirls it between his fingers. Steve takes a breath to speak, but Eddie blurts, “I haven’t told anyone.”

Steve blinks, and then nods.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Cool, I— I haven’t… either.”

Eddie nods, taking a breath that shakes against his will. He looks at the floor awkwardly, but Steve keeps looking at me. Eddie doesn’t often feel self-conscious, or insecure, or anything like that. He doesn’t care if people stare at him. But right now…

He wants to hide.

Steve is hot, he decides. He hasn’t allowed himself to think it until now, but he glances up at him, looking at the way he leans against the wall leisurely, the way strands of his hair fall in his face. He’s hot. It’s irrelevant. It doesn’t matter.

So what if he’s looking at Eddie like he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s a freak? Or if he plays guitar and has one of the prettiest voices Eddie’s ever heard? Or if his eyes sparkle and he has cute moles scattered all over his skin?

Eddie wants to slap himself.

“You’re really good,” Steve says abruptly, and Eddie looks up at him, slipping his ring back on.

“Yeah?” Steve nods. “You into metal, Harrington? Wouldn’t have guessed.”

Steve scoffs lightly.

“Not particularly.” He shifts on wall. “But I still liked it. You’re talented.”

“Jesus.” Eddie looks at him blankly. “You’re laying it on thick. I already said I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

“I’m not—“ Steve’s cheeks redden. “I’m not trying to butter you up, I just… It was cool.”

“I’m messing with you.”

“Oh.” Steve nods, looking away, suppressing a smile. “Of course you are.”

“You were really good too,” Eddie says after hesitating. “Like… weirdly good.”

“Weirdly good?” Steve says with a light laugh. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It was unexpected,” Eddie says with a shrug, moving his hands to play with the ends of his hair. “Didn’t recognise you at first. But you seemed… I don’t know, like, in your element.”

“I really like music,” Steve says softly.

“And your lyrics?” Eddie does a chef’s kiss. Steve laughs again, rubbing his cheek. “Genius.”

Steve rolls his eyes, his cheeks pink.

“I mean—“ Eddie ignores it. “‘Flower-faced demons?’ Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Uhm.” Steve’s smile falters and he looks away for a second. Something flashes in his eyes that Eddie can’t quite read. “I, uhm. I have recurring nightmares.”

“Oh.” Eddie stares back at him for a moment. “Well that fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a laugh. “It does.”

“Whats your favourite song?” Eddie asks, twisting his hair. Steve’s eyes follows the movement.

“Uhm.” He takes a breath. “I guess. Boys Don’t Cry. The Cure.”

Eddie nods slowly, twisting his hair around his finger.

“Yeah? Do I pass?”

A little laugh bursts out of Eddie.

“I’m not testing you, man, you can like whatever you like. The Cure’s nice.”

“What do you like?”

“Uhm.” Eddie sighs, pushing his hands into his pocket and flicking his head to get his hair out of his face. “Metallica. Mötley Crüe. Ozzy, for sure.”

“Ozzy?”

Eddie looks up at him. He’s looking at him curiously.

“Ozzy Osbourne?” Eddie says. Steve shrugs. “He’s the, uh, lead singer of Black Sabbath. Bit a bat’s head off on stage a few years ago. Real metal.”

“He fucking what?”

Eddie cackles, looking at the way Steve’s face changes, his brows furrowing, his eyes wide. Eddie nods, and Steve laughs, looking at Eddie the way people do when they make fun of him, but he’s still smiling.

“That’s what you’re into?” Steve says.

“Well—“ Eddie laughs again. “Yeah. And the music.”

“The music,” Steve repeats with a teasing nod. “Right.”

Eddie makes a face at him.

It feels like they’re flirting. Eddie supposes he’s flirting with him, the way he does to the popular girls so they think he’s loveable freaky instead of insane stalker murder rampage freaky. And so they tell their boyfriends to leave him alone.

He can’t tell if Steve can tell that he flirting. Or if Steve is flirting back.

“You should show me sometime,” Steve says softly.

And oh.

Eddie stares. Looks back and forth between Steve’s eyes like he’s trying to see if he’s fucking with him or not. But Steve looks earnest. And nervous.

“Okay,” Eddie says. His voice is also soft. He might be mirroring Steve. “You should, uhm. Come over.”

Steve looks at the floor. And he smiles.

“Yeah, okay.”

Eddie stares at him, twisting his mouth.

“You’re not messing with me, right?” he asks. Steve’s eyes cut up to him. “You’re not gonna like… I don’t know.”

Steve stares back at him for a moment. And he shakes his head.

“No,” he breathes. Eddie can just hear him across the room. “I’m not fucking with you. I think you’re cool, Eddie.”

Eddie guffaws, and Steve looks offended.

“What, I can’t think you’re cool?”

“No!” Eddie exclaims, laughing. “No one thinks I’m cool, that’s— that’s my whole thing!”

“Okay, well…” Steve laughs lightly, tucking his hands behind his back against the wall. “I’m different. You’re cool.”

“Oh, you’re special?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie looks at him.

He is.

“Fine,” he cedes, and Steve grins. He has a beautiful smile. Eddie has to look away. “You wanna come over tonight?” he asks before his brain catches up. His cheeks flush with heat. “I mean— Unless you have, like, homework, or your parents need you home, I…”

“My parents aren’t even in the country,” Steve says. “And I can do my homework when I get home or something.” Eddie stares. “Yes. I’d like to come over. You can show me your music. We can light up a joint or something.”

“Oh, I see,” Eddie says, nodding. “You’re in it for the weed.”

“…I mean it definitely helps.”

“Wow.”

Eddie frantically cleans up as soon as he gets home. He doesn’t think he’s ever cleaned like this before, organising his and Wayne’s shoes at the front door, gathering dirty dishes and stacking them in the sink, wiping counters and sorting the cushions of the sofa. He’s almost out of breath after a while, standing at the door and scanning the trailer for anything out of place. It’s still cluttered and probably nothing at all like Steve’s home, but there isn’t really anything else he can do.

So he goes to his room and finds some weed, taking it to the living room and anxiously rolling a joint as he waits for Steve. Part of him thinks he won’t show up. That he really was just fucking with Eddie. That tomorrow he’ll avoid his eyes and pretend they’ve never spoken.

He’s in the middle of rolling the third joint when he hears a car pull up in front of the house, and he freezes, staring at the door, wide-eyed. He stays like that until there’s a knock on the door, and he scrambles off the sofa, dropping the unfinished joint to the coffee table.

Steve’s eye are wide when Eddie opens the door.

“Was worried I had the wrong place,” he says, exhaling, and Eddie laughs lightly, pushing the door open for him to come in.

“Welcome to casa a la Munson,” Eddie says as he comes in, shutting the door. Steve looks around the trailer, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his face light and curious. His eyes trail across Wayne’s mug and hat collection, across the sofa and table and television, the kitchen and table. “It’s not a lot, but…”

“I like it,” Steve says simply. “It’s…”

“It’s?” Eddie questions, leaning against the small table by the doorway. Wayne hates when he does. Tables are for glasses, not asses and all that.

“I don’t know,” Steve says softly, almost bashful. He’s still looking around. “It looks like people actually live here. My house looks… like a photo set for a catalogue.”

Eddie laughs, crossing his arms, watching Steve wander around, looking at everything.

“Is it all pristine and white?”

“Unless I throw a kegger, yeah.”

Eddie laughs again. He hates himself for it, how much Steve gets him to laugh.

He watches Steve look closely at every one of Wayne’s trucker hats, watches him laugh at the stupid ones, and Eddie furrows his brows in judgement.

“These are your uncle’s?” Steve says, pointing up to them, and Eddie nods. “Your uncle’s funny.”

“I think your brain is broken.”

Steve hesitates, then shrugs.

“Only a little.”

Eddie laughs again. (Fuck.) He shakes his head.

“Music?“

“Yeah, lead the way.”

“Apologies for the state of my room,” Eddie says as Steve follows him down the hall after he grabs the joints from the table, even though he knows he cleaned it up in a rush before Steve arrived.

“I don’t judge.”

Eddie almost scoffs.

“Oh, woah,” Steve exclaims when he enter his room, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie. He turns to ask if he’s judging him, but Steve is looking around the room, his eyes shining brightly. He’s staring open-mouthed, gazing around the room like he’s entered a portal to another world. Maybe he has.

“Woah? Good woah?”

“I— Yeah.” Steve looks around again. He’s smiling. “Yeah, it’s cool. My mom would shit a brick if I tried something like this.”

Eddie looks around his own room. At the posters and tapestries and the white sheet he spray painted CORRODED COFFIN onto that’s pinned in the corner. It looks like a disaster, but Steve is looking around like he’s in the Louvre.

“What does your room look like?” Eddie asks, shutting the door and kicking his shoes off to sit on his bed.

“Uh. Well.” Steve sits on the edge of his bed, still gazing at the walls. He looks awfully, perfectly out of place. “My walls are plaid.”

“Your walls are fucking what??”

Steve laughs loudly. He has a great laugh.

“Plaid,” he repeats, still laughing. He kicks his shoes off too, turning to face Eddie and crossing his legs. “My mom picked the wallpaper when I was, like, thirteen.”

“Jesus.” Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve never felt pity for a rich person, but—“

Steve laughs again.

“You should be rebellious, Harrington. Get an ABBA poster or something.”

Steve shrugs.

“I might. You gonna show me some music, or what?”

“Uh-huh. But first, what you really came here for.”

Eddie tosses a joint to Steve, who catches it against his chest with a grin. Eddie has to lean over to rummage through the drawer of his bedside table, pushing past the half-empty bottle of lube and hoping his cheeks don’t flush, until he finds a lighter. He turns back to look at Steve, popping another joint between his lips, to find him leaning over his lap, an elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm, his joint already dangling form his lips.

Eddie has to take a breath, looking, before he flips the lighter in his hand and leans in. Steve mirrors him, leaning in until the joints are almost touching, and he flicks the lighter a few times before it lights. They both pause for a moment before Eddie leans away, his cheeks flushed red as he inhales the smoke deeply.

Steve sits on the bed and continues to look around while Eddie looks through his records.

He picks a Metallica record, carefully lowering the volume before the music starts.

“Are you gonna hate me if I don’t like it?” Steve asks as Eddie crawls back onto the bed. He looks hot when he smokes. Which Eddie should have seen coming, really, but the way he sucks air between his teeth before he exhales the smoke slowly is doing things to Eddie.

“Nah,” Eddie says easily. “‘S not for everyone.”

“But it’s for you.” Eddie nods, taking a drag off his joint, watching Steve’s chest rise under his t-shirt. “Why?”

Eddie pauses, exhaling, listening to the heavy music for a moment.

“I dunno,” he says lightly. He’s never thought about it before. The music’s always just made sense to him. Always fitted. “Makes my brain go quiet, I guess.”

“Could you sleep with it on?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Steve snickers, taking another drag.

“Can you play this one on guitar?” he asks after a moment. Eddie nods.

“We’ve covered this at the Hideaway before,” he says. He sticks the joint in his mouth, lifting his hands and playing an air guitar, humming along as Steve watches his hands.

“I like how you dance,” Steve says softly, and Eddie grins around the joint.

“Headbanging?” Eddie says, and Steve nods with a grin. Eddie does it harder, listening to the way Steve laughs lightly.

“You have great hair for headbanging,” Eddie comments.

“You think?”

“Mmhmm.”

He gets to see Steve headbang. Steve Harrington. With his lovely hair flying around his head without a care, laughing as Eddie cheers loudly, a joint between his fingers and Eddie’s favourite blanket under him.

“Steve Harrington, I’ll make a metalhead of you yet.”

Steve just laughs again.

—————————

He decides to be brave on Wednesday. He slips a note into Steve’s locker as he’s passing it in the hall. Just a short note, reading having lunch in my van if you want to join signed with a small E.

Even though he knows that it’s unlikely anyone saw him, and even though it’s fine if Steve doesn’t join him, and it’s fine if he does, Eddie feels sick and spends the next ten minutes standing with his face to the wall in a bathroom stall with his eyes closed, trying to take deep breaths.

And then a few hours later he’s sitting in the back of his van, the doors open so he can sit in the sun, and then Steve Harrington is joining him, silently climbing up so sit next to him and pulling a sandwich out of his bag.

“You’ve got shit handwriting,” he says after a minute, and Eddie almost chokes on his water, snorting and covering his face as Steve laughs.

“Sorry my handwriting isn’t pretty like yours,” he says defensively, coughing lightly.

“Oh, my handwriting is pretty?”

“A lot about you’s pretty,” Eddie says before he can actually think, and Steve looks at him. His face flushes and he avoids Steve’s eyes.

“I think you’re pretty too,” Steve says after a moment.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Steve laughs again.

“Do you wanna come over this week?” Steve asks as Eddie is kicking his feet. “Like on Friday?”

Eddie looks at him.

“Your parents won’t mind?”

“My parents probably won’t ever find out.”

Eddie blinks.

“Oh, you said they’re travelling, right?”

“Yeah.” He takes a bite from his sandwich.

“Where are they?” Eddie asks, shifting to lean again the wall, facing Steve.

“Somewhere in Canada.” Steve brings a leg up in front of himself, swinging his other leg. “Dad has a conference or something, and after the last time he went to Canada, Mom didn’t trust him to go alone.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and Steve snickers, nodding.

“Although,” he continues, “I’m pretty sure she’s hooking up with his boss. But also I don’t really care.”

“Jesus. How long are they gonna be gone?”

“Two more weeks.”

“You miss them?”

Steve scoffs, giving Eddie a look like the question is absurd.

“No,” he says when Eddie just looks at him. “I don’t miss them.”

“Do they suck?”

Steve laughs softly, moving to sit across from Eddie.

“Yeah, kinda.” He hesitates, looking at the ground between them. “I don’t think they like me very much,” he says thoughtfully. “But I don’t really like them either, so. Oh well.”

“Why wouldn’t they like you?”

Steve hesitates again, nibbling his sandwich. He really is cute.

“I don’t think they actually meant to have me,” he says after a moment. “They’d stick me with random nannies and babysitters until they could leave me home alone, and then… Well, they saved money, I guess.” He shrugs. “They don’t really talk to me anymore. And when they do, it’s…” He trails off, and it looks like he’s zoning out, breathing shallowly. “My dad yells a lot,” he says softly.

“Sounds like a dick.”

Steve just nods.

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I’m actually… I don’t know, like. Scared I’m gonna end up like him.” He takes a breath, blinking, and he looks up at Eddie.

“You’re not,” Eddie tells him. Steve just looks.

“It’s how everyone knows me,” he says. “Even though I hate it. Steve fucking Harrington.”

Eddie’s chest clenches.

“And I’m…” Steve looks away again. “I don’t know. If I’m not Steve Harrington, who the fuck am I?”

It’s not really a question. Eddie answers anyway.

“Your own Steve Harrington,” he says. “Not your dad’s. Or fucking Tommy H’s, or anyone else’s. Just… You’re Steve.”

Steve is almost smiling.

Eddie was to hug him. His eyes are shining almost vulnerably, and he looks tiny, sitting up and against the wall of Eddie’s shitty van.

“What about your parents?” Steve asks through another bite of his sandwich, changing the topic. Eddie lets him.

“Well.” Eddie takes a breath. “Mom was too coked up to be a mom. And Dad wanted me to his little mini-me. And when I refused he treated me like a punching bag instead of a child.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you end up Wayne?”

Eddie looks up at him. Something shifts in his chest. He ignores it.

“When Mom OD’d in the living room, Dad wanted it to be my fault, so I left,” he says, moving down the wall, relaxing. He twists a ring. “I went to my aunt’s house because she was close, my— my mom’s sister— but she, uh, like… genuinely thought I was the antichrist, so—“

“She what?”

Eddie laughs, nodding.

“Genuinely, entirely,” he says, watching Steve’s brows furrow. “She’s one of those people that’s, like, preparing for the rapture or something.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly.”

Steve laughs. He leans his head back against the wall, and Eddie’s eyes get caught on the line of his neck, on his Adam’s apple. Eddie wants to press his hand to it. He ignores the thought.

“She told me wanted to save me and stuff but that I was ‘hopeless.’ So I called Wayne and he picked me up and we moved like a week later so Dad couldn’t find me.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve says softly, and Eddie looks up at him. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks away after a moment, twisting the sleeve of his jacket. “Safe.”

“Me too,” Eddie breathes.

They’re quiet for a moment.

“So was that a yes on Friday?” Steve asks. “I don’t think you actually answered.”

“Oh,” Eddie realises. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Okay, cool.”

“What’ll we do?”

“Uh,” Steve sighs. “I dunno. Watch a movie or something.”

“You’re inviting me over for no reason?” Eddie says incredulously. Steve laughs.

“Why do I need an excuse to hang out with you?” he asks, still laughing, and it makes butterflies erupt in Eddie’s stomach.

“No weed or anything?”

Steve tosses a hand, making a face.

“I don’t need to be high to enjoy your company.”

The butterflies swarm. Eddie almost feels sick.

“Steve Harrington.”

“Mhmm?”

“You slick fucker.”

Steve laughs. It’s almost a giggle. Eddie dies.

Steve ends up laying down as they continue talking, looking at the ceiling of the van. It’s badly spray painted with song lyrics that are barely legible, but Steve looks up at it like he’s stargazing.

He looks like he might fall asleep. Eddie kind of hopes he does. But he sits up after a little while, holding a die in his hands, looking at it like he’s almost marvelling.

“Oh, I was wondering where that was,” Eddie says when he sees the deep purple colour. He lost it ages ago.

“Was under the blanket.” Steve is almost marvelling at it, rolling it in his hands. “This is a D20 right?”

Eddie blinks. Looks at the die and then at Steve again.

“You know your dice?”

Steve glances at him. His cheeks flush pink and he sighs.

“Yeah, the kids I babysit have me well-trained.”

Eddie blinks again.

“The… The kids you babysit?”

“I mean, I guess it’s not really babysitting as much as it is me driving them places and watching while they play D&D, but…” He looks up and laughs at Eddie’s expression. “It’s not officially babysitting, I just— I just get along with them, for the most part. Their parents trust me.”

Eddie stares.

“How old are these kids?”

“Middle school,” Steve says. “Like thirteen or fourteen or something.”

“You… hang out with a bunch of middle schoolers,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “While they play D&D. You know what D&D is.”

Steve laughs again, nodding. He tosses the die and Steve catches it against his chest.

“Why do you hang out with them?” Eddie asks, tossing and catching the die. “If their parents aren’t paying you?”

“Someone needs to make sure they don’t get themselves killed,” Steve says, and he suddenly seems too serious, too worried and forlorn. Eddie watches as he looks at the ground before he looks up again. “They’re good kids,” he says, his voice softer. “Fucking smart. Smarter than I’ll ever be. They don’t deserve half the shit they get.”

“Shit like what?”

Steve sighs.

“Kids are assholes. Bullies, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“And…”

“And?”

Steve takes a breath, his mouth twisting as he thinks. He’s fiddling with the lace of his shoe.

“You know that kid that went missing?” Steve says, looking up at him. “Everyone thought he died?”

Eddie remembers it. Remembers how Wayne worried and worried like it was his own kid. Remembers seeing the kid’s face on a pinboard at the school, remembers hearing what people would say about the kid’s brother.

Bet the freak killed him.

“Yeah, I— I know of him.”

Steve nods, looking back at the lace that he’s twisting around his finger.

“Yeah, that fucked him up,” he says. “The kids at his school called him Zombie Boy, it’s… Jesus.”

“He’s one of your kids?”

Steve smiles at his shoe.

“Yeah.”

“He plays D&D?”

“Mhmm.” Steve nods and looks up at him again, still smiling. “Will the Wise,” he says fondly. There’s a shine in his eye. “He has a wizard robe and hat and everything. I think you’d love him.”

Eddie stares at him, open-mouthed.

“…Who are you?”

Steve laughs loudly. He has a great laugh. Real.

He moves forward, holding his hand out.

Eddie slides his hand into Steve’s, and Steve’s fingers tighten around it. He shakes.

“I’m Steve.”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly. His hand is warm against Eddie’s, and Eddie wants to pull him in and kiss him. “It is… really nice to meet you.”

Steve’s smile could outshine the sun.

—————————

Steve was right about his house looking like a catalogue. It almost makes Eddie sad, the lack of personality and anything that could make it look like a home. There aren’t any photographs anywhere except one in the living room of Steve’s parents at their wedding. No magnets on the fridge, no unique dishes, no worn and walked over runs. It would look abandoned if it weren’t for the few used dishes in the sink and the flowers on the kitchen table.

Steve’s room is heartbreaking.

The bedroom of a thirteen year old boy with physics and world history textbooks on the desk. It’s clean, and Eddie wonders if Steve cleaned it before going to school today.

The walls are absolutely horrendous. Eddie tries not to laugh, Steve gives him a look that makes his snort and choke.

“You have any tape?” he asks Steve after looking around. (There isn’t much to look at; nothing on the walls except a framed picture of some car. Books stacked on and papers spread across his desk. A pair of slippers by the door. A photo of him and Nancy Wheeler on the wall above the desk that Eddie wants to stare and stare and stare at, but he looks away.)

“Uh, yeah.”

Steve rummages in a drawer before he finds a roll of masking tape, and he tosses it to Eddie before he sits on his bed and watches Eddie cross the room to a wall, reach into his backpack, and pull out a poster that he took off his own wall last night. It’s a worn AC/DC poster, the corners of it curling in as he holds it to the awful plaid wall and rips tape with his teeth. Steve is laughing, and Eddie smiles until the poster is stuck to the wall. It’s not straight, but Eddie doesn’t really care. Steve doesn’t either.

“Highway to Hell?” Steve questions when Eddie joins him on the bed, spinning the tape around his finger.

“Mhmm.”

“Yeah, my parents are gonna love that.”

He’s grinning.

Steve orders pizza for them.

They watch three movies before he goes to the kitchen and comes back with two beers.

And then he sits next to Eddie again, but this time he’s a cushion closer. Eddie almost can’t breathe with him so close, and his hands shake as he cracks the can open. He has his legs pulled up onto the sofa, comfortably curled up in the bland living room of the Harrington mansion.

Eddie drifts off after a while.

He falls asleep.

He wakes up after a while to find the room dark, tv screen full of static and Steve asleep next to him. His arms are crossed over his chest, his head fallen forward. Eddie allows himself to gaze for a moment.

He’s beautiful. He probably has no idea how gorgeous he really is, Eddie thinks.

He looks around after a moment, at the television and the empty cans between them. He moves them carefully, setting them on the ground and sighing.

He’s adjusting the cushion behind him when he hears Steve exhale sharply, and Eddie looks at him. He hasn’t moved, but his eyebrows are furrowed slightly.

Eddie pauses, looking at him, and after a moment, Steve exhales sharply again, gasping, and then it looks like he’s hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyebrows furrowing and relaxing and furrowing like he’s going to cry.

I have recurring nightmares.

“Steve?” Eddie whispers. He wants to reach out and touch him. But he doesn’t know what to do. Steve doesn’t respond, still asleep.

His eyes squeeze. He exhales again.

And a moment later he lets out a whimper so small Eddie almost doesn’t hear it.

“Steve?” he says again, louder. “Hey. Stevie.”

Steve awakes with a start after a minute, and it startles Eddie. Steve’s whole body moves sharply, his eyes flying open, a kind of fear in them that Eddie’s never seen before.

“Steve,” he says gently, but Steve is already getting up, using a trembling hand to shut off the television. The room falls slightly darker, and Steve turns in the center of the living room, looking around like he’s gaging the safest part. “Steve?”

Steve startles again, his eyes finding Eddie on the sofa.

“Eddie?” he asks breathlessly, confused.

“We fell asleep,” Eddie explains softly. “I think you had a nightmare.”

“A nightm—“ Steve cuts off with an exhale, and he averts his eyes, looking to the floor and then around the room again. “Fuck.”

“You’re okay,” Eddie says softly. Steve swallows, looking at the ceiling. His eyes are shining. Eddie’s chest aches.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Steve says breathlessly. “I—“ He takes another breath, and Eddie worries that he might start hyperventilating.

“Steve, it’s fine,” he says gently, shifting on the sofa so he’s sitting in the edge of it. “I know, it’s okay.”

Steve covers his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by his hands.

“Don’t apologise,” Eddie says, watching Steve take stuttering breaths. “I— I know you have nightmares, I’m not… I’m not judging you or anything, Steve, it’s okay.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. Eddie can tell that he’s crying, and his whole body hurts as he watches, unsure and lost on what to do.

He gets up slowly like he doesn’t want to scare him, and he carefully, tentatively approaches him.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers. Steve nods, wiping his eyes but still hiding his face, and Eddie sets a hand on his back, gently sliding it up to the back of his neck. Steve exhales shakily. “Come here, Stevie.”

Steve falls against him as he wraps his arms around him, and they sway as he cries.

“You’re okay, Stevie,” Eddie whispers. “I got you.”

Steve apologises again. Eddie tells him not to.

He pulls Steve to the sofa, pushing a hand up into Steve’s hair and combing through it.

“Take a deep breath,” he says softly, reaching to take Steve’s hand and squeezing it. Steve is shaking, but he tries to take a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “You got it.”

Steve falls against him as his breathing levels back out, and Eddie hugs him tightly, pressing his face against the top of his head. Steve shifts, and their legs twine together until they’re tangled together on the sofa, wrapped around each other.

Eddie wonders if Steve is going to fall asleep again. But he can tell that he’s not.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Eddie whispers softly. “Your nightmare?”

Steve is quiet for a moment, his face pressed into Eddie’s shoulder.

“I can’t,” he says quietly.

Eddie combs through his hair again.

“Okay.”

They both sigh, and relax against each other, and Eddie wonders if he’s in some kind of parallel universe.

A parallel universe where he gets to cuddle with Steve Harrington.

Steve smells nice. Like fancy, expensive shampoo and something masculine that belongs just to Steve.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks in a small voice. Eddie’s arms tighten.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

He wakes up in the morning with Steve laying on his chest, Eddie’s hand in his hair. Steve is still asleep, breathing steadily, curled up next to Eddie on the sofa. Eddie looks down at him, and he wants to kiss him.

He lets his head fall back against the sofa, smiling at the ceiling.

Steve sleeps. Eddie wonders how often he sleeps this soundly, this peacefully. He can feels Steve’s chest and see his shoulders rise and fall with every breath. (He ignores the part of his brain that wants to swallow his breath.)

“That feels nice,” Steve grumbles after a long while as Eddie is slowly, gently playing with his hair. Eddie almost startles, looking down at him, but he can’t see his face.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

Eddie continues. He runs us fingertips across his scalp, dragging through his hair, scratching and pulling through little snags. Steve sighs. He falls asleep again. Eddie can tell when he does, by the way his breathing becomes heavier, the way he presses his face into Eddie’s chest. Eddie doesn’t stop playing with his hair even though Steve is asleep.

Something changes after that. Everything easy between them. Steve reaches across the table to push Eddie’s hair out of his face as they eat the eggs he made for breakfast. Eddie fixes the tag of Steve’s shirt as he’s passing him in the hallway on Monday. They eat lunch in Eddie’s van, listening to metal and chatting with their legs tangled between them. Steve puts his leg over Eddie’s the next time they’re at Eddie’s trailer watching a movie, and he smiles softly when Eddie sets his hand on his leg. A while later Eddie is laying on Steve’s floor, slowly working through his homework (his brain keeps going back to next week’s D&D campaign) while Steve is working at his desk. After a few minutes Steve gets up and sits on the floor next to him, but before he can ask what’s up, Steve is laying down, resting his head on Eddie’s lower back and sighing. (Eddie somehow finishes all his homework with the steady weight of Steve’s head on his back, careful not to move as Steve hums along to the music that’s playing from his radio.)

Steve goes to the next gig at the Hideout, and he allows Eddie to trace dark eyeliner around his eyes and smudge it with his fingertip. He just giggles when Eddie stares at him afterward.

“Christ.”

“No, it’s just Steve.”

“Fuck off.”

Eddie throws his battle vest into Steve’s face so he can finally look away. Steve puts it on over his black t-shirt, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

He looks good.

He looks… really fucking good.

His hair is tousled from the vest hitting his face, and his eyes are shining and framed by messy smudged eyeliner, and he’s grinning lazily like he knows all about the crisis Eddie is currently having.

“Yeah, that’s good.”

When Eddie has to say hi on stage again, this time it’s Steve that gives a little scream, and it elicits a laugh from the bar, but it makes the butterflies in his stomach swarm again.

Steve sits close enough that Eddie can see him while he’s on stage, sipping a beer and smiling and smiling and smiling and smiling and smiling.

Eddie gets pulled aside after Corroded Coffin is done by a girl, but another band is already playing, and he can barely hear her. He plays along for a moment before she leaves with a bright smile, and then he slides his guitar to hang on his back as he goes to find Steve.

Who is still at the same table, holding a glass bottle in his hand, but now there’s a man talking to him.

And man that Eddie doesn’t recognise, but immediately doesn’t like.

He’s smiling too fondly at Steve, not that Eddie can really blame him, talking and smiling like he’s fucking flirting. Eddie freezes, watching, a fire growing in his chest even thought it’s stupid. Steve isn’t his. It’s not like he belongs to him.

And it’s not even like the man is being a creep. He’s not touching Steve, or leaning into his space, or biting his lip or touching the bottle Steve’s holding the way Eddie’s seen some perverts do. He’s just talking. Smiling at Steve and nodding and laughing and being friendly.

But Eddie still finds himself striding across the bar and stepping up next to Steve, looking at the man with a too-bright smile and too-bright, “Hi!”

The man’s face lights up with recognition. He tells Eddie he was amazing, man, and Eddie manages to get out a thank you before Steve’s arms are flying around his neck. Eddie startles and hugs him back with a laugh.

“You okay, Stevie?”

“You did so good.”

“…Are you drunk?”

“Only a little.”

The man leaves them alone after exchanging a look with Eddie. They’re both laughing.

Steve pulls away but leaves his arms over Eddie’ shoulders. His eyeliner is even more smudged than it was when Eddie did it for him, and his cheeks are flushed, and the bright lights of the bar are flashing and shining in his eyes.

Eddie wants to kiss him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

The feeling doesn’t go away.

Eddie wonders if it’ll ever go away.

He doubts it.

Because every time their eyes meet in the hall at school, and every time Eddie traces a finger across the back of Steve’s neck in physics and Steve looks up at him with a sly smile, and every time Steve nods his head along with Eddie’s music while they sit in his van, and the first time Steve slides his hand into Eddie’s, Eddie wants and wants and wants and wants.

Steve is a dream.

A daydream.

Eddie barely believes he actually exists.

He listens to Eddie rant about Lord of the Rings and D&D and all the bands he loves, and he listens to Eddie’s music, and even seems to like it a little bit. He lays on Eddie’s bed with his head hanging off the edge upside down and looking around with a smile even as he and Eddie talk. He keeps all the stupid notes Eddie leaves in his locker, and when Eddie finds out, he almost cries. He asks clarifying questions about Lord of the Rings, and he doesn’t get it all but it still lights Eddie on fire. He talks about his kids like they’re the stars even though he refers to them as the little shits. (Except some girl named Elle, who Eddie’s never heard of but apparently is a sweetheart.)

He doesn’t laugh when Eddie pulls out a sewing kit and stitches an old t-shirt that ripped. He just looks at him and smiles and keeps talking.

—————————

It’s a Saturday.

Eddie’s got his van parked in a clearing in the woods, and it’s so bright and sunny that he wonders if he should have brought sun lotion.

The back doors are open and Steve is sitting across from him, Eddie’s acoustic guitar in his lap. He’s plucking at the strings, playing some melody that Eddie doesn’t recognise. He wonders if Steve wrote it himself. He doesn’t ask.

He’s sewing a patch onto an old jacket. He messed it up and is pulling at the thread, careful not to snap it, the sewing needle held between his teeth, his brows furrowed.

The guitar falls quiet as he’s working, and he looks up to find Steve watching him, holding the guitar in his lap, frozen like someone’s taking a picture of him. Eddie gives him a grin, the needle sticking out of his mouth, and Steve’s lips curl into a little smile before he sets the guitar aside carefully. He moves to reach between the front seats and switches on the tape that Eddie had playing on the way over, turning it down so it’s playing softly in the background.

And then he’s crawling across the van and laying next to Eddie’s legs, tossing an arm across his lap, carefully ensuring he doesn’t hit the jacket and mess Eddie up, and he’s pressing his face into Eddie’s leg.

“You gonna take a nap?”

Steve nods, sighing.

Eddie smiles and continues pulling at the thread.

“You know you’re my best friend?” Steve mumbles after a while. It makes Eddie freeze. It makes him look down at the side of Steve’s face, and it looks like he’s sleeping, but Eddie knows what he sounds like when he’s sleeping. It makes the butterflies swarm and his heart pound and it makes him want to cry.

“You’re my best friend too.”

He really is.

He comes to Eddie’s gigs and cheers for him and calls him Eds. He wears Eddie’s battle vest every time. He has posters from Eddie’s room on his walls even though his parents did “shit a brick” when they come home and see them. (He tells Eddie this with a grin, and Eddie says he might be a bad influence for Steve. Steve’s smile widens and he just tells him it’s fun. Eddie wants to die.) He explains basketball to Eddie, which really, in any other context, Eddie wouldn’t give even half shit about, but Eddie fucking listens like his life depends on it. He remembers Eddie’s favourite gum flavour and that he hates bread crust and that he hates with the seams of his sleeves rest on the sides of his wrists.

Steve sleeps peacefully with his head on Eddie’s lap. Even with one of Eddie’s metal mixes on.

—————————

They’re high.

Steve looks so pretty when he’s high. (He always looks pretty.) His eyes are glazed over and half shut, and his cheeks are flushed red, and he looks like he might keel over and fall asleep at any second. Eddie knows he must not look much different. His hair is probably frizzier. Steve’s is still perfect.

“What are you looking at?”

Eddie blinks. He’s staring at Steve, and Steve is staring back, smiling, like he knows. Eddie shrugs lightly, watching Steve take another rip from the bong in his hands. Watching him blow smoke into the air between them, wishing he’d blow it straight into Eddie’s lungs.

“Think you’re pretty.”

Steve smiles as he finishes his heavy exhale.

He stares back at Eddie again.

Eddie doesn’t know how long it lasts, this quiet, gentle tension, until it snaps when Steve says, “I wanna fucking kiss you.”

Eddie blinks.

He wonders how high he is.

“…You do?”

“Jesus. Yeah.” Steve sighs heavily. “Yeah, I do.”

“Please.” Eddie’s voice is too soft. Too vulnerable. Too. “Please do, I— Please, Stevie.”

Steve exhales, and his eyes look even glassier than they did a minute ago. He leans over, setting the bong down and tossing the lighter to the ground, before he moves and crashes his mouth against Eddie’s.

Eddie’s eyes shut and his hands fly up to hold Steve’s face between them, and after a moment the kiss softens, and he might be ascending.

Eddie’s kissed people before. He’s fucked people before. He likes making out with people, and he likes sex. Really likes sex. But this.

This is better than anything. He’d trade every single sexual experience he’s ever had for this moment.

Steve’s head is tilted, and he sighs as he catches Eddie’s lower lip between his and sucks gently. Eddie furrows his brows, pushing a hand into Steve’s hair and lowers the other to his waist, pulling at him until he moves without pulling his lips away, lowering himself to Eddie’s lap.

Eddie groans. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck and lets his lips part for Eddie’s tongue, and Eddie’s hand tightens in his hair.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps when they part. His lips are shining. “Wanted to do that for so long.”

“How long?” Eddie asks breathlessly, combing through his hair, stroking his waist. He’s heavy on his lap, firm and solid and real even though Eddie still feels like he’s floating.

“Since you got up on that stage and fucking said hi like that.”

He kisses Eddie before Eddie can say anything, and Eddie kisses him back, hard, tugging his hair and listening to him whine.

“Seriously?”

“So fucking hot, Eddie, shit.”

“Jesus, Steve.”

“Eddie, please.”

He kisses him again.

They’re both uncoordinated and smiling, and Steve is running his fingertips across the back of Eddie’s neck under his hair, and Eddie is shivering like he’s freezing.

“I like you so much,” Eddie says softly when they part, letting his head fall to Steve’s, his forehead pressing against Steve’s cheek. “You’re everything, Stevie.”

Steve sighs. He pushes his head into Eddie’s hand.

After a moment he pulls away and their eyes meet. They stare.

They gaze.

Steve takes Eddie’s hands in his and looks down at them. Gazes at them. Strokes them with his fingers and traces the lines of his palms and veins below his knuckles.

“I really like your hands.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods. He drops one of his hands and Eddie slides it over his hip, watching Steve analyse his hand like he’s studying it, like he’s trying to memorise it.

“Can I?” he breathes. Eddie doesn’t know what he’s asking. He doesn’t care.

“You can do anything, sweetheart.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut.

He seems to hesitate, sliding his tongue over his lips and taking a breath like he’s nervous before he lifts Eddie’s hand up to his mouth.

He drags his tongue up Eddie’s palm to the tips of his fingers, and Eddie’s breath cuts off.

Steve hums like he’s drinking a milkshake, and Eddie smiles at him even though he isn’t looking. Steve turns Eddie’s hand and licks it again, over the side of his hand, over his knuckles, over his fingers. He sucks the tips of Eddie’s fingers into his mouth, furrowing his brows like he might cry.

“‘S okay, baby,” Eddie says softly. He presses his fingers into the heat of his mouth, hearing a soft whimper escape Steve’s throat. He leans in and kisses the side of Steve’s neck, sighing as Steve flicks his tongue over his fingers. Steve hums softly, tilting his head to the side.

When he pulls away there’s a bruise blooming on Steve’s skin. It’s beautiful. Eddie didn’t know he was capable of creating anything beautiful.

Steve holds Eddie’s hand between both of his, and he pulls it away. His spit is dripping between Eddie’s fingers. Eddie shivers.

“Fuck.”

Steve moans softly, licking his fingers again before he looks into Eddie’s eyes.

He looks almost shy. Embarrassed. Which doesn’t fly with Eddie, so he leans in and kisses him like his life depends on it, biting Steve’s lip and pressing his tongue into his mouth. He drags his wet fingers over Steve’s cheek, down his neck, and Steve whines.

“Alright?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods desperately, pulling him back in.

They’re barely even kissing. Steve’s mouth is warm and wet and he tastes so good Eddie can’t stop. He’s holding Steve’s neck lightly, his other hand gripping Steve’s hip, and he pulls when Steve rolls his hips against Eddie’s subtly.

“‘S okay,” he says when Steve pulls away, wide-eyed. “It’s alright, Stevie, you can…”

Steve exhales sharply. He slowly rolls his hips, and Eddie bites his lip, trying not to groan.

“Don’t do that,” Steve says softly, breathlessly. He touches Eddie’s mouth, pulling his lip free from his teeth and leaning down to suck on it. “Wanna hear you.”

“Fuck.”

Eddie closes his eyes.

Steve whines as they move together, kissing and clutching at each other desperately. He grabs at Eddie’s hand that’s on his hip and lifts it to his face, turning his face into it and moaning, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Eddie,” he chokes. “Eddie, baby, please.”

“What?” Eddie asks. His voice is rough. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

“Shit. Fuck, Eddie, touch me.”

Eddie thinks he might be dead. Steve looks like he’s glowing. Fucking ethereal. A blessing sitting on Eddie’s lap. Maybe it’s because Eddie’s high. Maybe it’s because he’s in love.

Oh.

Eddie exhales shakily, his thumb brushing over Steve’s cheek.

“Hey,” he says softly. Steve looks at him, his eyes shining desperately. “You change your mind, or it’s too much, or anything like that— you— you wanna stop, and you tell me, okay?”

Steve smiles at him. Kisses him.

“Okay.”

“Open your jeans for me, baby.”

Steve grins and releases Eddie’s hand to unbutton and unzip his jeans. Eddie watches. Steve leans in and kisses him deeply as he shifts on his lap, lifting up onto his knees to tug his jeans and boxers down his hips.

When he pulls away, Eddie lifts a hand to his own mouth, spitting into his palm, and then he holds it in front of Steve.

“Spit.”

Steve looks down at his hand. Stares at his palm. Leans down and licks Eddie’s spit off before he closes his mouth and closes his eyes like he’s savouring it. Eddie’s eyes widen. Steve spits into his palm again, smiling at Eddie’s expression.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Steve giggles.

“Fucking filthy,” Eddie says fondly, reaching down to touch him, and Steve’s head falls back as he lets out a disgustingly beautiful moan.

Steve is holding the hem of his shirt out of the way. When Eddie looks down he can see the softness of his belly, and he wants to press kisses to it, go suck bruises into it. (He will eventually, he decides, if Steve is cool with it. He has a feeling he will be.) He wants to do that everywhere, leave bruises and bites and love across Steve’s whole body. Eddie wants to make him feel beautiful. He wants to worship him.

Steve finds Eddie’s free hand and holds it tightly as he squeezes his eyes shut. Eddie likes how he sounds. Every breath comes with a soft noise from the back of his throat, weak and desperate and so pretty that Eddie’s eyes burn.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Stevie,” he breathes. Steve’s hand tightens on his.

He watches Steve’s face. Watches him bite his lip and furrow his brows and squeeze his eyes shut. He listens to his breaths, to the slick sounds of Eddie’s hand moving.

“Eddie—“

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He’s breathless. Steve isn’t even touching him. “It’s okay, Stevie, I got you.”

Steve looks down at him. There are tears in his eyes, and Eddie knows that he’s remembering that first night he had a nightmare while Eddie was there. (He’s had plenty of nightmares since. Eddie’s been there for lots of them. He’s heard Steve whimper names and words that make no sense, heard him cry and scream, and he’s held him after every single one. Wiped his tears. Kissed the top of his head because he couldn’t kiss his lips yet.)

Steve kisses him. His lips don’t land square on Eddie’s, and it’s messy and wet and they both have tears falling down their cheeks, but Eddie doesn’t care. It’s beautiful.

“Fuck,” Steve says sharply, pulling away enough that his forehead rests on Eddie’s. He’s breathing hard. Eddie is too. “Eddie, I’m—“

“‘S okay,” Eddie whispers. “Come for me, baby.”

Steve drops his shirt to wrap his arms around Eddie’s neck tightly. He’s trembling as he comes, letting out a long groan into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his other hand into Steve’s hair and holding him as tears slide down his face.

“Did so good for me, Stevie,” he breathes as Steve comes down. “My sweet boy.”

Steve whines, tightening his arms. Eddie hugs him back, pressing a hand to the small of his back as he combs through his hair.

“Eddie,” Steve says after a few minutes.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

“Need you to take your shirt off.”

Eddie giggles.

—————————

They fall asleep naked, under Eddie’s blankets and quilts, facing each other. Steve falls asleep first.

The barely present light that sneaks under his door from the hallways lights his room up the slightest bit. When his eyes adjust to the dark, it’s enough to see Steve’s face. Eddie traces his features, trailing the very tip of his finger over his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose, over his lips and chin and jaw. He tucks his hair back when a strand falls in his face.

“I love you,” he breathes, soft so it doesn’t wake Steve up. He never wants to wake Steve up, never when he’s sleeping like this: peaceful and quiet and calm.

He lifts his head and moves closer to kiss his forehead. He falls asleep with a hand on Steve’s warm, soft waist, and sunlight in his head.

Winner, Winner

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.5K] smut, eddie's a little shit, bottom!steve if you squint and and impossible quest.

You were being cruel, you knew that. 

But good god, Steve looked so fucking pretty and it was so much fun. It started with a dare, a challenge, a joke among friends, a bet that was sealed with an almost kiss that had Steve hanging his head back and groaning two seconds in. 

‘Cause it was a Saturday night and you were on his lap in a booth at the diner, for no real reason other than you wanted to be close. There was plenty of room between your friends, Robin curled into the corner by the window, Nancy and Jonathan pressed into each other's sides and Eddie leaning lazy on across from you both. 

Milkshakes were half finished, stray fries and spilt ketchup on the table and Robin was rolling her eyes at you both when you abandoned your dinner for the sake of pressing your nose to Steve's cheek and whispering in his ear. He responded with a grin, a hand on your thigh that almost slipped indecently high for such a public setting and finally, your friends cracked and—

“Can you not keep your hands off each other for more than an hour?” Eddie asked. His question was blunt but his tone was good natured, filled with humour and Jonathan snorted. “We’re eating.”

“No,” Robin answered for you, “they can’t.”

“Leave them alone,” Nancy defended, smiling from behind the dessert menu. “It’s sweet.”

“It’s borderline pornographic,” Robin responded mildly. 

Eddie cackled. “If only, Hawkins is dull without the gates of hell opening up.”

Steve glared.

“Seriously though,” Eddie continued, brandishing a half eaten fry in you and Steve’s direction. “S’like you gotta be touching each other twenty four seven. You gonna keel over if you don’t have your hands on her, Harrington?”

Jonathan stretched out from where he was slouched against the leather booth, grinning at Eddie and ignoring his girlfriend's long suffering sighs. “I think he would, y’know,” he laughed. “Did he tell you about how he almost ran over Mrs Lafferty’s cat?”

Robin gasped, eyes wide as she leaned over your and Steve’s laps to gawk at Jonathan. 

“Mr Pebbles?”

The boy nodded, smile sly and Steve was groaning, swiping the hand that wasn’t on your leg over his eyes. He hated his friends. 

“Too busy groping each other in the front seat.”

Eddie hollered and you turned, cheeks warm as you slapped softly at your boyfriends chest. “You told him that?” You cried out, but your friends were up in arms, voice clamouring to be heard. 

“Steve! Mr Pebbles is the backbone of Maple Street!”

“Honestly, you guys, you really should be more careful when you’re driving—”

“We’ve walked in on them doing worse, I dunno why anyone is surprised. Remember that time at Hop’s birthday dinner? Dustin almost opened the bathroom door and saw them fu—”

And then Eddie was slamming his palm on the table, cutlery clattering and the elderly couple across aisle glared at him even more than they had already been doing. 

“A bet!” He declared and everyone groaned. “A challenge  - a quest - if you will.”

“Oh Jesus,” Robin sighed tiredly, rolling her eyes as she fell back against the window. “Here we go.”

The diner lights glowed neon and somewhere in the back of the kitchen, a drying pan hissed and popped. Steve’s hand was still on your thigh and Eddie was looking at you like his new favourite game. 

The curly haired boy wiggled his eyebrows at you and Steve, his grin sharklike. “Up for it, kids?”

Steve was muttering something under his breath and it definitely involved obscenities and snippets of a story about how Eddie’s last ‘quest’ got them all banned from the library and Robin a sprained ankle. 

Neither Robin nor Nancy had yet to forgive him. 

 But you just leaned back into Steve, smiling when he hooked his chin over your shoulder and you matched Eddie’s smile, head tilted to the side, watching him, calculated. 

“What is it?”

————— 

And now it was three days later and you were sitting at the bottom of Steve’s bed, shirt lost on his floor and your skirt indecently high, the fabric hitched up across your hips as you ran your fingertips across the skin on the inside of your thighs. 

The only light came from the bedside lamp, the last of the day giving away to night as the sun sunk behind the houses across from Steve’s bedroom window. 

Everything was pink and rosy, the light, the lavender tinted shadows, the rumpled bed sheets, Steve’s cheeks. 

“Baby,” Steve groaned, saying the pet name like a curse, back pressed to the headboard as he stared at you from behind messy hair. “Baby, c’mon.”

You grinned. 

“S’wrong, Steve?” You cooed, bordering on patronising but the boy didn’t care. He just huffed out a hot breath and squirmed, chest bare and his palm dragged across the hard outline of his cock. “You look a bit pent up.”

“I am,” Steve grunted, eyes squeezing shut as you brought your knees up to your chest and spread them, legs stretching back out to show off the white underwear you wore. “Babe, this isn’t fuckin’ fair.”

“What’s not fair?” You were being mean but fuck, if it didn’t made Steve’s cock jump under his sweatpants. “You said you could last, that’s what you told Eddie, right? A whole week, yeah?”

The boy huffed, eyes opening to watch you trace a finger along the cotton between your legs, the wetness there turning the material a little translucent. Your lips parted and Steve moaned, sounding wrecked. 

“Christ, can we not talk about Eddie right now, please,” he choked out, grabbing at the sheets, fishing them in his hands. “Babe, c’mon, wanna touch you.”

“Touch me and you lose, Stevie,” you told him sweetly. “S’only been three days.”

“Tell me about it,” he huffed, eyes hooded as he gazed at you, his stare following the hypnotic motion of your finger moving up and down your cotton covered slit. “Feels like m’gonna burst. Jesus, babe, you’re killin’ me.”

You were smiling, a little cruel but then Steve was swearing wildly, pushing himself onto his elbows when you tucked a finger under the cotton and pulled it to the side. 

“I know,” you whined back, over exaggerated and pouting. “Got me so wet, Steve, just wanna feel you.”

“You can’t say things like that,” Steve groaned, “baby, please.”

So you took a little pity, although the boy swore louder, crawling over his lap so you could sit yourself pretty there, legs splayed on either side of his hips. You traced the lines of his hip bones, the v shape that framed the ladder of hair on his tummy and you grinned when he rocked up into you, lips parting on a sigh. 

“Better?” You whispered. 

“Yes— no! I don’t fucking know, Jesus Christ, I just need to touch you.”

“Touch me and you lose,” you reminded him again, voice sticky sweet, your palms pressed to his bare chest as you leaned down, tits pushing against the lace of your bra and Steve felt like he was about to bite through his cheek. 

“I don’t care about the stupid bet,” Steve huffed out. He looked broken, head pushed back into the pillow, jaw slack and pupils blown wide as he let his gaze roam over you, his skin as warm as yours, cheeks flushed from the way you wiggled on top of him. “Fuckin’ Eddie.”

“I thought we weren't talking about him?” you quipped lightly, bringing your hands back to your skirt, pulling it up your thighs to flash your underwear again. 

“Shit,” Steve choked out, hands coming to his hair to pull at it in frustration. “We’re not.”

“Wanna watch?” You murmured, smiling as one bra strap fell down a shoulder. You didn’t bother to fix it. “Watch me touch myself, Stevie?”

Steve hissed, hips canting upwards and his hands hovered at your waist, fingers twitching. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” you admonished, feeling the ghost of a touch over your skin. “No touching. You just gotta watch, yeah? Can you do that?”

Steve wasn’t sure he could but he nodded anyway, desperate, eyes wide as your hand went back to your underwear, tugging aside the cotton once more and letting two fingers push into the slick there. You sighed, breath stuttering and Steve lost it underneath you, cursing and groaning, his cock jumping at the sight of how wet you were. 

You took your time with it, made the boy whine as you pressed circles to your clit, slow and lazy, head hanging back, chest pushed out, your other hand curled into the soft cotton of Steve’s sweats for balance. You were dying to feel his hands on you, but there was a masochistic need to hear the boy beg for you. 

“Holy shit, sweetheart,” he breathed out, “that’s so hot.”

“Yeah?” You asked nicely, voice soft and breath stuttering as the pleasure started to pick up. You wiggled a little, lifting yourself up enough to be able to push a finger inside of you, another to make yourself gasp. “You like watchin’, huh?”

Steve nodded, head bobbing frantically and his dick was throbbing beneath you, twitching against your thigh and you wondered if you could make him come like this, if he’d fall apart for you with the briefest of touches. 

“Such a good boy,” you whispered and you were half joking, only teasing until Steve’s lashes fluttered and he gasped out at your words, fingers twisting the bedsheets into balls once more. 

If Steve got harder, you only got wetter, and you whined at his reaction, eyes wide and you leaned down to him. Your hand was still crushed between you both and you rutted against the friction it created, your clit grinding against your fingers and the feel of Steve’s hard cock. 

You didn’t kiss him, not yet, just pressed your nose against his and panted against his mouth, both sets of lips parted as Steve did his best to arch up into you. 

“Y’know,” Steve breathed out, chest heaving against yours, “I don’t think this is what they meant when they said we had to keep our hands off each other for a week.”

You huffed out a laugh and Steve grinned, lips brushing over your jaw and chin, soft and sweet enough to make your eyes flutter shut and you leaned into it, fingers moving faster, trying your best to find that spot inside you that only Steve seemed to be able to reach. 

“Technically,” you gasped, “you’re not touching me.”

Steve threw his head back and let out a loud, filthy sound as his cock moved under his sweats, slipping to sit underneath your cunt, the pressure of it becoming too much for him. 

“Don’t fuckin’ remind me,” he hissed. “Need to though, please baby, c’mon—”

And then: “Oh god, oh shit, Steve! Fuckfuckfuck.”

“—are you gonna come?” Steve gasped out, falling back into the pillow as his eyes rolled back and he groaned. “Fucking hell, sweetheart, that’s it, c’mon, let me see you.”

You keened high as you kept rocking yourself against the boy and your fingers, reaching up to fist Steve’s messy hair in your hand and you pulled, tugging him up to kiss you as you came. You couldn’t help the way you pushed and pulled yourself over his lap, getting him and yourself a little messy, your fingers circling your clit. The friction was too much and it wasn’t enough and it felt too good but fucking hell it still wasn’t Steve that was inside of you. 

But he was swearing into your mouth, stuttering and groaning between each lick of your tongue over his and your hips twitched over his, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You felt a little dirty, using him to get yourself off as he lay hard as a rock underneath you, eyes dark and hooded with need as he gazed at you. 

“That’s it baby,” Steve huffed out a laugh, voice a little strained as he stared up at you, lips shiny from your kiss, cheeks pink and warm. “Keep goin’, yeah, that’s it, you look so fuckin’ pretty when you come, Christ.”

You were panting as you came down, slick fingers pushed to Steve’s chest and he groaned, eyes pleading with you even though he kept his hands by his sides. 

“Was that good?” He murmured. 

You nodded, too gone to speak, your eyes a little watery from the intensity of it all and you burned when Steve said:

“Show me.”

So you brought your fingers to his lips, letting out a little whine when he sucked them almost obscenely, tongue on the pads of your fingers so he could taste what you refused to give him. He looked like a man stared as his eyes rolled back at your taste, humming around the two digits, his own hips stuttering under your own. 

It was only then you realised that you weren’t the only one to have made a mess, a dark grey spot on Steve’s sweats that only seemed to grow. 

You gasped, all faux dramatics as you slipped your fingers from the boy’s mouth and tucked them under his waistband, pulling back the elastic to let it snap against his tummy. Steve whined, sensitive, and you grinned down at him, shaking your head. 

“Steve Harrington,” you tutted, full of playfulness. “You’re filthy.”

His cheeks burned, hating that he liked the way you teased him, a little in awe that you made him come in his pants like a fucking teenager. 

“D’you really blame me?” He asked. “Grinding all over me, looking like that and then you come?” Please, give a guy a chance.”  

You preened a little at his words, skin warm and slick to the touch from your exertion but you rewarded him with a kiss, chest pushed to his as he hummed against your lips, happy to feel you. 

You pulled away too quickly though, the boy chasing your mouth with his and he finally gave in and grabbed your chin with one hand to keep you where he wanted. 

You grinned against him, nipped at his bottom lip and pulled back just enough to pretend to scold him. 

“M’tellin’ Eddie,” you whispered, all faux seriousness. “That’s a rule break.”

Steve rolled his eyes and huffed before switching your positions, reminding you just how easily he could’ve overpowered you if he wanted to as he flipped you underneath him. You squeaked at the movement, the mattress bouncing and Steve blew a raspberry onto your neck. 

“New rule: no talking about Eddie fucking Munson when we’re half naked.”

You snorted, titling your chin up to let Steve kiss a line down your throat, teeth grazing at the space where it met your shoulder and you moaned breathily, already wanting more of him now that he finally had his hands on you. 

“Deal,” you murmured. “You still lost, though.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh and he rocked his hips down into yours, the feel of his cock hardening again making you ache. 

“Did I?” 

What if it wasn't Eddie who almost dies, but Steve.

Eddie and Dustin are in the trailer, bats running into the sides and scratching at the vent. "Go. now." Eddie tells Dustin as he nudges him towards the sheet-rope. "But what about you!" "Not until you're safe!" Dustin makes it halfway up the rope when the bats suddenly stop.  It's quiet in the trailer for a full five seconds. "Did...did they get him?" Dustin scrambles for the nearby walkie-talkie. "Steve, Come in. over."  There's static but no answer.  "Nance, Robin. over."  There were a few more seconds of static and then, "H- Help!  Steve... Vecna got Steve." Robin's voice crackled through the walkie, panicked.  Eddie and Dustin stared at each other for a second, Dustin’s "don't worry Steve, you can be the hero."  bouncing around both of their heads.

Then they were both moving, Dustin yelling into the walkie as they ran. "We're coming, We're coming!" Steve had a hole in his side the size of a baseball. When they got there, Nancy was doing triage, Robin trying to help through her panic.  Steve was unconscious. "He's got a pulse, but he won't respond." "We gotta get him out of here." Eddie said. "Is it OK for me to lift him?" "It's gonna have to be,"  Nancy said. "Gonna have to put him on my back, I can't carry him in front." Between Eddie and Nancy they, as gently as they could, maneuvered Steve onto Eddie's back and they immediately started for the gate. Eddie lungs were burning, his legs were on fire, he could feel Steve's blood running down his back and his leg. Fuck, Steve was going to die in his arms. They hefted him through the gate, Nancy checking his pulse every five seconds. Steve was still there, Still hanging on. Eddie jumped into the driver's seat of the RV once Steve was laid on the couch.  crossed the wires again and started driving. When they got to the hospital Eddie pulled Steve onto his back again and ran him through the hospital doors. Still alive by some miracle.

That was two days ago.  Steve was stable enough now to be moved into a room where he could have visitors, but he was still unconscious. They were only allowed in two at a time, so Eddie let the kids, Nancy, and Robin go in first.  Then it was his turn. He went in by himself.  The nurses said to talk to him, that he could hear what they said. "Hey, Harrington," Eddie said, sitting down next to the bed. "Glad you're alive, man, but it would be great if you woke up," Eddie listened to the machines beep, watched Steve's way too still body. "They tell me you tackled Vecna," Eddie looked down at his hands. "You saved Max.  I know you saved Robin and Nancy.  Saved Dustin... Saved me," He was quiet again. "Don't be a hero."  Eddie scoffed. "Harrington if you wake up I'm gonna kick your ass."  Eddie bit his lip to keep it from trembling, something akin to grief washing over him. For the rest of the time he was quiet, not knowing what to say, thinking if he spoke, he might start crying. He kept coming back almost every day, everyone did. But Eddie didn't know what to say or to think even. He was way more effected by Steve than he thought he would be. Turns out no matter how much trauma you've dealt with, it doesn't get easier. He spent evenings at the hospital with Robin.  They would talk to each other across Steve's bed. Robin told him about the Russians. Eddie talked about the kids. Robin came out to Eddie. "Does Steve know?" Eddie asked. "He's one of the first people I ever told." "How did he..." "Couldn't have been nicer about it," She said, looking over at Steve's face.  She looked lost, like she was drowning. "I'm gay," Eddie blurted out.  Her head whipped back around to him.  "Very gay," Eddie added.  She stared at him, processing what he said before a smile broke over her face and she stuck her hand over the bed. "It's very nice to meet you, Eddie Munson." Eddie laughed at than before shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you too, Buckley."  Eddie replied. When he wasn't there with someone, he read.  He had a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that he always brought along. Sometimes he would read sections to Steve when he couldn't think of anything to say. Sometimes he would just talk.  Say whatever he wanted to Steve.  "You know I meant what I said in that fucking hell dimension, Stevie.  You really are changed.  You are not king Steve anymore..." He watched Steve's face.  He thought back to everything Steve did in the Upside Down, how much he cared for the kids, how much of a friend Robin said he had become. Eddie didn't realize he could grow feelings for someone when they were in a coma.  It scared him. Eddie had never had a boyfriend. Never dated. Never even developed feelings for a hookup. He was starting to think maybe he wasn't wired for it, but now he was thinking maybe being gay in a small town was really stunting his growth. Now Steve Harrington was pushing under his skin... and he wasn't even cognizant. Shit, Eddie didn't even know if he and Steve were possible. Sure, Steve had been alright with Robin, but that didn't mean he was gay himself. Eddie took a deep breath. "Look, Harrington, I don't know if you can hear me but..."   He stopped short.  What, was he going to confess his feelings to a man in a coma?  He reached up and grabbed Steve's hand. "Please wake up.  Please."  Eddie whispered.

It became ritual. Before he left every night, he would hold Steve's hand and quietly say "Please wake up, Harrington, please."  Robin had been there one night when he did it and she nearly cried. Over time it morphed. "Steve please wake up, we need you."  "Please wake up, Robin looks like she hasn't slept in weeks."  "I haven't seen Dustin smile in days, Harrington, wake up." Until finally one night "Steve... please wake up.  You can't just... give me these feelings and then skip out. Please."  Eddie stares at Steve's face, letting it sink in that he finally confessed, and then gets up to leave, still holding Steve's hand for a second longer. Steve fingers tightened around his.  Eddie stared at Steve's hand. Did he really...? "Steve?"  Eddie asked tentatively and the fingers tightened again. holy shit! "Steve!  Oh... shit. Hold on sweetheart I'm gonna get a nurse. Hold on."  Eddie burst out into the hallway.  "I need a nurse!  He's awake! help!" he was kicked out of the room as three nurses and a doctor huddled around Steve's bed.  Eddie found the payphone and called Robin and then Dustin. Ten minutes later everyone was showing up. Max with her crutches, Dustin who looked like had had been crying, Robin with the biggest smile on her face. They couldn't go in, not for a long time, but then finally, two by two, they were allowed back in. Eddie was last again. "Hey, Harrington." “Eddie,” Came Steve’s weak reply. “Glad you’re finally awake,” Eddie said, sitting in a chair next to the bed. “I know… I heard you begging,” Steve said, voice a hoarse whisper. “I was not begging, Harrington,” Eddie retaliated, though he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.  “I was making urgent requests. There’s a difference.” “Still heard you,” Steve said. “All… All of it?”  Eddie finally asked. “Not sure.  Heard something about feelings though.”  Steve said, the ghost of a wicked smile on his lips. “You’ve been awake for two hours and you’re already hitting on me? I’m gonna need you to slow down, Sweetheart.”  Steve’s smile just got bigger.  Eddie reached up and hooked two of his fingers into Steve’s. Steve’s fingers tightened around his. “Heard the part about kicking my ass too,” Steve said, voice so quiet Eddie had to read his lips to get most of it. “I promise that can be our first date as soon as you get out of here,” Eddie said. A little huff of air left Steve and Eddie assumed it was as close to a laugh that Steve could get.  “I should let you rest,” Eddie said, standing up, but Steve’s fingers tightened around his again. “Stay.”  Came Steve’s whispered request. “Yeah.  I’ll stay, Stevie,” Eddie said sitting back down. Ten minutes later Robin opened the door to Steve’s room to find Steve asleep and Eddie passed out in the chair next to him, head resting on the bed by Steve’s hip and their fingers tangled together. 

Soo obsessed

oneshots multi parts longer fics baby blurbs dad!series wednesday!series

matters of taste

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

summary: Not all trainees are great on the job. Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson in a bakery, however? Absolutely unmatched.

words: 7.8k

tags: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, threesome - F/M/M, semi-public sex, handjobs, oral (f+m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, spitroast, fluids play, dumbification, praise, degradation, implied masochism, hatefucking (i mean kinda but they all have crushes on each other), workplace sex, briefest mention of a housewife kink, steve harrington has a big dick, steve and eddie are already in a situationship bc i said so

additional notes: i love working customer service hahaha /j

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

It’s… you know what. It’s whatever. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine, everything’s fine.

You pause midway through frosting some cinnamon rolls to watch one of the newbies wheeling a cart of mislabelled muffins past your decorating table. You strategically keep your voice void of inflection as you say, “Price stickers, Harrington.”

“FUCK!” 

You watch Steve dramatically jostle the cart back around to wheel it toward the rack that contains the multitudes of different flavor and price stickers used in the bakery, swearing like a sailor the whole time. He collides with another cart, and slams it directly into your other trainee, Eddie Munson. 

“Shitshitshitshit shit-” Eddie curses and stumbles into a rolling rack of donuts. He grabs the rack before it can topple over, and succeeds in catching four trays of donuts when they fall out of their slots and into his arms. 

You roll your eyes at the spectacle the two of them create, which is quickly becoming the norm, and go back to stroking globs of cream cheese frosting across the cinnamon rolls in front of you. 

It’s not like they’re the world’s worst trainees or anything. It’s not like they’re completely incompetent, or that they purposefully goes out of their way to make your job unnecessarily difficult or anything. It’s not like, together, they create the most chaotic and hazardous environment possible.

No, sir. Nothing to see here. No problems to be had. 

“‘You didn’t put the price stickers on, Steve-’” you hear Steve mocking you in a purposefully insulting falsetto, and give him a side-eye that you know he can’t see. “Mehmehmeh- ‘You didn’t put the bagels in properly. You didn’t frost the bundt cakes just right.’”

“‘You didn’t circumcise the bread bags,’” Eddie adds as he shoves the trays of smushed donuts back onto the rack and grabs a rag to wipe icing from his apron.

“Fucking what?” You turn to look at them fully, holding your frosting covered hands out in front of you.

“I don’t know!” Steve whirls around to sneer at you. His bubblegum pink uniform shirt is just about the same color as his face, rosy and flushed with the heat from the ovens and probably his climbing heart rate. “Why’s everything gotta be packaged differently? It’s just bread!”

“I don’t make the rules! Don’t argue with me and just do it!” That’s another thing. Steve’s just so argumentative, about everything. How you package things, how you wash the dishes, how you clean the floors at the end of the day. Meanwhile, Eddie won’t argue with you per-se, but the day he does something correctly will be the day pigs fly. It’s the most annoying fucking thing you’ve had to deal with at this job, and you’re stuck training them. 

It’s not a particularly hard job. You’re just clerks at Mimi’s Bakery, nothing is out of the realm of doability- it’s more of a stamina sport. You’re all closers, so that means a lot of packaging and a lot of cleaning, interspersed with helping some late afternoon and evening customers, within an eight hour shift. It isn’t very busy anymore, either; summer’s over, and you still have about a month until the holiday rushes start. It shouldn’t be too terribly difficult for them, but they’ve both been here for two weeks and still act like they were born yesterday.

Steve spends an extraordinarily long time putting the price tags on the packages of muffins- and putting them on crooked, anyway, so that the entire pile looks janky and rushed despite his slow pace. Eddie’s too busy wiping chocolate icing from his arms to notice Steve’s haphazard labeling. 

Your eyes trail the wet rag that Eddie drags across his skin, leaving behind only the ink from his tattoos for you to scrutinize. During the lull, the bakery’s PA system comically offsets the tension in the room with a generic old jazz standard. Your boss, Mimi Callaghan, has an enthusiasm for novelties from her youth- hence the confectionary shop-style pink pinstriped uniform dress you wear, and your clashing forest green apron just oozing with sex appeal. Steve looks like a knockoff Ken doll in his similar blouse and khakis, but he confessed to you on his first day that he used to work at the Scoops Ahoy in the old Hawkins Mall, so you assume he isn’t too phased by it. You’re not about to tell him that he makes it work. Eddie, on the other hand, looks like someone picked him up at the Local Smokes down the street and thrust him into the uniform against his will, like he’s not really supposed to be here. You hate that you find the weird juxtaposition of his tattoos to the pink and green uniform kind of hot.

“Don’t forget to face the shelves when you put them out,” you tell Steve as he pushes the cart past you again. 

Steve’s ears glow bright red. “I’ll put out something-”

“Suck my fucking nuts, Harrington, you wanna do the job right or not?”

Eddie cackles loudly as Steve turns around, but instead of glaring at you he just looks mildly amused, like Eddie’s hysterical laughter rubbed off on him. “Why’re you so mean to me, huh?”

“What?” You splutter, gloved hands flexing in the air and squishing frosting between your fingers. “Why- why’re you so fucking difficult? Put the goddamn muffins out, we don’t have all day-”

“I think she likes you, Harrington.” 

You squint at Eddie, still rubbing himself down leisurely with the rag, twisting his rings around his fingers idly even though he didn’t even get any icing on them. He leans against the counter with a smirk on his pretty pink lips like he thinks he’s done something. Like there can’t be another reason for why you’re so easily frustrated by Steve- by either of them, really. Like their lack of decorum or work ethic are completely out of the question, you guess, to his way of thinking. 

“Like him?” you scoff, trying to appear nonchalant as you go back to smacking cream cheese frosting across the pans of pastries in front of you. “Puh- lease. He’s infuriating, he doesn't listen to directions. Also, Steve, your customer service voice? It- you know what, it’s obnoxious. We work in a bakery, you don’t have to put the moves on every girl that comes in.”

“Oh, okay. Hear me out- maybe you don’t like my customer service voice because you’re jealous.” Steve hums, rocking back on his heels and looking even more smug than he did a few seconds ago. “I can put the moves on you, too, if you’re feeling left out.”

You don’t dignify that offer with a response. You kind of just want to punch him in the face. “Go put the muffins out and let me listen to the goddamn PA in peace.”

He has the decency to look shocked. “You like this goofy old shit?”

“I love this goofy old shit, which is more than I can say about you.”

“It’s okay, sweet pea,” Eddie hums casually, in as condescending of a voice as he can muster. “You don’t have to pretend like you aren’t into Harrington. I know I am.” 

“And you, Munson-” You whirl on him, pointing one frosting covered finger angrily in his direction, at which his eyes go all wide and innocent. “Don’t even get me started. Your fucking hair gets everywhere. I swear I had to excavate an entire gerbil from the garlic bread you made yesterday. Take a fucking weedwacker to that thing, for the love of god. And… and your tattoos are fucking dumb.” 

You don’t want to admit that you like the sight of the tattoos, actually. When Mimi had told you that the newbies you’d be training were gonna be “that darling Steve Harrington, and his friend, the Munson boy” you’d been a little bit pleased. There isn’t much to admire in a bakery except cakes, and if having the two of them around the bakery means things just got a little more scenic, then you were happy to have them. 

Unfortunately, a pretty face often means an infernal personality. Finding one without the other would probably take an act of god at this point. Times two, you got stuck with the fucking chaos twins.

“Dumb?” Eddie wolf whistles. “That smarts, sweetheart. It really does. You haven’t even seen all of my tattoos yet. I’d love to give you a tour of them, though-”

Your face burns at the thought of Eddie Munson letting you get a first class look at his tattoos. He probably has ones in places even god doesn’t know about, and you glare down at the cinnamon rolls in front of you to hide how flustered you are about it. “Fuck you, Munson.”

“I wish you would.”

“For christ’s sake- Steve. Muffins, now.” 

Steve does what he’s told, for a change. It doesn’t give you as much of an ego boost as it usually does- really, you just feel sort of dull as you snap your rubber gloves off and throw them in the trash can to the side. You don’t know why you let them bother you as much as they do, but for some reason they just jerk your chain like nothing else.

The bell over the front door jingles, alerting you to the arrival of a customer. You take a quick peek at the ovens behind you to check the time; it’s nearly 8, and the bakery closes at 10. You fight to not roll your eyes as you grab a pair of gloves in case whoever it is wants something out of the display case. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Your voice is sing-songy enough that you want to smack yourself. A middle aged woman has made a bee-line for the counter, straight past where Steve is bent over a display table, struggling to shift all the old muffin boxes to the top and slide the newer ones underneath them. 

You stare at his ass for… probably way longer than necessary, honestly. 

The woman points at a singular cake box left on the counter from today’s special orders, and immediately reaches up to take it without any other introduction. 

Oh. One of these customers. The ones who come in and grab stuff off the counter without asking for assistance, who will walk back into the kitchen to look at the overstock racks and help themselves to things that haven’t been put out on the floor yet.

A tight smile curls at your lips as you snag the tag on the box and look at the name before she can yank it off the counter from you. “For Linda?”

The woman nods curtly. As you turn the box to face her, your eyes shift back to Steve as he moves around the side of the display table. He stretches his arm out to reach for a stack on a higher shelf, and your eyes linger on the way the short sleeve of his uniform shirt rides up to expose his bicep.

“This is not the cake I ordered.”

“What?” You snap your eyes back to Linda’s pinched face, glaring down at the cake on the counter. It’s a basic sheet cake, with white frosting and a screaming red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ on it. Not necessarily a masterpiece, but a neat and pretty cake nonetheless.

“I ordered a cake with a winning streak theme. This has nothing on it,” Linda says icily as you snatch up the order slip you had taken off of the box and inspect it.

“A marble quarter sheet with white buttercream and a red border, that says ‘Great Job Oscar!’ in black icing?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… what’s on the cake, ma’am.”

“But there’s no other decoration. Where’s the winning streak theme?” 

You blink, and briefly make eye contact with Steve over the woman’s shoulder. He’s all but abandoned his task of stacking muffin boxes, instead watching your face carefully as your conversation plays out. He raises one eyebrow at you, and you’re not sure if that’s him trying to be condescending or supportive. 

“I- I apologize, ma’am-” you start, looking for a way to dig your way out of the situation, “The order does say that you requested the theme, but you didn’t specify any decorations. Our decorators won’t take liberties with the order on their own if you don’t request-”

“I don’t have time for this,” Linda interjects, and you clamp your mouth shut with a dull ache beginning to throb in your temples. “I’m supposed to be at a winning streak themed party in twenty minutes and I have an embarrassment of a cake to show for it. I should be reimbursed.”

“The cake wasn’t paid for in advance,” you tell her mildly, trying not to crinkle the page with her order on it as you hold it up. 

“Uh… accommodated, then. I shouldn’t have to pay for something I didn’t want in the first place!”

“I’m afraid I can’t just give you a cake for free, ma’am. I’m not authorized.”

“Can I speak to your manager, then?” 

You open your mouth to say that, technically, you are what amounts to the shift manager. It’s just you and Eddie and Steve in the store, and even though neither of your job descriptions really include the word ‘manager’ in them, seniority rules over all. You’ve been here long enough to be able to train them, so by right you’re the one in charge. 

But then a warm hand touches the curve of your lower back, and Steve appears out of thin air to gently scoot you aside without so much as a hello.

“What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?” Steve smiles, and you could almost mistake him for being sincere if his fingertips didn’t dig into your back just slightly before pulling away. 

Linda visibly softens her demeanor, smoothing her stringy blonde hair away from her face. “Are you the manager?”

You scrutinize his profile, trying for all the world to read his fucking mind, because you have no idea what he’s thinking. He’s barely even taken a cake order, let alone dealt with a disgruntled customer with a botched one.

“That, I am!” Steve declares, and oh. Cheeky motherfucker. He’s doing the voice. He bats his eyelashes- big, long, sweeping blinks that you think can make him take flight if he tries much harder. “What can I do for you?”

“This girl,” Linda tells him shortly, not even looking at you when she motions in your direction, “is refusing to compromise about this cake. It’s not what I ordered, and if I have to show up for this party without a winning streak themed cake, I’m going to be embarrassed. The customer is always right!”

“In matters of taste,” Eddie says from over your shoulder.

Linda fixes Eddie with a cold stare. “I’m sorry?”

“That, uh… that saying.” Eddie steps up to your other side, obviously choking back a laugh as he clears his throat. “The full saying is, ‘The customer is always right in matters of taste.’ Meaning you’re right about your order, we can’t argue with your personal preferences.” 

“Exactly.” Steve shrugs easily, the picture of self-assurance as he takes the order sheet from your hand and looks it over. You’re not even sure if he entirely understands how to dissect the order sheet itself, but he looks convincing enough while doing it. “If you don’t like the cake, you don’t have to buy it. But my gi- ‘ this’ girl is right.”

You snap your eyes toward Steve, the back of your neck burning. His what? 

Steve continues like he’s made no mistake whatsoever. “We can’t give you the cake for free- the only person who can do that is the owner.”

Linda scowls. “‘Take it or leave it,’ you mean?”

Steve affords her a kind smile. “I’d be happy to pull any of our cakes out of the display instead, if you see any you prefer.”

“No,” Linda insists, obviously unhappy about it, “I’ve been coming here for twenty years and this has never happened, the owner knows me-”

“We can call Mimi, if you’d like,” he adds. 

“No, like I said, I have a party in twenty minutes,” Linda says sourly, and begins digging through her purse. “No, I’ll pay for this one, I guess.”

Behind the counter, you watch Steve ball up Linda’s cake order sheet in his palm, squeeze it unnecessarily hard, and toss it into the waste bin. Then, faster than fucking lightning, you watch Eddie type the price of the cake into the cash register. He hits the sales tax button twice.

“Come back soon!” Eddie says cheerfully as he hands her the receipt. 

You stand motionless behind them both, dumbfounded, until Linda leaves. And then Steve’s immediately cursing, shaking his head as he turns and starts walking toward the back room, hands untying the bow at his waist to undo his apron. “They’ll say anything for free shit. Anything. What the fuck is a ‘winning streak’ theme, anyways? I swear- no, you know what, I don’t actually fucking care. I used to give out freebies all the time at Scoops. But this isn’t corporate, and Mimi knows my family-” 

You follow him closely, disappearing into the back with him as he continues blathering. “Why did you do that?” 

“Hm?” Steve pauses as he’s pulling his apron over his head, and stares at you for a few seconds, like he doesn’t even know what you’re referring to. And then, you see his brown eyes widen. “Oh! I guess… I mean, I could see it going bad, and I figured if she wasn’t listening to you, then she’d probably listen to me. If I, y’know. Put the moves on her.”

You snort loudly. “Always so fuckin’ cute- I could have handled it myself.”

“No, I know you could have. I know.” Steve nods, his hair sort of fluttering around his face as he looks away from you. “But… y’know, you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to, while I’m here. I’ve been tortured by KGB and fought monsters, I can deal with an angry customer-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh. Uh…” He pauses, eyes drifting off to the side, to meet Eddie’s, who trailed behind you into the back room and is lingering over your shoulder. “Dun- Dungeons and… and Dragons? Yeah… yeah! Have you- have you played it?”

“You?” Your giggle splutters loudly in your chest before bubbling up out of your throat unexpectedly. “Steve Harrington plays Dungeons and Dragons? You like that goofy sword and sorcery shit?”

“Fucking metal sword and sorcery shit, thank you very much,” Eddie snaps, and you scoff at him. 

Steve chuckles at your little jab at his words from earlier, looking anywhere but at your face. “Yeah, sort of. I mean… Munson taught me a bit about it.”

“Everything he knows.” Eddie’s grin is wide and holds an air of mystery to it, like he knows something you don’t.

“Hm. Put that on a t-shirt for me and maybe I’ll buy it.” You blush, staring at Steve’s profile as he pulls a water bottle out of the employee break cabinet and takes a long drink from it. Then, you turn to Eddie, who leans against the door jamb. “Where’d you learn that thing about ‘the customer is always right,’ anyways?”

“Hm? Oh… I used to help my uncle Wayne in his garage,” Eddie explains nonchalantly. “Learned a lot from watching him deal with customers.”

“Right,” you hum, nodding slowly, and then turn to Steve. “And you. You could get in so much fucking trouble if Mimi finds out about that whole thing. Where did you pick that up?”

“My best friend- Robin Buckley? You know her?” Steve says as he puts the bottle back in the cabinet and snaps it shut. You shake your head, and he goes on. “Yeah. She’s crazy smart. We worked together at Scoops, and Family Video. Always had a way to respond to everything, even though she’s awkward as hell. And before you ask- yes, she would have tried to put the moves on Linda, too.”

“Would she?”

“Oh yeah.” Steve grins at you fondly, making your heart stall in your chest a bit. “Every single move in the book. If you ask me, she’s better with the ladies than I am.”

You laugh, then nod your head slowly, looking him up and down. “Okay. You’re actually fucking hilarious, Harrington. Too bad I hate your guts.”

“Really? I’m moving up in the world.” Steve grunts. “There’s a fine line between love and hate, my darling dearest.”

“Is that why you almost called me ‘your girl?’”

His smirk creates cute little dimples in his cheeks. “No, I almost did that because you’re the only one who can tell me to suck on their nuts, and I’ll actually consider doing it.”

Before you can even take a moment to process that little wise-crack, Eddie’s distracting you. His hand passes through your line of vision, then comes up and presses against the front of your green apron, just against your breast. You genuinely think he’s trying to feel you up, and you snap your eyes down to find his ringed fingers scraping a giant drop of cream cheese frosting off of your chest. 

You feel your cheeks heat up. That must have come from when you were frosting the cinnamon rolls- more like smacking them around with frosting, really- and the fact that it was there the entire time Linda was here is more than humiliating. You must have looked like such an idiot, trying to conduct yourself like a manager-

“Messy little thing, aren’t you?” Eddie murmurs, using that same fucking condescending tone that makes your hair stand on end, before meeting your eye and sucking the glob of frosting off of his two fingers.

You get a sudden head rush, and it takes way more self restraint than it should to not audibly whimper. Oh, he really shouldn’t have done that. 

You stare at him for a long moment, your eyes flickering between his, and his fingers in between his ungodly pink lips. You… you feel like you’re fucking drowning, floundering around with your head underwater and you don’t know what to do. You snap your eyes to Steve, looking for some sort of sympathy or support, but he doesn’t give you any of that. Instead, he just winks. 

No. They absolutely should not have done that.

“Fucking… fuck this. Fuck both of you- I have work to do,” you hiss, trying to skirt past buckets of frosting to get around where Eddie’s blocking the doorway, but he refuses to step aside, instead creating a one-man barricade while he snickers and continues sucking on his fingers just to rile you up even more. “Fucking move, Eddie.”

“Oh, it’s Eddie now?” He grins, obviously enjoying how much you’re struggling, with your chest pushed up against his and your arm nearly circling his waist to lever yourself against the other side of the door. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, for a lack of anything else to say. 

“For the second time, I wish you would.” Eddie raises his hand and captures your chin, tilting your head up so that you look at him, instead of over his shoulder or to the side at Steve. Your heart jumps into your throat, feeling his damp fingers on your cheek and remembering how he had been sucking on them a second ago. “Might clean out that filthy mouth of yours.”

“What do you think you’re doing, huh?” You snatch Eddie by his pinstriped collar, simultaneously pulling him down to your height and also pushing him back against the wire rack of boxes along the far wall. Eddie curses, stumbling and grabbing onto your hips as if that will steady himself. His nose nudges yours from this angle, and how close you crowd up against him. “You drive me up the fucking wall, Munson. You think you can just sweet talk me like I’m some uptight customer?”

“Woah,” Steve says from behind you, but he doesn’t sound the slightest bit surprised. More amused, and intrigued. “I think you struck a nerve.” 

“Did I?” Eddie whispers, with a hint of a smirk still on his face. His dark eyes are looking directly into yours.

He doesn’t even have time to breathe before you kiss him. Desperately. Long and hard and sort of angry, open-mouthed so that you can taste the frosting still on his tongue. He makes the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard- somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as his hands come up to cup your face and pull you closer into him. His knee slotting between your legs, not pushing up but just remaining solidly there for you to lean against it. It takes an inordinate amount of strength for you not to grind yourself down onto his thigh.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Steve says calmly from just beside you. 

Eddie pulls back for air, forehead resting against yours, thumbs stroking your cheekbones in a mockery of a tender embrace. “Go on. Show Harrington how much you hate him, too.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you grumble, but your hands have better plans. One stays on Eddie’s shoulder, but the other snatches Steve by the collar and pulls him forward so that you can attack his face with the same amount of fervor. Eddie has no compunction to be gentlemanly- while Steve’s hand rests lightly on your lower back, Eddie’s creeps up underneath your skirt to give your ass a tight squeeze, pulling you forward to grind against his thigh and making you gasp against Steve’s mouth so that his tongue can lick deeper into yours.

Nothing quite prepares you for how Eddie’s voice affects you when he says, “Uh oh, Harrington. I think I was right- she likes you. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

You make a short noise in your throat, your hand sliding down Steve’s chest to his waist, fingers beginning to make quick work of his fly. “Let’s- let’s just double check, huh? Make extra sure.”

“God- yeah. Yeah, okay. Just- be on the safe side.” Steve’s tongue is burning up when it touches your neck, his head nuzzling down so that he can graze your throat with his teeth. 

Eddie catches your hand before you manage to wiggle it beneath his waistband, and looks you directly in the eye just before he spits onto your palm. You whimper noisily at the feeling of it, warm and wet, dripping between your fingers while Steve licks at your neck and heat simmers under the tender skin between your thighs.

Air punches from Steve’s mouth when you work his trousers down his hips and pull his erection out of his boxers- he’s not quite pulsing and swollen yet, but your fingertips still just barely manage to meet from how thick he is. 

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” you curse as you give him a languid stroke, feeling him shudder when you brush your thumb over his tip and then drag your hand down his length again. Eddie’s saliva helps to make the motion fluid and smooth, adding a slick sound to punctuate Steve’s loud gasp. 

“What?” Steve hisses, trying his best to appear passive, but his voice betrays him and cracks. He gazes at you a bit apprehensively, his doe eyes looking a little foggy with need as they flicker over your face and focus on your lips. 

“Nothing on earth needs to be this big.” 

Eddie’s free hand coming up to weave through Steve’s hair and jerking his head back. His teeth catch Steve’s earlobe just before he murmurs, “Told ya, big boy.” Eddie looks directly at you over Steve’s shoulder. “Harrington’s packing a fucking monster, isn’t he?”

You hum as you let your fingers drift along the length of him. Steve’s gaze suddenly turns darker, and his chuckle falls flat out of his mouth like an exclamation of awe more than anything. “Think you can take it?”

You don’t answer that. Your grip tightens just a bit and he groans loudly, his eyes rolling back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling. “Are you one of those guys that’ll come as soon as I gag?” 

“Fuck, maybe?” Steve’s hands cup the sides of your neck and trail up to cradle your head as you lower yourself in front of him. 

Eddie scoffs. “He can’t handle it worth a shit. Don’t go easy on him.”

“Then he’d better hold on to something.” You scrape your nails down his exposed thigh, reveling in the way his entire body shakes at the feeling. 

And, without any further warning, you wrap your lips around his cock. 

Steve curses, hands balling into fists just before he slams them down against the shelf he’s leaning on. Through your lashes, you watch him gasp for breath and you wonder if he’s honestly going to last long enough to fuck you properly. Not that it really matters, though, because Eddie seems like he’ll be more than happy to pick up where Steve leaves off. 

Eddie’s hand rests on the crown of your head, guiding you on Steve’s cock. His tip leaks with precum that tastes salty on your tongue when you lick at his slit, and as you take him further into your mouth, you realize just how right you were. He hits the back of your throat, making tears spring up in your eyes and a quiet moan bubble up out of your chest on its own when you choke. 

Steve just about loses his mind over it. He groans loudly, scrambling for a place to put his hands and ending up with a fistful of Eddie’s uniform shirt while he tries to compose himself. 

“Holy fuck, you look so good with your mouth full,” Steve grunts, his free hand coming up your chin as he slides his cock out of your mouth and back in again.

“I think I like her more when she can’t talk back to us,” Eddie chuckles darkly, pressing on the back of your head and making you choke again. 

Steve hisses, his fingers tightening on your cheek. “Look at me, let me see those eyes- there you go. Pretty baby.”

You whimper, letting your jaw go slack so that Steve can fuck your mouth all he wants while you try to steady yourself. You should hate it. You should hate this- you hate them both. You think. 

Wait. Do you? 

You’ve never been this needy before, but hell if your cunt isn’t just throbbing in your uncomfortably wet panties, and your nails are digging into Steve’s skin where you grip his thighs for support. If he notices any pain from it, he doesn’t say anything- just keeps giving you these erotic little gasps every time his cock nudges the back of your throat and your eyes flicker shut for a moment before he taps your cheek and makes you open them again. 

“We should do this more often,” Steve says thickly, and without thinking, you hum in agreement. You add a little resistance against Eddie’s hand on your head to regain a bit of control, letting your tongue roll against Steve’s length however you want. 

“You think she’ll give it this good if she’s getting fucked?” Eddie muses suddenly, his finger’s toying with your hair rather than guiding you anymore. 

“Fuck- only one way to find out.” Steve shakily releases the fistful he has of Eddie’s shirt, letting him slip away from his side. Eddie’s hand leaves your head, instead falling to the tie on his apron to start undoing it. 

You whine softly, shuffling up on your knees and nearly slipping when you feel Eddie’s hands flipping the skirt of your dress up, exposing you to the cool air. His large hand smooths over the hem of your underwear, then lowers to stroke the cleft of your pussy through the fabric. 

“Oh, poor thing.”  

“What is it?” Steve asks. 

“She’s soaked through these pretty panties,” Eddie coos softly as his fingers stroke back and forth over the fabric, nudging your clit with achingly gentle, indirect touches. You moan, arching your back for more. “Baby got so wet from sucking Steve’s cock, huh? Sweet little pussy needs some attention?”

“Shit. God, that’s so hot. Fuck-” Steve grabs your hair, guiding you off of his cock with a wet noise that makes Eddie’s fingers press on your clit just a little bit harder. You splutter, drool trailing from your lips and dripping down your chin as you try to catch your breath. Something you can’t quite do, because Eddie won’t stop touching you. 

Steve tilts your head up, leveraging you backwards a bit as he kneels in front of you. “You want Eddie to fuck you? Is that what you need?”

You nod, wrapping your hand around Steve’s wet cock and giving him a few slow pumps. “Yeah, I-” you hiccup when you feel Eddie’s fingers hook your panties to the side, and dip through your dripping folds, unobstructed. “Oh fuck, I want it so bad.”

“Don’t hate us so goddamn much now?” Eddie croons as he presses two fingers deep into your pussy. 

You groan and hang your head, forehead pressing up against Steve’s navel and your nails sinking into the meat of his thigh. You can feel his cock twitch in your hand, and it occurs to you that he likes that pain- or maybe he just likes holding you against him while Eddie fingerfucks you.

Steve’s fingers card through your hair tenderly. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Munson. I think she’s having trouble talking.”

“For a change.” Eddie curls his fingers, and you nearly lose your balance, thankful that you have Steve to hold you up. “So fuckin’ wet… I think I want to taste it first.”

Eddie’s fingers leave you, and you openly sob against Steve’s stomach as his grip tightens in your hair. “E-eddie…”

His two hands curl around the waistband of your panties, and rip through the fabric as though it’s only paper. “Hold her up, Steve, it sounds like she’s gonna need it.”

Steve puts his hands on your shoulders and holds you up, rocking back so that he can get a good look at your face. Eddie spreads your legs apart, and you can feel him crowding his body in between them. There’s a slight pause, and then his tongue touches you, licking a stripe of fucking fire through your cunt from behind. 

Oh shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s too good, too warm and slick when you’ve been aching for it for way too long, your clit pulsing desperately and burning hot when his tongue strokes over it. You strain up against Steve’s hands, but he keeps pushing you forward, keeping you there against Eddie’s mouth. You moan obscenely loud, your hands tearing at Steve’s shirt like it’ll somehow convince him to let you go. 

“You’re so damn pretty like this, angel,” Steve whispers, tilting your chin up when your head falls so he can keep looking at your face. He’s flushed, his lips parted and his eyes drooping and so dark that you nearly balk under his gaze.

Eddie groans in the back of his throat and finally pulls back, and you’re not sure whether to chase his mouth or to sob for relief, so you sort of do both at the same time. He plants a hand on your ass to keep you from falling backwards into him. 

“Fuck, she tastes so sweet. Here-” You feel him move, and then Steve holds up a hand to catch something that Eddie tosses to him. 

You lift your eyes and discover that Steve is holding your torn underwear. The light blue fabric looks so out of place and innocent, little pink flowers decorating the waistband. It makes it worse that he’s looking directly at you, keeping you frozen in place. He holds them up to his nose and breathes deeply, letting his eyes flutter shut just briefly before he looks at you again and drags the soaked crotch of them across his tongue. 

“Steve…” you breathe, overwhelmed by the sight of him and the sound of his groan of pleasure. You search for something to say to him, but nothing comes before you feel something hot and thick pushing into your soaking entrance. You gasp, and then claw at Steve’s thigh in lieu of something to hold onto. “Fuck, Eddie-”  

“Shouldn’t you be choking on Steve’s cock right about now?” Eddie hisses through his teeth, sounding strained and letting out a low groan to punctuate it. 

You whine, feeling unbelievably stretched and full as Eddie splits you open, but you still scramble backwards and sink your mouth onto Steve’s cock so quickly that a gasp leaps out of his chest. 

Steve punches out a little laugh, his hand twisting your hair and pushing you down until your eyes water. “So agreeable once you get your pussy filled.”

“God, she’s so tight,” Eddie grunts as he hollows out and starts thrusting, reaching deeper inside you each time. You don’t think it’s so much that you’re tight as he’s just big- you haven’t seen his cock, but you can feel it, like you haven’t fucking felt anything else before, and it’s good. You can feel every inch, every ridge, and it makes your eyes fully roll back into your skull. “Fuck, you gotta feel this-”

“Can’t. ‘M not gonna last, shit…” Steve sounds wrecked, his words coming out sharp and desperate. The hand on your head is shaking, and you’re honestly impressed he’s lasted as long as he has. “‘M gonna come down this pretty throat.”

“You hear that, sweet pea? You gonna swallow all of Steve’s come?” Eddie’s hand weaves through your hair around Steve’s fingers, aiding in shoving your head down onto his cock. 

As if you weren’t going to, and as if he wasn’t already fucking your mouth faster than you could reasonably keep up. But you whimper and bury your nose in the patch of coarse hair at the base of Steve’s cock, inhaling his scent and tasting his musky flavor on your tongue, and you swallow around him. And then you keep swallowing, because Steve comes hard.  

He sounds absolutely gorgeous when he does it, too. If Eddie wasn’t fucking you so hard that you couldn’t stop whining, you think it would be nearly like a symphony to hear Steve reduced to quiet whimpers. By the time the hands on your head relax enough to let you off of him, though, he’s completely out of breath. 

“Good girl,” Steve pants, his hand lifting up to caress your cheek and to wipe a little dribble of his come from the corner of your mouth, so soft that it could be construed as sweet if there wasn’t any context to it. “Fuck… you were so good.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie coos into your ear, still driving his hips into yours with such force that it’s jolting you toward Steve. “Good baby, pretty baby- takes cock like a perfect little slut.”

You groan, hanging your head and arching your back toward Eddie. You seize up, your orgasm simmering low in you like the receding tide before a fucking tsunami, and you’re almost scared of how big it feels. 

“She liked that,” Eddie chuckles darkly, bending further over you so that his breath tickles your ear. “You like it when I call you a slut, huh? Our perfect. Little. Slut.” 

You open your mouth to say his name, tell him to shut up, or keep going, or anything, but all that comes out is a garbled moan. Your hand juts forward and clamps down like a vise onto Steve’s thigh, finding that he’s pulled his pants up. Your nails scratch at stiff khaki twill, trying to beg him to take pity on you, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. 

“Pick her up,” Steve says above you. “I want to see her face when she comes.”

Oh, so he’s trying to kill you, actually. That tracks.

Eddie’s arm snakes around your waist and hauls you up, and he rocks back onto his heels to pull your back against his chest. He hugs you close to him, shushing you when his cock hits you from a different angle and you cry out sharply from the feeling. 

“Pretty thing can’t take it,” Steve murmurs as he crowds in close, his hands coming up to caress you through your dress. The fabric is too goddamn rough and itchy, and your skin is too sensitive for him to be toying with you now. 

“Oh, she can take it.” Eddie sounds so sure, his voice rough and stony as he rocks his pelvis up against you while, at the same time, pulling you down into his lap. “She can take all of it. Can’t you, baby?”

You hope the question is rhetorical. You’re trembling, too lost in the feeling of the mind-numbing bliss Eddie’s giving you to come up with a response at this point. Your hand plunges back over your shoulder into a mess of curly hair, and you feel him turn his head to brush his lips against your ear. 

Steve’s hand brushes up your thigh, creeping under your skirt that’s draped across both you and Eddie’s knees. You barely have time to pick your head up and intellectualize what he’s doing before his thumb touches your clit. 

“Oh fuck-” Eddie chokes out urgently, just at the same time as you sink your nails into his forearm and all of your floor muscles lock down around him. 

And then the tsunami hits. 

You nearly scream, your cunt tightening up to wring everything out of the sensation that it can. Eddie’s cock is so hard and it hits inside you so perfectly every time that you swear you’re going to die from it. You’re collapsing forward, despite Eddie’s grip on your waist and Steve’s solid chest creating a barrier for you to fall into- your limbs feel liquid, all your muscles finally relaxing all at once. 

You feel Eddie falter, his hand slipping on your waist so that you do fall into Steve’s chest. While Eddie’s cock throbs inside you and his moans fill your ears, Steve’s hands cup your face and tilt your head up toward his. And then his lips are on yours, and his tongue is licking deep into your mouth at the same time as you feel Eddie come deep inside your cunt. 

You don’t want Eddie to pull out. Not really. You’re not going to tell him to stay there inside you while you’re both crouched awkwardly on the hard floor, but you do wish he’d take at least a few seconds before he does, because the aching emptiness he leaves in his place is enough to make tears spring up in your eyes. 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay, you did so well,” Eddie whispers as you sob openly from the sensation, his arm coming back around your waist to pull you against him. And then you both sort of topple backwards, his shoulders hitting the stacks of backstock frosting buckets as Steve shuffles back to lean against the wire rack across from you. He pulls your legs into his lap and starts stroking his hand across your bare calf. 

You try to catch your breath while Eddie reaches for something on the floor off to the side. You blink your eyes open to find him fiddling with his discarded green apron, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pocket in it before wadding it up into a little ball. 

He promptly tucks it between your legs and starts cleaning you up with it. 

“R’you using your apron… as a cum rag?” You slur tiredly at him, squeaking a little as the rough fabric scrapes across your overly sensitive clit. 

“Don’t want to leave a mess,” he mutters easily, making Steve chuckle across from you. “Why s’it that I can fuck you half out of your mind and you’ll still bitch me out about how I clean shit?”

“‘Cause it’s fun t’see you all mad. You’re pretty when you’re pissy.” You feel his chest shake with laughter as he finishes wiping you down and tosses the apron aside, then wraps his arms snugly around your middle. 

“Good thing you’re pretty all the time, then.” Eddie huffs, rocking you back and forth a little as he fits his head on your shoulder. You tap your fingers across his forearm, looking down at them and humming contentedly. 

“What is it?” Steve asks, smiling at you almost fondly. 

You sigh, dragging your fingertip along Eddie’s skin. “I like his tattoos.”

“I knew it,” Eddie whispers, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, making you giggle and shut your eyes. “I still haven’t shown you the rest of ‘em.”

“There’s always next time.”

Steve blinks. “You want to do this again?”

“Of course I want to fucking do this again, Steve,” you snap, rolling your eyes playflully. “Been wanting to jump both of you since you started, wasn’t it fucking obvious?”

“Was to me.” Eddie’s finger traces along your collar, toying with the first button on the front of your uniform dress. “Also, I haven’t seen your tits, so. I’m not done with you yet.”

“I dunno, the dress kind of does it for me,” Steve admits, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s, uh… cute. Like a 50s housewife or something.”

“Let’s get you a string of pearls and see how long ‘Big Dick’ Harrington lasts then,” Eddie snickers, and you laugh tiredly as you watch Steve flush. 

You fall into easy silence, but just as soon as you relax into Eddie’s arms, the bell over the front door of the bakery jingles. And then the hand bell on the front counter dings loudly. 

And dings again. And dings again. And dings agai-

“You gonna get it, this time?” Steve asks Eddie, sounding a little bit grumpy already. 

“No, I’m gonna hold her a while longer,” Eddie says coolly, not leaving any room for discussion. He presses a tiny kiss to your neck, just underneath your ear, and you squeak in surprise at the lightness of it. “Go get ‘em, Mr. Manager Man.”

“Fuckin’-” Steve rolls his eyes as he gently sets your legs aside before gracelessly clambering up off the ground. He smooths out his uniform, tucking in the tail of his shirt before striding through the door into the kitchen. “What’s up, party people?”

“Do you have any chocolate cakes with white buttercream already made? I need it for tonight.”

Eddie scoffs in your ear, his hand drifting across your thigh to rest just shy of your pussy, making your breath hitch and your hips cant up toward his touch. “They always wait for the last fuckin’ minute, don’t they?”