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Chapter Text

If somebody had told pre-March-1986-Eddie that he was about to live through multiple near-death experiences, murder accusations, inter-dimensional portal openings, and the possible end of the world as the residents of Hawkins knew it- well. He’d have assumed that whoever was foretelling his future had smoked a little too much of whatever he’d just sold them. Would maybe have adopted some of that cracked up fairytale nightmare into the next Hellfire campaign, probably. And then would have got fucked up enough to forget it all by the next morning (if all went well).

However. 

If that same person had told Eddie all of that- and the fact he was going to live through it all because of Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington- he’d actually start to feel concerned. Troubled. Deeply. 

Steve is the least likely person Eddie could have possibly imagined being involved in the entire debacle. It’s absurd. It’s like seeing a flamingo in a flock of pigeons. A square peg in a round hole. One of these things is not like the others- the others being a group of dungeons-and-dragons-playing-recent-middle-school-graduates and a nerd from band. And Nancy Wheeler- that had thrown him a little too, particularly her sharpshooter qualities, but whatever. He digresses. 

Steve is still the strangest member of his newfound group of brave companions. 

He tries to tell Steve that, when Steve starts dragging him from the pits of hell. Eddie’s pretty sure his intestines are not where they’re supposed to be- half hanging out of him, flesh gored away by those savage little bats (his elbow tattoo is ruined now, albeit very ironic), and he’s fading in and out of blinding pain, blood bubbling out of his mouth, sides screaming in agony as Steve huffs, pulls his limp body along the ground like a ragdoll. You shouldn’t be here, Eddie thinks. It doesn’t make sense for you to die here, with me. 

He must manage to garble some of that out, because Steve finally looks at him before they drop through the gate in Eddie’s ceiling. 

“It doesn’t make sense for you to die here either, Munson. I’m not done with you yet.”

And then Eddie really does Black Out. Before he can try and decipher what the hell Steve means by that. 

Wayne cries like a baby when he eventually wakes up- over a week later, in considerable pain, with his insides put back together where they’re supposed to be. Wayne tells him he’s been exonerated. Wayne tells him all about how his new friends have been to visit- checking on him. 

“That Harrington boy’s been here every day. My god, Eddie- you gave us all a real fright.”

Maybe Eddie’s still dreaming. Or maybe his brain cells are finally scrambled enough that he’s lost the ability to process information because- it just. It doesn’t make any sense. 

But Wayne proves to be correct after all. Steve appears less than an hour later- bandaged up like some war-torn hero, haggard looking. A bit grumpy. Still pretty though. Fuck him for that.

“What brings you to my sickbed, Harrington?” he groans, blinking up at Steve. He wishes Wayne had given him some warning. Steve’s presence should always require a warning, a flashing bar over his head: will induce gay crisis. Crisis’s. Crises? Eddie’s forgotten the plural, his brain is-

“Just making sure you’re still alive. You look like shit,” Steve says dryly, pulling him out from his spiraling train of thoughts. 

“Oh you know me- consummate survivor.”

“Didn’t look that way for a while. Those bats got you good after you pulled that braindead stunt.”

“Don’t sound so concerned, Steve- I’ll start thinking you care,” Eddie smiles sweetly, trying valiantly to rebuild his internal self-defense walls to ward off that catastrophic threat: Vulnerability. 

“Of course I care,” Steve frowns. Because of course he does.

“I told you, dipshit- no way was I letting you die in that hellhole,” he adds, narrowing his eyes. “Not when I finally have a co-parent for Henderson.”

And the most bizarre part about the entire life-changing world-upending experience?

Steve stays. 

He stays in Eddie’s life. 

I mean- it does change you fundamentally as a person, going through that. Nothing in his world is left unscathed- his home (gone. Replaced by government hush money at least), Wayne (terrified of letting Eddie out of his sight longer than two hours), his body (fucked up in every conceivable way, requiring at least six months of intensive PT), his mind (already very bad before all of this, now with added bonus of re-occurring nightmares and anxiety attacks), his livelihood (nobody wants to buy weed from their local would-be murderer, satanist, cult-leader). 

And the company he keeps. 

Steve just… continues to challenge Eddie’s very set-in-stone and totally not born-from-cynicism worldviews. It’s very unnerving, and frankly? Unwanted. 

He drives him to and from PT before Eddie’s well enough to get behind the wheel of his van. Drops round to the new apartment he and Wayne shack up in- he brings things like casseroles (mostly from Joyce, apparently) and spare cutlery and crockery because they lost loads of stuff in the ‘earthquake’ that followed vecna’s downfall. And movies- really bad ones that Eddie would normally refuse to watch point-blank. And the kids- he brings them around too. Eddie actually likes that- playing DnD with them is a slice of normalcy in his entirely upended world. 

It’s kind of like- they’re friends now. Or something. 

He asks Steve that- six months post-Vecna.

“Are we friends?” he wonders aloud- they’ve just driven back from his final PT session.

Steve just stares at him, agog.

“Why do you- why are you even asking that, man?” he scowls, helping Eddie out of the van and handing him his cane. “Do you think I just do this shit for fun? Shits n’ giggles?”

“I mean- maybe. You do a lot of reeeally weird stuff Harrington- and most of it seems beyond reason to me.”

Steve huffs, and then pokes Eddie in the side very gently. It’s still enough to make him wince. 

“We’re friends,” he confirms. “I like you.”

I like you.

The world tips again, just a little. Steve opens the door, greets Wayne- he doesn’t even look back at Eddie, where he’s stood there frozen in place. 

I like you.

And the earth keeps spinning. Just a little differently now, changed once more.

Eddie starts really struggling with Steve eight months post-vecna. 

He’s been struggling with the Steve Situation for ages obviously- but it’s been easier to repress it all under the distraction of re-learning to walk, eat, shit without pain- and also before I like you happened. 

Now it’s starting to leak through the cracks. Bubble over into the forefront of his mind whenever he’s in Steve’s company- he’s painfully aware of so many of the physical qualities Steve possesses capable of sending his thoughts in a very Bad Direction. 

His hands- big, strong. Capable. Hands that have held Eddie’s waist whenever he was particularly wobbly after a PT session, losing balance. Hands that cook food for Eddie, thick fingers that on one occasion slid through Eddie’s hair, pulled it back from his face when it was getting in the way and Eddie was too tired to do anything about it. 

His mouth- the way he smirks, his full lips quirking up whenever he’s teasing Dustin. The way they purse softly around a cigarette- sometimes sharing one with Eddie. Indirect kisses. 

His eyes- big and brown, flecked with hazel when you look really close. Which Eddie has, once- and he’s determined to avoid repeating the incident after the heart attack it had induced being that up close and personal with Steve Harrington’s face. 

He doesn’t actually allow himself to categorise other things his body takes note of; the flex of his biceps under his dorky tight polo shirts, his thighs and ass snug in his soft blue jeans- the way he laughs, full and bodily, at Eddie’s stupid jokes. The kind of jokes no one else used to laugh at except maybe Dustin- but Steve laughs. Or rolls his eyes, smiling- that reaction comes off so fond that Eddie prefers it even to the laughing. Steve is just. He’s so. And he’s.

It’s cruel, really.

Because even if you put aside the fact that Steve is very Straight- Eddie is a high-school dropout with no money and no prospects and a pretty broken body and very damaged mind. And this very irritating crush has the potential to do more than just hurt his feelings a little- he risks losing a very genuine connection, a friendship with somebody who goes above and beyond to care for you in your most vulnerable moments- somebody who can actually understand and empathise with the unusual type of trauma Eddie’s lived through. 

So. 

He’s just ignoring it. He’s biding his time- eventually his brain (and his dick) will figure out that this is doomed and never going to happen- he’ll train his brain into associating Steve with unsexy things, or something. Every time he sees that glorious head of hair he’ll just internally replay a memory clip of the time Gareth drank too much beer too fast after practice and sprayed out half the can through his nose. 

The whole thing would be a lot fucking easier if Steve didn’t start fucking with him again. 

Because he does- and every time one of these world-changing incidents occurs- Eddie has to remind himself he’s straight, and uninterested in you. He’s straight, and uninterested in a damaged fuckup.

You’ll get over it.

*

The first time the crisis really kicks up a notch is at a party.

One year post-vecna.

Some of the post-vecna Change is beginning to morph into positive experiences: Eddie is actually employed now. Legally, and everything. He gets a job at the Sam Goody in Muncie- short drive from Hawkins, but far away enough that somebody is willing to look past the dropped murder charges and hire him based on his extensive knowledge of every metal album recorded in the last twenty-ish years. He’s playing in the band again, Wayne is less anxious about his every move- it’s good, actually. Really good. 

Steve is Good too.

Steve is starting his paramedic training. He moved out from his very absent and possibly abusive? parents' house a year ago, moved into a little apartment above the diner near Melvads- clearly managed to hang onto his share of government hush money at least to fund it. Eddie hasn’t tried to ask Steve about his parents after his first attempt- Steve had shut down, and the look on his face wasn’t worth a second try. 

Robin’s moved away for college. Started late, spring semester. 

She’s only moved to Indy, but Eddie knows Steve is taking it hard. Real hard. 

Their relationship is one of the most bizarre things about Steve- like long lost sisters. Like the freaky telepathic twins trope Eddie’s read in multiple horror novels. It seems to ascend any kind of normal label- it hadn’t taken long for Eddie to realise why they were so insistent on it being Platonic. Robin came out to him a few months into their budding new friendship- Eddie had joked to her about like drawn to like and birds of a feather and well. That was that. Robin knows about him. Robin probably even knows about the way he looks at Steve, the way he tries so so hard not to look at Steve. He catches her sometimes- looking at him with a vaguely annoying pitying expression. It makes him grit his teeth, but he’ll never bring it up. He’s never going to do that because it would mean Acknowledgement. The mortifying ordeal of Robin Knowing.

Robin isn’t going to Know anything at all after tonight though, the way she’s drinking- but it’s understandable. It’s her belated leaving party, after all.

You can squeeze a surprising number of people into Steve’s poky little apartment. It’s a bit like playing sardines- there’s a lot of bumping into people and sorry man, can I get by, and spilled drinks- but it’s kind of fun. Cosy. And nobody here looks at Eddie like he’s a broken fucked up piece of shit dropout. Like he’s damaged. 

Steve is glued to his side. 

It’s half endearing, half infuriating- Eddie’s kind of losing it. Bad. Steve keeps touching him- they’re close enough friends now that Eddie’s used to some amount of physical contact with the man he’s half in love with- used to him being tactile, bad with personal space. But tonight is an entirely new test from the heavens above- Steve is kind of wasted- and he’s hanging off Eddie like he intends to make Eddie repay him for all the times he had to use Steve as a human crutch after his PT sessions. 

His arm is heavy and warm around Eddie’s shoulder- it moves, from time to time, his big hand dragging slowly down Eddie’s back, torturous. Agonising. He hipchecks him, bumps into him- at one point he drunkenly flops his head to the side onto Eddie’s shoulder, laughing raucously at something Argyle says. Eddie feels his hot breath on his collarbone, wants to kill everyone in the room and then himself. 

Or just bite Steve, very hard. On his neck.

Nobody even seems to notice, or care. Partly because they’re all packed into his front room so tightly anyway- but also. People are just… used to it. They’ve kind of assimilated into this little package deal, over the past year. Eddie and Steve. Steve and Eddie. 

It’s kind of like Steve and Robin- but with a massive extra helping of one-sided homoeroticism Eddie is desperately trying (and failing) to repress. Really fun.

“You better not upchuck all over my new jeans, Harrington,” he warns. Steve is kind of lolling at his side now, giggling and flushed pink all over. The pinker he gets, the more Eddie has to fight down the urge to do something deranged. Bite him. Pinch him to see if he makes a good noise. 

Eddie’s always considered himself a bit Fucked Up. In a myriad of ways- but probably also sexually. Probably, because it’s all hypothetical- he’s a twenty one year old virgin. But he’s also familiar enough with the shit that gets him off, the ideas and urges that crop up in his fantasies- it’s just yet another obstacle that removes him from ever being compatible with the ex-King of Hawkins High. 

It doesn’t stop him thinking about those urges though, when Steve acts in certain ways. 

He tries to deposit Steve on the sofa- it’s finally empty right now, with people beginning to depart the overcrowded apartment. Steve isn’t willing to go down alone though - I’m not done with you yet- he tugs Eddie down along with him, then flops over him, warm and pliant and groaning about his head. Eddie lifts his eyes to the ceiling. I’m not religious, he thinks. But this is enough to make me convert- please, if you’re out there- enough. Spare me, please.

“‘M not- wheresRob gone-” Steve slurs, tucking his head into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder, pulling them tighter together with one arm, still slung around Eddie’s neck. 

“You are so, so wasted, my friend,” Eddie sighs. He pulls out his carton of smokes- if Steve’s going to keep putting him through this, the least he can do is not be mad about smoking indoors. He hadn’t cared before, anyway.

“You’re- yourwaste. Wasted.” Steve sighs, directly against his neck. Eddie twitches. 

He smokes with his hands shaking, trying not to focus on the fact that Steve is still mumbling against his neck- lips brushing the sensitive skin there remarkably frequently. He seems to drift off at one point, his breathing evening out slightly, slow and deep.

And then Robin reappears. 

With her disposable camera. 

She’s got a big shit eating grin on her face, cooing and smirking at Eddie- you’ve got a fucking nerve, Eddie wants to say- Vickie’s been mooning over you all night and all you managed to do was blush and stammer at her. He glares at her, trying to shoo her away. 

She gives him the picture a week later, after they’re developed. 

It makes his heart ache a bit. Steve is pretty, rumpled and smiling against his neck, draped across him. It looks… it doesn’t look platonic. It’s an illusion. A pipe dream, frozen in time on film paper. 

“Jesus,” Eddie sighs. 

“I think it’s cute,” Robin says, glancing at him nervously. “You guys look good together.”

Eddie laughs humourlessly. “Yeah. Very cute. Just a couple of dudes! Couple of bros. Me and my Very Heterosexual Best Friend, chillin’.”

Robin makes a weird noise in response to that. A kind of strangled hmm. But she doesn’t say anything further, just looks back to the photo Eddie’s holding. 

Eddie plans on hiding it in his room, and vowing never to let Steve get that drunk again near him. Never let him act like that again, never have to feel the brunt of pre-determined rejection.

*

Steve does it again, less than a week later. 

Not the drinking part. The testing-the-limits-of-his-gay-patience part. 

He shows up at Eddie’s door in his pajamas, looking very hollow. Looking very un-Steve like. 

Eddie lets him in, because Steve is his friend, and he already knows why Steve’s here. 

The nightmares.

Everybody gets them. Everyone. They’ve talked about it- some people (like Max, and Mike) very little, very rarely- some people (like Robin, Dustin) frequently and with enough detail that Eddie sometimes has to tune it all out lest he relive certain Experiences and go into a full-fledged panic attack.

Steve is a mixed book.

He won’t talk about it in front of the kids. Any of it. He seems to want to keep up this facade that he’s untouchable- he’s there for everyone to pick up the pieces, unbothered by his own trauma.

But after a few months he breaks- Robin has clearly seen it before, and is unsurprised when Steve starts talking about it when the three of them are smoking at his new place. He starts slow- and then it’s like a freefall, a never ending waterfall of words spilling forth, voice choked up with emotions Eddie can’t quite decipher? Anger? Grief? Both, probably. All either of them can do for him is promise him he isn’t alone, urge him to come to them in really difficult moments. 

He keeps his word, somewhat. He’s shown up at Eddie’s door a couple of times before and asked to hang out- and Eddie can tell it’s down to the nightmares. He needs an escape, a distraction. They don’t talk much about it unless Eddie wants to vent about his own recent night-time horror reels, they just kick about smoking and talking shit and watching bad movies Steve brings over.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

Steve is actually shaking when he comes in- silently, quietly picks his way over to Eddie’s room, sits on Eddie’s unmade bed. 

“You want a drink?” Eddie offers, slightly awkward. He wants to help- he wants to ask Steve, to poke at him until he addresses why he’s really here- but the cowardly aspects of his personality still live on post-vecna, and he’s not brave enough to just bring it up.

“Nah I’m- it’s good. Sorry,” Steve says, and his voice is small. It’s unlike him. Eddie hates that, hates it more than anything. 

He sits next to Steve on the bed.

“If you apologise again I’ll hit you,” he adds. “I’ll kick you where the bats bit you.”

“Ouch, Munson. You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Steve hums. He’s smiling a little now- progress. 

“It’s so stu-”

“If you say it’s stupid I’ll hit you as well.”

“I think you’re just looking for a reason to hit me,” Steve laughs. 

Eddie smiles wryly.

Steve sighs. “It wasn’t even a nightmare. How dumb is that? I was just… getting changed. I always avoid the mirror when I do that, now. But I forgot, and…”

“Did you catch sight of yourself in the reflection and fall deeply in love with yourself? Because I’ve been there, Steve- it never works out long term. I found out the hard way- we’re just not compatible.”

Steve shoves at him, groaning and rolling his eyes. “You’re terrible. You’re so not funny, you know that?”

“How come you’re laughing, then?”

“It’s out of pity,” Steve says flatly.

“Sure. Whatever you say, big boy.”

Steve huffs, and fiddles with his shirt. His ears are pink. Weird. Adding that to the list of things to obsess over uselessly after three am hits, Eddie thinks.

“I saw them properly. The scars,” Steve admits. He’s silent then, breathing harsh. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why is it fucking with my head so bad now? After all this time?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “It’s a pretty head-fuck experience to live through, Steve. Can confirm- I too bear some pretty gnarly marks now.”

Steve blinks at him. Stares, with his eyes big and brown, swallowing Eddie whole. It makes his insides twist when Steve looks at him like that, holds his gaze.

Eddie’s moving before his brains can catch up to his hands- he lifts the bottom of his shirt, pulls it up to his chest. Glances down at his own torso- ravaged with scar tissue, curling in little knots where the bats did the worst of their damage. Because that’s what it is- damage. It’s not a new or unusual feeling for Eddie- this time the damage is just in a physical form. A physical interpretation of other aspects of his life. Still, it is kinda freaky- he does get where Steve’s coming from. The little fuckers even ate half of one of the tattoos up near his collarbone. 

“Fucks with my head too,” he says, glancing up at Steve and freezing mid-sentence.

Steve is looking at him, awed. He stares at Eddie’s ribs like they have the answers to all his questions etched between them. Like there’s revelation written in between the fading whorls where his wounds knit together over the past year. 

He reaches out, soft and slow- the way you approach a wounded dog. Don’t bite me, his hands are saying- I want to show you gentle touch.

His fingers probe very softly at one of the lower patches of scar tissue near his left hip. They stroke over it gently, reverently- Eddie cannot tear his eyes away from Steve’s face. The way his mouth is very gently agape, the way his eyes rove over Eddie’s bare flesh. It’s too much- it’s all much too much. He wants to hide away forever. He wants to pull Steve closer, press his hands up firmer against the scars. 

“We match,” Steve whispers.

Eddie blinks at him, still unable to look away, unable to do anything but hold his shirt up and try and keep his breathing even. 

“What?”

And then Steve moves back- lifts his own shirt, twists around to face Eddie on the bed. Eddie’s mind breaks a little- Steve’s body is really a temptation that once again, should come with a warning label. Moles speckled across his smooth skin, little ripples of muscle along his abdomen from years of jock-assholery in high school, tufts of hair over his belly and lower chest, a trail leading down into no-man's land beneath his pajama pants. It takes him a minute to focus on what Steve’s trying to show him. The whorl of scar tissue over his left hip. Just like Eddie’s.

Smaller- Steve has less flesh torn away, but still. He’s kind of right. They do match. 

Eddie feels a hot roar of satisfaction in his gut, can’t repress the feeling of… want? Possessiveness? Pleasure, over having this connection with Steve- this weird and very fucked up connection?

Steve isn’t looking at him when he does it. When he takes Eddie’s hand- places it gingerly over his version of Eddie’s scars. Over his hip. There’s no way he doesn’t hear the hitch in Eddie’s breath, feel the way Eddie strokes a thumb over his skin- Eddie feels out of body. Like he’s watching from afar as they sit on his bed, touching gently at their matching scars.

“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Steve says, under his breath. He looks up then, catches Eddie’s eyes. Eddie wants to push him back onto the bed. Stop making me feel like this, stop making me want you so bad my skin itches. Wants to bite and wound Steve like the bats, fuck him up so thoroughly that Steve crawls away and saves himself from dealing with some other damaged creature. 

He just smiles at Steve instead, and draws his hand back.

*

It’s actually Eddie’s fault, the next time it happens.

It sneaks up on him, the way he’s giving in to the Bad Thoughts. Letting Steve hang all over him and damn the consequences. Ever since that night in Eddie’s room- he just appears everywhere. He’s like a lost puppy- and anytime Eddie thinks about making a comment on this, saying something mean- he remembers the face Steve made when he came to visit Eddie in the trailer that night. Remembers how small his voice was. 

So Eddie lets him. Keeps him. 

He comes to Eddie’s gigs now, all of them. Sits at the bar smiling at him, looking out of place and hopelessly beautiful. He gets hit on every single time, and when Eddie and Gareth and the rest of the band (familiar now with Steve, used to his unexpected presence) rib him about it he just brushes it off. Never seems to take their numbers down. Never talks To Eddie about his dating life at all actually, which is probably a good thing. 

He drove out to Eddie’s work last week. Came in on his lunch break and they went round back to the little bench at the end of the car park near the strip where the Sam Goody is, sat and drank milkshakes Steve brought and worked their way through the remaining half of Eddie’s smokes. His mouth is a glorious mix of freezing shake, hot smoke, laughing at Steve and staring at him, staring at his hair and his eyes and his skin all lit up in the sunshine. At his mouth, wet with vanilla shake, sticky at the edges of his lips. Fucked up, it’s all fucked up and tangled and too much of a mess to undo right now. Not without confusing Steve. He’s not going to do that. 

He comes to hellfire, sometimes. It’s not really hellfire anymore- not now that high school’s over. 

Eddie runs a new campaign- still with the same people. Still with the band, with Dustin and Mike. Lucas rejoins, alongside Erica and Will- it gets busy now, he has his hands full juggling storyline and XP and ensuring none of the monsters he throws their way resembles anything they might have actually encountered in real life, (no demogorgons at his table, thanks).

Steve shows up for dropoff and pickup in the bimmer, sometimes staying for a little while to watch as Eddie starts off the session. It always rattles him a little, to have Steve’s attention on him like that. Focused, steady, smiling at him when Eddie dips his voice into a low rasp or a high pitched wheedle for some new NPC he’s introducing. It makes him want to act out, act even wilder. Makes him want to jump across the table and start attacking Steve or just run around the room yelling a lot. He needs to find an outlet, a better coping mechanism. His current ones are limited to activities that Steve himself is involved in, scream-singing on stage in shitty dive bars, and smoking. Copiously. Which is yet another activity Steve is present for, to be quite honest. 

It happens at the end of a session. Mike is riled- he’s completely adamant that Eddie should have given him advantage on a final critical attack roll today in their last few minutes of combat. Even after Eddie walks him through the rulebook- Wheeler is a little shit but Eddie’s been there, he’s happy to prove that he’s not being some meaninglessly cruel DM- he’s still grumpy, tetchy.

It’s beginning to grate on Eddie.

So as they all pack up, he dips out. Quick smoke break before he drives home, let some of the energy fizzling away inside him die out, exhaled into the spring night. 

“Hey.”

Steve stands next to him where he’s half hidden by the shed in the Byer’s back yard. The grass below his feet is damp, Eddie can feel it soaking the edge of his sneakers. He blinks at Steve, wonders if Steve spotted him in the dark the way you see animals at the side of the road- eyes flashing in the light, otherwise entirely concealed in the gloom.

“Out for a smoke?”

“Sure. Unlike you.”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Harrington?”

“Looks like you’re hiding from Mike Wheeler to me,” Steve snickers, comes to stand nearer Eddie. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “That little twerp-”

“Believe me- it’s understandable. He’s actively hunting you down as we speak. What did you do,” he asks, nudging Eddie’s shoulder, “to incur his wrath?”

It makes Eddie’s head spin a bit, when Steve speaks like that. Like him. Steve never used to speak like that, words like wrath were seldom part of his normal vocabulary. Until he started spending time around Eddie. It makes him feel giddy, makes that hot stewey feeling in his gut fester, want, want, want.

“I-”

He’s interrupted then- the back door bursts open, a shaft of bright yellow light spilling out onto the lawn. Eddie acts without thinking (as usual), grabbing Steve and pulling him into the shed with him, sliding into darkness as Mike stomps outside, cursing and peering around.

Steve giggles very quietly, the sound bringing heat to Eddie’s cheeks. He’s conscious then- of what he’s doing. His arm, slung close around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him against his side- Steve’s head knocking against his in the small space. The still lit cigarette dangling from his fingers which rest over Steve’s shoulder. 

They wait until Mike retreats inside, still grumbling. Eddie still doesn’t move. His side is bare, exposed where he’s got his arm up over Steve- his t-shirt is cropped, and his stomach feels chilled where the fabric is rucked up and left open to the night air. 

“Can I bum a smoke?” Steve asks, low. Low because he doesn’t need to speak any louder than that to be heard. He’s still tucked into Eddie’s side. He could breathe the words and Eddie would hear him. 

Eddie lifts the lit cigarette from over Steve’s shoulder, moves his hand over to direct it over Steve’s mouth. What possesses me to act like this, part of him screams internally. This is entirely my own doing. 

But it’s so good, watching Steve like this. Close. Held in place under his arm.

Like he’s mine, Eddie thinks. My boy.

Eddie feels his lips brush the back of his fingers as Steve closes his mouth over the end, takes a drag. Watches him out of the corner of his eye- Steve’s eyes are closed, his face looks flushed red despite the chill. He breathes out shakily, the smoke curling softly over Eddie’s hand as he moves it away from Steve’s mouth.

He doesn’t want to.

Wants to keep it there, to press down. To make Steve turn even redder, press him up against the wall and touch him everywhere with Eddie’s hand over his face, his fingers in his mouth. 

Fucked up, Eddie thinks, I’m fucked in the head. 

Still- he stays there. He lets Steve smoke the rest of his cigarette- every single draw fed to him from Eddie’s hand. Steve is silent, red, pliant against him. He’s pretty. He’s perfect. Untouchable, beyond this moment.

*

Eddie is spiraling. 

The issue remains unconfronted, growing worse and worse every time he sees Steve. Every time he catches Steve staring. 

Because Steve does. Stare. A lot.

This is a new development- it must be. Eddie’s never noticed it before, not to this degree. 

It’s driving him insane. 

It feels like playing the world's most agonising game of chicken. There’s a tension between them he’s unsure how to name- the way Steve teases him has changed now, it’s charged. Laced with intent. Makes him flush worse than ever, makes him angry. Good angry, want-to-press-you-down-and-fuck-you angry. Not something he can do anything about, except for jerk off furiously as soon as they part ways from hanging out, and try and avoid intimate moments with Steve when they’re in group settings. No more smoking ambushes, no more drunken escapades. 

Robin is a helpful barrier when she’s here.

She comes home every other weekend from her dorm in Indy. Come to movie nights and gigs sometimes and days at the lake, now the weather’s warming up. She’s a buffer- Eddie thinks she takes pity on him sometimes, pulls Steve off him when Steve is pushing his buttons, riling him up, roughhousing with him while Eddie focuses every ounce of mental strength he has into not getting hard in his swim shorts.

She’s also an interfering minx who knows too much for her own good. 

When she asks them both to her dorm’s end of semester blowout, she looks at Eddie. Widens her eyes, like are you going to be okay? Or are you that gay and pathetic that you can’t be around him in that kind of setting?

Eddie ignores her, watches Steve instead. He’s excited about the party. Of course he is. 

He’s excited about going with the two of them. Because Steve loves his friends.

Eddie wants to do good by him. 

Eddie wants to be a good friend.

And so now here he is, in Robin’s dorm. 

People spill out of every room and corridor- college is vibrant, full of life. 

It’s also… a lot more free-thinking than Eddie anticipated. 

He shouldn't be too surprised- Buckley is a languages major with a minor in women studies, and she’s befriended every nerdy-arty-pretentious-ex-band-member available on campus. But it’s still a shock- a jolt, when he sees it for the first time. Two girls kissing, up against the wall near the punchbowl. He blinks.

Robin elbows him. 

“Stop gawking,” she tuts. 

Eddie glares at her. “Gay, remember? I’m not getting off on your friends' proclivities, if that’s what you’re pissy about, Buckley.”

She softens a little. “It’s not like Hawkins, here. It’s still not… safe. But there’s more of us. It’s easier.”

It makes sense. It’s nice- hopeful, really- that outside of the little Hawkins bubble they occupy there are others like him. Like them. Falling in love normally with people they’re suited to, people who aren’t straight and uninterested in maintaining anything other than an uncomfortably charged friendship.

This version of reality for Eddie lasts another hour and half into the party.

He’s pretty buzzed at this point- he’s hanging with two of Robin’s roommates and arguing over the latter half of the Silmarillion (Buckley has really landed herself with some nerds), when he hears the noise in the kitchen rev up a little- it’s getting wilder in there, more raucous. 

He lost both Steve and Robin a while ago- Steve looked to have been chatting up some blonde pre-med batting her eyelashes at him, and Eddie did Not want to stick around for that, thank you very much. Funnily enough, it had looked as though Robin had been gunning for the same girl. Good luck to ye, fair warrior. Facing off against Steve Harrington doesn’t sound like anyone’s idea of a good time.

He wanders back towards the kitchen, and that’s when he sees it.

Sees him.

Steve has his back to the wall just outside the entrance, near-empty beer bottle dangling from one hand. He’s laughing, head thrown back, cheeks all pink.
Laughing at the guy caging him in against the wall.

It’s just with one arm- his hand pressed up by Steve’s head, his body language very much indicative of his interest in Steve. The guy is tall, with dark curly hair- a large tribal tattoo crawling across one muscled bicep. He’s hot, by Eddie’s standards. 

Does Steve- realise? Is he reading this guy? Or is he misinterpreting him, like Steve has done with Eddie in the moments when Eddie’s want gets the better of him and he’s reached for Steve too?

As he stares, the guy reaches down, plucks the bottle out from Steve’s hand, lifts it and downs the dregs. And Steve lets him.

Lets him.

Eddie moves without thinking- moves with only one thought present in his brain. Get the fuck off him. Stop making him look like that- look the way he does with me.

“Hey, Stevie,” he says, sliding up beside him on the wall. He’s so entirely bothered by the whole situation he forgets his social niceties, can’t bring himself to care when the other guy backs off a little, a little surprise bleeding across his expression. A little indignation too, Eddie notes.

“Munson! I was lookin’ for you” Steve grins at him, flopping his head to the side so his hair tickles against Eddie’s cheek. It feels like winning the lottery. Like winning every competition he’s ever entered. 

Steve is warm, he’s radiating heat like a furnace. Eddie can smell beer on his breath, smoke. Who was he smoking with? This guy?

Eddie turns to look back at Enemy Number One- but his friends have arrived, two of them jostling him for attention, slinging an arm over his back to pull them into the kitchen. He grins at Steve as he departs, entirely ignoring Eddie- lifts his hand to wave and says, “maybe catch you later man.”

Steve nods at him, smiling. 

Eddie’s brain is misfiring. 

Is Steve? Did he? Has he walked into some other universe, unknowingly stepped through an upside down portal?

“Do you know him?” he asks, trying to prop Steve up a little to stand against the wall.

“He’s Robin’s friend. Jerome. He- hic - they’re in the same major, I think,” he slurs.

“Cool.”

Not cool. Very Uncool. Really-

“I thought,” Steve whispers, semi conspiratorially against his ear, “he might ask me out.”

Eddie’s emotions are in utter shambles. Haywire. Is this- positive? Negative?

“Did you want him to?” he asks, voice a little tight.

Steve looks at him- very close, way too close. 

“Maybe.”

There’s something in the way Steve’s looking at him, searchingly. Scanning his eyes, trying to read some hidden information there, squinting slightly. Eddie feels under the microscope- it’s testing him at this point, whatever the fuck is going on. Beginning to make him lose it a little. It would actually- is it more unjust, if Steve is into guys? To make him feel as though he has a chance with Steve?

“I’ve known you for over a year now, Harrington,” he says carefully, “and you’re still finding ways to surprise me. It’s a real talent.”

Steve turns his head away to face forward again, humming in response. 

Eddie exhales shakily. This whole ordeal is overwhelming him, all of this feeling and wanting crawling out of his every pore, clogging up his throat. 

“I’m gonna-” he pulls his carton of smokes out from his pocket, gestures to them and tilts his head, looking away from Steve.

He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Steve’s following behind him. Lost puppy.

People mill around outside Robin’s dorm, the low hum of voices melding with the gentle thrum of whatever music they’ve got playing on the second floor. It’s a balmy night- a little humidity in the air, feels sticky as they stop moving and settle against a back lane wall behind the building, Steve beside Eddie again like a shadow. 

He lights up, takes a drag. Closes his eyes and leans into familiarity. 

“You ever done that?”

Eddie opens his eyes, follows the direction of Steve’s gaze.

He’s looking at one of the groups of people out further under the streetlight- two of them have broken off. A guy, tall- stooping low to take a drag off whatever he’s smoking and then breath it out gently into the mouth of the girl beside him, leaning up on her tiptoes. Eddie blinks.

“Sure.”

A lie- why did he lie about that? He’d been propositioned before- a girl had asked him to do just that a few years back after he’d sold her two prerolls. Some girls seemed to think if they flirted with him he’d undercharge next time. He never did.

“I haven't,” Steve comments. The air is thick, heavy with the question Steve’s about to ask. Eddie knows he’s about to ask it, and yet surely he isn’t, surely he won’t-

“Wanna try?”

Eddie coughs gently on his next exhale. 

“Now?” he asks, semi incredulous, and then- pathetically- “with me?”

Steve looks at him with an unreadable expression. Nods.

“Yeah. With you.”

Eddie feels wrung out. Dog-tired. He just wants to know what’s going on. He just wants to Give In.

So he does.

He turns to face Steve- even in the dark, Eddie can see his cheeks colour a little. He scrutinises his face- but there’s no hesitation. Nothing but Eddie reflected back in his big brown eyes, dark and slightly glassy.

“Okay then,” Eddie murmurs. “Open up, Harrington.”

He takes a drag, long and slow, keeping his eyes on Steve. Faces him against the wall- he’s struck with a flash of remembrance, and image of that guy earlier caging Steve in. 

Steve looks a little unsure of what to do, which is very surprising given his confidence earlier. It’s actually that- his little confused expression- that spurs Eddie on to take the lead. He reaches up and pinches Steve’s jaw so that his mouth opens a little wider, and then pulls Steve closer to him, closer, closer, closer- smiles slightly as he breathes out, letting the plume of smoke pass his own lips as Steve inhales. Their upper lips brush minutely, just for a millisecond. Eddie’s head is gone- all he wants to do is keep holding Steve in place, keep him fixed here with his attention all on Eddie. Greedy.

Steve’s eyes were closed- he opens them now, half mast. Heavy lidded, pupils blown. Tracks them up and down between Eddie’s eyes and his mouth. Kiss me, go on. Kiss me.

And then the moment breaks- possibly the worst way it could- someone retches just beyond the little lane they’re tucked away in, metres away. The spattering sound makes Steve wrinkle his nose in disgust, and Eddie backs off suddenly, dropping his hand. They look at each other and double over laughing. 

Eddie can’t even curse the poor asshole who ripped them out of their little bubble- the guy is fucked, they have to call his friends over to try and cart him off inside again. Dire. 

Besides. 

What would have happened, if they’d been alone for that much longer? Would he have given in, pressed Steve up against the wall? Tried to get a taste of the smoke over his breath, in his mouth, over his tongue? What would he have been risking for that one little moment, that microcosm between him and his very drunk best friend? 

*

He can’t help but feel like whatever it is- it’s going to burst soon. The bubble. The balloon. The irreversible promise of change- whatever type of change it ends up being, whatever way it ends up defining their future relationship. He’s terrified- entirely consumed with thoughts of Steve. 

He already used to spend a humiliating percentage of his time dedicated to thinking about him, but it reaches new heights. Dirty dreams where they end up back in that lane, thoughts of Steve’s mouth. His oral fixation is so intently focused on Steve that he begins avoiding him for fear of being caught staring at his lips- wondering what it feels like inside there. Hot, wet. Wondering what his fingers would look like with Steve’s tongue sliding between them- wondering about how slick his tongue would feel if Eddie could lick against it, spit-slick and sweet, saccharine. Would he moan, if Eddie bit him? Would his lips turn redder, would he bleed? Would he let Eddie lick at that too?

It’s just- it’s difficult enough, burying normal thoughts about Steve, like- oh, he looks hot in that shirt. Wow, his ass looks great today. Man, isn’t Steve so cute the way he remembers my favourite flavour of shake to bring me on my work break? Doesn’t his tongue look so pink when he sticks it out to lick an escaping drop running down the straw- what would his tongue feel like running up my-

That. 

It's the Other thoughts. 

He’s a man possessed- he wants to push and pull at Steve to see what makes him tick. Wants to rough him up- and isn’t that such a fucked up way to feel? To want to see that face Steve makes at him sometimes when Eddie asks him for something, like he’d do anything Eddie wanted? To have all of Steve’s attention really laser focused on him? Would that blush that so often stains his cheeks bleed over any other areas of his skin under Eddie’s gaze, under Eddie’s control? Is he noisy, reactive? How good could Eddie make him feel- good enough to moan? Good enough to cry out his name? Good enough to cry, to beg?

The entire debacle is scrambling his brain so bad that he actively avoids Steve for an entire week. He deliberately swaps shifts with a coworker so that if Steve decides to drop by his work unannounced he won’t be there. He cancels Hellfire. He moves band practice. He drives out to Lovers Lake just to feel something other than the wanting- to feel terror and disgust as he sits in the place where he watched Steve get dragged under. To feel damaged again, to have the reminder.

Steve turns up at his place. 

One week in.

Wayne’s on the nightshift- Eddie’s sure that Steve must know this, he is intimately familiar with Wayne’s shift pattern now, having spent so many days and nights wiling away time in their apartment.

“Hey,” he says. He doesn’t look mad. Or upset. He doesn’t really look like anything, except really pretty and a little bit tired. 

So Eddie exercises his masochistic streak and invites him in. 

“You want- beer? Coffee?” he grunts, gesturing at the fridge.

“I want weed.”

Eddie blinks. But Steve is staring back at him, steady and focused. That Intense gaze he gets.

“Well I can help you with that, Harrington- come forth to my humble abode.”

He stumbles back into his bedroom, not looking at Steve. Fishes out his black lunchbox- he doesn’t sell anymore (doesn’t need to), and smokes maybe a little less than previously (any progress is good progress, right?), but he still has plenty on hand. Got a joint rolled already in fact- he tucks it behind his ear. Wayne never says- but Eddie reckons he doesn’t love the idea of the smell soaking into their new apartment walls. He makes an effort to take it outside now.

“C’mon then,” Eddie says, nudging Steve back out the way he came. “So what ails you, Stevie? Or are you just looking to kick back-”

“Just wanted to get out of my head a bit,” Steve sighs, sitting down on the top step once they’ve made their way out front. 

Eddie hums. “How’s training going?”

“It’s alright. Intense, but I knew that going in.”

“You’re made of sterner stuff, huh? You got the nail bat on hand?”

“What, to beat up the people requiring medical attention?” Steve snickers. “Good thing you’re not working in the field, Munson.”

Eddie pushes at him a little, just to see him off balance. And because he can. And because he hasn’t touched Steve in over a week- and now that he’s here, Eddie feels hungry. Starved.

Steve smiles wryly. He takes the joint, inhales slow. It’s really impossible not to think about it- the last time they smoked together. Holding Steve’s face in his hands, holding Steve still.

“It’s just a lot, I guess,” Steve continues, looking out at the empty road in front of them. “Plus… my mom tried to get back in touch.”

Eddie glances at him to try and get a read on how that went down. Steve so rarely brings his parents up- even to Robin, according to her. Eddie holds his breath.

“I- she wanted to see me. I don’t think she even told my dad she was gonna call, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies, accepting the joint back after Steve extends his hand in his direction. “I get that- I mean. Do you… want to see her?”

Steve sighs deeply. It’s a tired sigh. Load-bearing.

“I don’t know, man.” He laughs, shakily. “Isn’t that fucked up? I don’t know if I wanna see my own mom. I haven’t seen her in… what, eight months? Longer, maybe. Not since she and my dad… y’know.”

Eddie nods, inhales. He doesn’t know. No one seems to know, actually- it does sound like Steve wasn’t having the greatest time at home after his parents returned to Hawkins, but Eddie was still shocked when Steve had told him and Robin he was moving out, fully and permanently. It was yet another aspect of Steve’s life that just… shouldn’t be. Didn’t fit his image. Another reminder for Eddie to quit his bullshit pre-conceived notions of perfect people and their perfect lives.

“They disowned me,” Steve says, very quietly. Eddie freezes, joint halfway to his mouth.

“They-”

“It was- it was a lot of stuff. A long time coming, I think,” he adds. Nonchalant, like they’re discussing something very un-devastating. The weather, or Henderson’s new haircut.

“Jesus,” Eddie says. Unhelpful and entirely useless, but that’s him. There you go.

“It was a lot easier when they weren’t home, I guess. For them I mean- to forget about me being a fuckup.”

“You’re not-”

“Eddie- it’s cool. Honestly. I… worked through a lot of this last year, and it’s been a lot easier since moving out. I don’t think I’m a fuckup, I just know that my dad thinks I am, that’s all. It wasn’t even… it was just a bunch of stuff. College, school, basketball- everywhere I kind of failed, y’know?” Steve sighs softly. Leans his face against his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. “Plus- final nail in the coffin was, uh. My unnatural ‘proclivities’ in the bedroom,” he mumbles. 

Oh fuck.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes. That’s- yeah. That’s something. Fuck.

“You know what it was?” Steve smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “He found my playgirl. How fucking dumb- man,” he exhales. “I just… I guess that was too much for him. On top of everything else, y’know.”

Eddie nods, takes another hit to buy him time to process that. What that means.

“So,” he starts, “you…”

“Yeah.”

“Both?”

“Both.”

He’s opening his mouth- trying to summon words- any words that might be of some kind of comfort to Steve, some kind of solidarity- but Steve gets there first. Talks in a rush, looking in the opposite direction, voice a little unsure.

“I hope you don’t- I mean, you won’t feel… uncomfortable? Like- with me?”

Eddie drops the joint.

“What?”

“Like- because I-”

“Steve,” he says, voice urgent, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You know I- do you not know?”

Steve blinks at him.

“That I’m gay?”

“Oh.”

His eyes are wide. What the fuck. How did he-

“I- I mean I did hear rumours, at school. But man, fuck those guys- I heard all sorts of shit about all sorts of people- I wasn’t gonna assume. I wanted to tell you before, I guess- but I just- I don’t know. It took me so long to come to terms with it myself. You know Robin was the one that bought me the playgirl?” he laughs, picking up the joint. “She bought me it a week before my parents found it. Maybe it was fate. Honestly? Now that I’ve spent enough time away from them, I think it actually was. It was a good thing. That’s why I’m so messed over-” he waves his hand in the air- “the whole call thing from my mom. It’s just dredging shit up again.”

Eddie’s still reeling from the earlier part of this conversation. First of all- that he didn’t realise. What Steve went through- after everything else, to have to deal with that?

“Fuck your parents, man,” he says softly. “That’s- fuck them. Seriously, don’t see her if you don’t want to. You don’t owe them shit.” 

He spits on the ground, shakes his head. Fucking assholes.

“Does Wayne…”

“Yeah. He knows. Probably knew before I did,” Eddie snorts. 

Steve nods. “I’m glad,” he says, “he’s good to you.”

The way Steve says that- soft, warm- he’s genuinely happy that Eddie has that, a quality entirely lacking in his own parental figures- makes his heart ache real bad. Painful, tooth rot. 

“He’d kick your dad’s ass if I asked him,” Eddie offers lightly. Steve grins, takes another draw. 

“Thanks for telling me, Stevie.”

Steve looks at him, and the world shrinks back down again. Just Eddie and those big brown eyes.

“Yeah, man. Same for you.”

“If you ever-”

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “I’m- I’m honestly doing okay. As okay as I can be- it’s nice, having so many people around. All those dumbass brats, you and Rob and Nance and Jonathan- s’good. I’m a lot better now- just had a bad night tonight. Sometimes… I feel like I just wanna get out of my own head, you know? I just wanna stop thinking and having to do shit and-”

“You just wanna switch your brain off, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve grins, “exactly. I don’t want to think about my mom. I don’t wanna be responsible. I don’t wanna make decisions.”

Eddie nods. Fair enough- Steve seems like the kind of person eternally burdened with never-ending responsibilities in both his work and personal life. It’s understandable, wanting an escape. Eddie wants that for him. Eddie wants to give him an escape, a distraction. Wants to give Steve anything he wants to make it all better.

Weed is a decent start, he supposes.

“Wanna finish this and watch Star Wars? I think I still have a copy of Empire.”

Steve shoves him. “Yeah- you do, and it’s probably from Family Video. Me and Robin really had to cover your ass before we left, Munson- you don’t even wanna know what your late/no-return fees were.”

“You’re too good to me,” Eddie coos, blowing smoke in Steve’s face. Steve coughs, laughing at him, pushing him over, asshole, you’re an asshole Eddie- give me that, I’m confiscating it.

He looks lighter, less worn when they head inside. Eddie collapses on the sofa, braindead and fuzzy- he can feel pleasure thrumming through him gently in a current, gathering in his fingertips. It’s good stuff- Argyle had given him that batch. 

Steve doesn’t even make it to the sofa.

He flops down on the floor, giggling at the ceiling. Eddie tries not to look- reflex- tries not to look at the strip of bare skin visible above his waistline where his shirt’s all rucked up. Then- why wouldn’t you look? He’s like- he likes-

Dangerous line of thinking, that. Best not to go down that road just yet, as tempting as it is.

Steve pushes himself up, shuffles over to the TV to load in the movie. He moves back after to the sofa- but instead of getting up to sit beside Eddie, he stays on the ground. Flops at Eddie’s feet, against his left leg. 

And isn’t that interesting, his brain ponders. Speaking of very Dangerous Thoughts.

He rests his head against Eddie’s calf- limp, lax. Pliant. Steve’s good at that. He’s malleable.

It’s maddening. 

He can’t focus on anything other than Steve. He just stares down at him- he’s hard, has to adjust himself in his pants discreetly in case Steve glances up and the game ends. 

The mood feels heavy somehow, pregnant with that unnamed and unknown tension Eddie’s felt around Steve before. It’s more than just… some kind of homoeroticism at this point. It’s scalding. Steve at his feet like a dog, Steve loose and floppy against him, looking to him for comfort. To get out of his own head. It feels uncharted, and yet somehow already slightly depraved. 

He watches, awestruck- Steve rubs his face gently against Eddie’s calf, against his flannel pajama pants. Slowly, softly, his cheek brushing back and forth, back and forth. He shuffles even closer. He must be really fucking stoned, to act like this. Then again- Eddie’s seen him around Robin- tactile, downright cuddly sometimes. Robin had to peel him off her lap once when they were drunk, and Eddie spent an hour afterwards seething with jealousy. Over a lesbian.

Not one of his finer moments.

This is though- a very fine moment, one he’s recording in his brain to relive forever. 

Would it really be so bad to- just- let himself-

He stretches his arm out- doesn’t need to go very far- until his hand reaches Steve’s hair. He cards his fingers through, slowly, gently. Kind of pats at his head. Steve goes slack against him, makes a very satisfied little sighing noise. It hits like a fucking gut punch, makes him close his eyes, sends a throb of warm want down southwards. 

He strokes Steve’s hair, softly, rubs his scalp. Rubs behind his ear with his thumb- instinct driven at this point, his brain is muzzy, laser focused on just- feeling. Movement. The headrush he’s getting from Steve down there at his feet, making soft noises, pressing against Eddie. Like he’d do anything for more, like he wants Eddie to keep touching him.

He slides his hand over to the side of his head, spreads his fingers out- pushes Steve’s face firmer against his leg until Steve makes a little choked noise. He stops- moves back- was that a good noise? A bad one? God- Eddie wants to catalogue them. Wants to learn every single one, know them by ear, wring music out of Steve every way he possibly can.

Steve moves a little then- just slides a little further in over to the left, inwards. Eddie can’t see his face, not yet- his ears are red, he moves slowly. Settles himself, still facing away from Eddie, watching the screen.

He’s between Eddie’s legs now.

Eddie has to- fuck. He has to do- has to-

His brain stutters to a halt, half fried and entirely ruined by the new very compromising position they’re in. 

There’s a brief moment where things feel a little tense, and then Steve’s head lolls back, gentle against his inner thigh. Jesus, Eddie’s head is spinning. 

Can he keep doing this? Touching Steve? Is it allowed now?

He’s too far gone to care, really. Still very stoned, still very hard- still very focused on those pleasurable little noises Steve had been making before he removed his hand.

So he returns it.

Slides his fingers back into Steve’s hair. Steve presses into his thigh- he can feel Steve’s hand sliding up the back of one calf. What are we doing? What am I doing? Is this really allowed now?

He reacts so differently to each touch, Eddie muses. When I rub behind his ears- he makes that noise, a sigh- when I press him into me, hold him there- he makes a different noise, lower in his throat, pressing his chest against Eddie’s leg. When I do this-

“Ah-”

Eddie freezes, fingers still tugging Steve’s hair- did he just whimper? Eddie’s going to come. In his pants. Aged twenty one.

Steve breathes out shakily- starts to move his head away. Not yet, Eddie thinks, just- a little longer. Please. If it’s allowed now- I want. I want so bad. Please.

He pushes at Steve’s head again, who goes willingly, all loose-limbed again. 

He really shouldn’t push the boat out on this one. Really should let sleeping dogs lie. And yet- that noise. God- he wants to hear that noise again so badly. 

He tugs at Steve’s hair again- gently, at first, and then a little harder. Fuck it feels so good- it’s such a rush- having him there, under Eddie’s fist- and Steve moans, low, guttural. Eddie can hear his own breathing now, coming harsh and rapid. He slides his hand lower, squeezing the side of Steve’s throat. Steve moves then- turns around a little to face him, face pressed against Eddie’s inner thigh.

Fuck.

He’s just- gone. He looks fucked out, to be honest- face flushed, eyes huge and dark, wanting, mouth hanging open. That fucking mouth, god. Jesus christ, Eddie thinks- I think he’s drooling. I’m going to die. I’m going to pass out on my sofa.

All the blood in his body has gathered in his dick- he can’t think straight, not when Steve is looking at him like that, sitting between his legs- not when he’s rubbing his cheek against the fabric of his pants, panting, pushing forwards, eyes closed in apparent ecstasy- how is this happening, is Steve getting off on this? Is he really that much of a- fuck- a wet dream?

“Stevie,” he breathes, “jesus.”

Steve hums against his thigh- shifts forwards again. This is really, really getting dangerous now- a very small and quiet voice reminds him in the back of his head. Steve is high. Very high. Bad idea, very bad idea.

“You’re-” he chokes out, “fuck- Steve you- you’re driving me crazy.”

Steve looks up at him through his lashes, eyes all pupil. Eddie can barely see any brown left.

He’s still- not talking. He’s so fucking out of it- Eddie doesn’t blame him for going nonverbal, but-

“Stevie,” he pants, “you- we should slow down.”

Steve’s eyes are shut- he’s tugging Eddie forward now, nosing at the top of his inner thigh. Oh god, oh fuck, he’s going to-

“Steve,” he begs, “fuck.”

Steve doesn’t reply. He just moves- his hands tight on Eddie’s thighs- he rubs his face over Eddie’s cock- rock hard through his pants. He groans- rubs back and forth again, panting hot and humid against the fabric. It is quite possibly the most erotic thing Eddie’s ever seen. Ever will see.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie tries, voice breaking. He slides a hand through Steve’s hair, tugs at it so that Steve looks up at him. “We can’t- you’re too high, Stevie. I can’t.”

Steve rests his cheek against Eddie’s thigh, exhales slowly, blinking fast. “Sorry,” he whispers, “I’m-”

“No- please don’t say that,” Eddie begs, leaning forwards. He’s going to die if Steve feels bad about this. Actually going to die.

“I want you so bad it’s- it’s killing me, I-”

He breaks off, choked up. The wanting is livid, strangling the rest of his words. 

Steve looks up at him- out of it, confused, so beautiful Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“I just- I don’t want to do this when you’re this high, baby. But I still- I want you, Steve. I want you really, really bad.”

“But- m’good, all good” Steve slurs at him- this is fucked, he sounds drunk. Doesn’t even sound high- he shouldn’t be this high, not after the amount they smoked. This is something else, some other influence at play.

“Please,” Steve whines, rubbing his face against the inside of his thigh again, and Eddie has to reel himself back from orgasm. From coming untouched from hearing Steve beg. 

“No,” he whispers, still stroking his hair. 

“Am I not- you don’t want this?” Steve asks, voice small. “You- am I not good?”

Jesus Eddie is fucking this up. Fucking up possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to him in his shitty little life.

“You’re so good, Steve-”

And Steve moans again, eyes fluttering shut. He stops rubbing his cheek. Just flops there, all limp again. 

“You’re- you’re so good for me, Stevie,” he whispers. Feels like saying it out loud- it’s that depraved feeling again. Hot all over, up his spine, dirty, raw, so, so good.

Steve whimpers again, pushing up against him- as much as Eddie’s enjoying him on the floor between his legs- this has to change. He needs to touch Steve- needs to break this cycle before things go even further white Steve’s still under this weird influence, still high.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he says, reaching down, tugging at Steve’s waist. 

Steve gets shakily to his feet, unsure, still looking really really out of it. Eddie holds his hand. Pulls him down onto the sofa, half sprawled over his lap.

“Sorry,” Steve whispers again. 

“Why are you apologising?” Eddie asks, voice low and soothing. He rubs Steve’s back, slowly- feels the tension bleed out of him. Feels him go slack again, lean into Eddie and exhale slowly. He murmurs in Steve’s ear, low, quiet- uses one hand to slowly stroke over his back, the other to interlace their fingers, squeeze his hand. “You’re so good, Steve. So, so good for me. My Stevie. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanna make sure you- make sure I do good by you. You’re so- I really like seeing you like this. I like touching you.”

His voice grows quieter at the end, as if speaking the words aloud is going to reveal something bigger at play. I like you. I like you so much it’s driving me to madness. 

He wants to tell Steve that when he’s sober. When they’re both aware- aware of what it means. If Steve reciprocates, if he wants Eddie that way too. Is okay with Eddie being the way he is- a little fucked in the head, a little damaged. 

Steve’s breathing slows a little- he’s relaxed now, calm. He strokes Eddie’s palm with his thumb, nuzzles his face into his neck. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. 

“No thanks necessary, actually,” Eddie breathes. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever- you’re good, Stevie. You’re so, so good for me.”

Steve makes another low noise, presses further into him. Eddie wants to say it- say the words crawling up his throat, the ones he’s been dancing around the entire time. 

“So good,” he keeps whispering. “My good boy.”

Steve huffs out a breath, hot against his neck. 

“You like that, huh?”

He’s silent again, words gone. Just squeezes Eddie’s hand. 

“You like being good for me, Stevie?”

Steve makes a desperate, strangled noise in response, shifting his hips forward so he’s further sprawled over Eddie. Eddie glances down- sees Steve straining against his jeans, hard. Jesus christ is that a damp patch? He’s going straight to hell, don’t pass GO. 

“Fuck me,” he mumbles, covering his hand with one face. “You’re so, so dangerous. Jesus.”

He needs to de-escalate this- either that, or he needs to get Steve off. Multiple times.

He tries to assemble his thoughts, breathes through his nose. Resumes stroking Steve’s back, bites back every filthy word and phrase springing to mind. Eddie’s always had a way with words, and it’s always got him into trouble. Now is no exception. 

It takes thirty minutes before Steve seems to come back to himself a little, to fully flop onto Eddie’s lap. The movie is over now, finished playing- Steve’s eyes are closed. He’s starting to drift away, sleepy. 

Eddie should wake him, move him- he’s in jeans- slightly soiled with precome by the looks of it.

But he can’t bring himself to move him. He’s kind of awed, that Steve just. Fell asleep in his lap. Trusts him that much, feels that safe around him. It feels so so good. So warm.

Eddie passes out ten minutes later.

It’s gentle agony the next morning. 

He wakes alone- stiff and in pain, neck at a really fucked up angle. He can hear his alarm in the other room, fuuuck he has a shift today. And Steve is nowhere to be found- he’s gone. There’s an old blanket tucked around him- and there’s a note on the table.

Had to go, early shift. Thanks for everything. I’m coming to yr gig tonight.

Thanks for everything.

Eddie breathes out in a whistle through his teeth. What on god’s green earth have I done, he thinks, and what do I do now?