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Sixty-five hours, four minutes and three seconds. Now four. Now five. Time since Eddie has left… what did they call it?
The upside-down.
He wishes he’d known what he was getting himself into. Now, the smell of antiseptic makes him sick to his stomach, his right wrist is bandaged and sore as the painkillers wear off and—
He can’t talk.
He was still out of it but he can remember— ‘damaged laryngeal nerve’, it was, and ‘paralyzed vocal chord.’ The cops wouldn’t let up for the first few hours but eventually gave up because for christs’ sake, he couldn’t speak.
He misses Steve. And… and the others, too. Dustin. Robin. The little girl, Erica. But Steve is a constant in the back of his mind and he’s not sure why. Well, he does know why, but he won’t admit it.
God.
He’s in some kind of industrial building or warehouse or something that was made into a hospital, and it’s a miracle he gets his own room now. A few days ago the ‘hospital’ was a bunch of mattresses separated by curtains, talk about privacy.
He’s propped up on a stiff bed. A solitary window next to him tells him that it’s raining and he shivers, but he’s too sore to get out of bed and close it. And, well, it’s not like he can call for someone. What a predicament. The last person he’d seen was a volunteer who came to give him dinner.
He’s going crazy. And this little suspicion of him is nearly confirmed when the door clicks open and no, it’s not another volunteer or nurse. It’s…
It’s Steve.
Eddie wants to cry out of relief.
“Eddie. Found you.” Steve’s voice is hushed like he’s scared of disturbing Eddie. “Finally. Good to see you.” He gently closes the door and approaches the bed, the features of his face hazy under the warm glow of the lamp: the soft curve of his jaw, evidently unshaven and speckled with stubble, and the messiness of his hair, and best of all, his eyes. Eyes that gaze at Eddie with sincerity, like there’s hearts in his eyes. “I know what happened, you don’t have to try and explain.”
Eddie smiles weakly and nods. There are a million things he wants to say to Steve, but right now, he’s just grateful for the company. And, well, the fact that the company is Steve.
“You’re not the only one, by the way.” Steve hooks his fingers under the fabric of his shirt and lifts it up— just enough to reveal some bandages and a little bit of skin. “Twelve stitches here, ten more on my back.”
Eddie’s gaze lingers a second longer than it needs to, earning a lopsided grin from Steve. “What?”
He shakes his head. Steve has no idea what he’s thinking, and it’s for the best. The crudeness of his own thoughts surprises him sometimes.
“So… I bet you’re goin’ crazy, right?”
He nods.
“Well, okay, here’s what you missed. Dustin’s okay, he’s got a sprained ankle.” Steve waits for Eddie’s reaction before continuing. “Everyone else is fine. They’re saying it was an earthquake… if you can call whatever the fuck that happened an earthquake. They’ve got bigger worries than Chrissy.”
At the mention of the name, Eddie’s expression sours.
“Sorry.” Steve solemnly looks down. “Everything has sucked lately, yeah?” He sits down on the edge of the bed. “Could be worse.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows.
“I mean, it’s a miracle that you’re alive, Ed,” Steve says, and Eddie can feel his heart flutter at the nickname. It’s so unfair; he has so much to say. “When Dustin told me what happened… you could have gotten yourself killed. You’re not a coward— hell, you never were one. In the time I’ve gotten to know you, you’re anything but. You know that, right?” Steve reaches out and touches his hand.
And he flinches. Tenses up. No, no, no, I didn’t mean that —
“Hey,” Steve says firmly, eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Eddie. Relax. I’m… I’m not going to hurt you.” He clasps a warm hand over Eddie’s, rubbing circles into the soft, pliable skin of his palm. “You’re okay.” And that’s all it takes for him to feel… okay. Like maybe the world isn’t ending. Steve is looking at him with those fucking hearts in his eyes and god, if only Steve knew what he’s doing to Eddie, what he could do.
They sit like that for a while, suspended in the moment; in the bliss of make-believe. Eddie had no idea how touched-starved he was until now. Steve’s delicate little circles bring him a kind of contentment he didn’t think was possible during a time like this, and the warm, skin-on-skin touch felt nice. Nice . Nothing more to it. Sure, he’ll go with that.
“Is that bothering you?”
Eddie’s torn out of his haze. He looks at Steve expectantly.
“Your hair, I mean. It’s kind of in your face, do you want me to tie it up?”
His hair is kind of bothering him. He doesn’t usually tie it up but… he nods anyway.
Steve sticks his hand in his pocket, pulling out a hair tie, though there’s something else in there, too. He scoots closer to Eddie. “Always carry a hair tie on me,” He explains absentmindedly.
Steve’s fingers brush against Eddie’s face, pushing his hair behind his ear and gathering it into a ponytail. He does nothing but stare at Steve lovingly, shuddering when Steve’s fingers are touching his neck and leaning into the touch. He might as well be made out of glass with how… gentle Steve is. Makes him wonder.
“There.” Steve smooths out his bangs, and he just about melts. “Better?”
He manages a nod, and wow, Steve has pretty eyes.
“God, Eddie. You keep looking at me like…”
He tilts his head.
“I…” Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “Nevermind. I brought you something.” His hand goes back in his pocket, pulling out what seems to be a notepad, accompanied by a pen. “Figured, maybe, since you can’t…”
Eddie holds up his bandaged hand, shaking his head.
“You have another hand, y’know.” Steve places the notepad on his lap. There’s a blanket separating Steve’s hands and his thigh, but god, he wishes there wasn’t. “Go on.”
This is stupid. Eddie picks up the pen, squeezing it tight to mask the way his hand was trembling. The pen feels foreign in his left hand; he frowns.
“It doesn’t have to be pretty. It’s okay, you can take your time.”
The first line he draws is… messy, but legible. A little shaky but not as bad as he expected. Hell, what is he even going to write? There’s a million things he wants to say to Steve yet his mind blanks. An idea pops up in the back of his mind, one so stupid that he has to do it. Munson doctrine, right?
He begins to write, and then scribbles it out, frustrated. It’d take ten minutes to write in full sentences.
Steve peeks over. “You good, Munson?”
He gently pushes Steve away, planting his good hand on Steve’s chest. They both grin.
A few seconds later, he’s done. It reads: Hug? :(
Bold, sure. But he sure as hell could use a hug right now. A hug from Steve.
Steve reads it, and for a moment, Eddie thinks that it’s stupid. It’s a stupid idea, and he’s weird—
“Oh.” Steve looks at him with a distinct emotion. Not pity. Empathy. “Yeah, man, of course. Come here.” Steve leans in and tentatively wraps his arms around Eddie. Not too tight, but snug. Careful not to aggravate any injuries. Steve is a good hugger. What isn’t he good at? Eddie’s mind quiets and he rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, letting out a breath that he feels like he’s been holding forever. Focuses on the steady in, out of Steve’s breath.
Steve pulls away, but only enough to look him in the eyes. “Better?”
He gives a hazy smile.
Steve’s arms are still around his shoulders, and he swears his heart stops when Steve says, in a low voice, “Eddie?”
He glances up at Steve.
“I kind of want to kiss you right now.”
Eddie stares at Steve, wide-eyed. Because he hasn’t had his first kiss yet. But he really, really wants to kiss Steve. And he can’t say any of this, and fuck, now Steve looks confused, so he does what any crazy person would do: leans forward and kisses Steve.
He’s kissing Steve Harrington.
He just kissed Steve Harrington.
It was a quick but bold close-mouthed peck, one that leaves Steve looking wide-eyed, too. Eddie isn’t really sure what’s happening when Steve leans in, pressing their lips together. Okay. He has no idea how to kiss. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands— fuck, he doesn’t know what to do with his lips. But Steve is patient. And now, Eddie finally, finally understands why people like kissing: it feels good. Plain and simple.
Feels good when Steve cups his chin and tilts his head up a bit, when a sound of pleasure is hummed into his mouth. Feels especially good when he feels Steve’s tongue lick at his lips, something he didn’t expect to feel good, but for fuck’s sake it’s Steve. He still has no idea what to do but throws his arms around Steve’s neck and pulls himself closer until their bodies are pressed against each other. Steve scoots closer, his tongue warm and slippery in Eddie’s mouth, motions deliberate and slow, like he’s done this a million times. Tongue-kissed a million girls. Or guys. Whatever.
“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve pants out, their lips still touching. Each syllable vibrates on his mouth in an oddly pleasant way. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
Eddie opens his mouth, then remembers that he can’t talk. The tension in his chest returns; there’s so much he wants to tell Steve. He holds up his hand, grabs the notepad and scribbles out a messy ‘me too’.
“Yeah?” Steve slides his hand over Eddie’s, taking the notepad and putting it aside. He leans in again, pressing his forehead against Eddie’s and whispering, “I could see it. In your eyes. The way you look at me… it does things to me, Ed.” A hand touches his face, fingertips gentle against his skin, as if he’s made of glass.
He kisses Steve again. This time, with less hesitance, feeling more confident under the guise of Steve’s patience. Steve takes time to figure him out despite his inability to speak— learns that he likes to be held tight, likes it slow and goes crazy for tongue. His head is spinning and if he could say anything, it’d be nothing but moans.
Steve’s hand travels down the base of his neck, squeezing gently, then continuing down past his chest, ribs, stopping at the bottom of his shirt. He shudders when Steve’s hand slides under the fabric, steady against his navel.
“You okay?” Steve asks, sensing his hesitancy.
Eddie stares back at Steve before it registers in his brain. He’s asking a question. Fumbling for the notepad, he writes out the shortest version of his concern. lots of bandages, its gross.
Steve reads it, then frowns. “What? I don’t care. It’s— that doesn’t matter. Eddie. You think I would be making out with you if I’m not willing to see you shirtless?”
Eddie slowly shakes his head.
“This isn’t the only piece of clothing I plan on taking off,” Steve mutters— Eddie’s heart skips a beat at that— “But seriously, Ed, I don’t care. Can… Can I take it off?”
He writes down one more thing: be gentle. Hands the notepad to Steve.
“Of course.” Steve presses a kiss to his lips. It’s brief but sincere. Says more than words. Says it’s okay, I’ll be gentle, and makes him feel like maybe his life isn’t one giant fuck-up.
Fingers hook under the fabric of his shirt and pull it over his head. The cold air hits his chest and he shivers, biting his lip as Steve’s hand caresses his skin, careful not to touch the bandages. God, Steve is taking him apart, piece by piece, touch by touch, and there’s nothing he can do but sit back and try to breathe. Steve’s fingers brush against his nipples and his breath hitches— a sharp inhale, held back— and Steve does it again.
“You like that?”
He can feel his cheeks burning in contrast to the cool air, red-hot blush spreading across his face as he manages a nod. Steve continues to fondle him, rubbing the area with painstakingly slow motions. “You’re sensitive, Munson, I’ll give you that.” He wets his lips with his tongue and glances up at Eddie. “Gonna have fun with you.”
Steve presses a wet kiss to his nipple and his breathing grows to pants; he never knew something like this could feel so good. Steve’s lips and tongue are like magic, and when he sucks, there’s a sharp, punctuated pleasure that makes his mind numb. He grabs ahold of Steve’s hair and gives a soft tug, back arching as Steve leaves a trail of kisses down his torso, stopping just shy of his waistband.
So this is what arousal is. Nothing to do with those nights spent alone, a box of tissues and vaseline to get it over with. This is different. A feeling deep in his stomach, a feeling of… lightness. He can feel his heartbeat drumming and he’s aware of everything Steve does, skin tingling with every touch. And god, the tightness in his boxers is screaming at him, like he needs to be touched right now, and there’s surely a wet patch, too.
“May I?” Steve asks in a soft, sweet voice, fingers resting on his stomach. He’s only wearing boxers and his heart is beating a little too fast but he nods anyway because he needs this.
Steve’s hand slips under his waistband, dragging his boxers down to his thighs. “Pretty,” Steve mutters, and Eddie just about dies. “Are you a virgin?”
Eddie winces. Because what kind of twenty-year-old is a kissless virgin? Him, apparently. He glances down.
“Eddie?”
The hand isn’t on his— he sighs. He doesn’t even know what he wants anymore.
“Hey, look. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, okay?” Steve is now caressing the side of his face, sickly sweet gaze making him feel a little less guilty. “Tell me how you feel. Here.” He’s handed the notepad again.
i want it, He scribbles out. but im scared.
“That… that’s okay.” Steve finger-combs his bangs, stroking the soft curls soothingly. “I just want to make you feel good, Ed. But I need a yes.”
Eddie nods.
“Okay,” Steve says. “Do me a favor and relax. Let me take care of you.”
Eddie complies, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself to take a breath. Steve is barely touching him, thumb trailing along the tip of his cock, yet he’s already writhing. In a slow, sultry voice, Steve mumbles, “So wet for me.”
Eddie bucks his hips in response. If he could whine, he would.
Steve gives a slight laugh, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “Relax. I’m getting there, okay?”
Steve Harrington, the tease. Steve works his thumb into the tip, massaging it in circular motions and occasionally glancing up at Eddie as if asking, does it feel good? And Eddie can’t do anything except sit back, his good hand squeezed into a tight fist. Steve is beautiful, plain and simple, and his gaze remains fixed on Steve’s stupid little expressions, hanging on to every little detail of his face.
Eddie chokes out a stuttered breath when he feels Steve palm him, making slow, broad strokes along his cock. Frustration bubbles in his chest— he wants to be vocal, to tell Steve that it feels good, anything.
“Ed.” Steve pauses, mid-stroke, his right hand wrapped around Eddie’s cock. “Here.” He slides his free hand in Eddie’s, intertwining their fingers. “Squeeze if it feels good, ‘kay?”
Steve is back to fondling him, a steady hand rubbing the base. He gives a squeeze, fingers digging into the space between Steve’s knuckles. It’s not much but it’s better than nothing. He’s sure to squeeze when Steve glides a finger over the tip, or when Steve picks up the pace with brisk strokes. It’s a simple kind of pleasure, really, and the building arousal that draws him closer manifests in harder, longer squeezes of Steve’s hand.
“I can tell you’re close.” Steve leans forward, ghosting his lips over Eddie’s and whispering, “You’re pretty, you know that?”
Eddie’s face flushes at the comment, squeezing when Steve connects their lips for a slow, tender kiss. His nails are digging into Steve’s skin and his thighs are trembling; he cums with his cock in Steve’s hand and Steve’s tongue in his mouth. It’s more of a relief than anything as each wave of pleasure courses through him, spilling out onto Steve’s palm, the motions of his mouth messy and uncoordinated as they kiss.
Steve pulls away, a strand of saliva connecting their lips. “Good?” He asks.
Eddie smiles in response, pressing his forehead against Steve’s and gazing into his eyes. Love, that’s what he sees. He reaches for the bedside and pulls a tissue from the box, handing it to Steve, who laughs. “Thanks.”
Awkwardly trying to pull his boxers back up, he scoots to the side of the bed, making room for Steve. All he wants to do right now is call it a day— with Steve at his side, of course.
“You tired?” Steve asks, climbing aside Eddie and throwing an arm around him.
He nods, a shy smile spreading across his face when Steve kisses his forehead. For now, this was okay. Not being able to talk, because he didn’t need words to say that he loved Steve. Pressed against his warm body, lights off, Eddie knows that it’s going to work out.