Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fake-boyfriend for a family event

Looking for a guy (20-30) who's willing to pretend to be my boyfriend at my cousin's wedding from the 13th to the 15th. Based in California, or willing to fly out. I'll cover any expenses. Pay is 500 upfront and 500 a day.

Contact me: +1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX

Tuesday

The messages are waiting at the top of his screen when he wakes up for work that morning. There's still a haze of sleep settled over the world. He hasn't taken a shower or drank his first cup of coffee. Hell, the world is still blurry because he sometimes forgets about the glasses he keeps perched atop his nightstand after years and years of wearing contacts only.

But the messages are there, there's no mistaking it.

At first, he thinks there might be some kind of emergency at Robin's place. Something he must have slept through because of how tired he'd been when he went to bed. It can't be, though. Robin has no issue calling him no matter the hour, she barely ever texts.

Then, he realizes it could have been his mother. She's been on him ever since his cousin Rosaline —a pretty girl with the same luscious brown hair he's been blessed with— announced her wedding. Always asking whether she needs to jot down a plus one for him, because she still hopes he'll suddenly turn up with a sweet girlfriend that fits right in with the family.

She wants him to marry someone. Sooner, rather than later, because she wants him to be a young father. Wants a thousand little children to spoil, because children are still the fun kind of chaotic. Once they turn into teens or, even worse, adults, she'll neglect them just as she did him.

And he'll be the one stuck with a wife he only loves a little and the constant reminder that his mother had gotten her way again. Even though he hasn't been shy when telling her he thinks he might settle down with a man instead of a woman. That it doesn't really matter to him, as long as he loves them.

Then it'll be her turn to scoff, to proclaim he doesn't know what he's saying. Like he's still a teen being influenced by his asshole friends. Like Tommy Hagan would be whispering in his ear about the joys of sucking dick.

He chokes on a laugh.

It's exactly why he's put up the—

Shit, that's right. The ad.

He blinks the sleep from his eyes and sits up in bed. It's the same bed he's slept in since he was a teen, placed in the middle of a room that's filled to the brim with figurines and comic books. Things he'd never allowed himself back in high school. When he still had a reputation to uphold.

He slides the glasses onto his face before opening the messages.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: heeeeeeeeeeeeeey steve-o

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: my boyfrineds a fucking dikc

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: he drunk alllll the vodka

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: you can have hiim

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: [ed.png]

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: hes sosexy

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: andd hes ina band

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: andabfhaer

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: asshle fuckin taclked me

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: adn hes a really godo kisser

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: wait

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: stop tyring to take my bf

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: you catn have him

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: ill fucikng kill yuo

Right. Just some drunk guy that doesn't know what he's saying. Steve doesn't know why he'd expected anything else. No one has taken him up on his offer before, why should they start now?

At this rate, he's headed for another family event spent being mocked. He doesn't know why he'd even tried to bother with it. His love life hasn't seen any action since high school, and even then it had been rocky at best.

His family will have a blast. They'll have no trouble telling him all the things he's heard plenty of times before. How he'd left behind the Harrington empire —his legacy— for a girl that broke his heart the first chance she'd gotten.

There's some rumors about him going around. Too many for him to do anything about. Small dick, abusive, a moron. And no matter how many times he's told them about Robin's preferences, they always see it as some kind of excuse as to why he won't date her. 

It's not like he'd expected them to take him seriously, they never do. They're still wrapped up in the nice, comfortable little fantasy that Steve will settle down with a woman. Someone that will put his head on straight and then… Then he'll come running back to his parents to beg for a job.

It's a joke. And Steve is beyond tired of it.

He'd done the one thing he could think of. Something that would show them he's serious. Something that will give them a scare, because they deserve it. Deserve to be shocked out of that perfect little fantasy.

Steve is not theirs to command. His life is his own and he will prove it.

If he could find someone that's willing to pretend to be his boyfriend, at least.

Sighing, he opens the picture. Not because he thinks this guy is being serious, but because it would make him feel a lot better if this boyfriend turned out to be hideous.

Of course he isn't. Steve has seen plenty of handsome men in his lifetime, but this one takes the cake.

His eyes are closed. A tan hand reaches out from behind the camera and grabs his chin, tilting his face just right. He's pale and his unruly brown curls are spread against the backrest of the couch, where he's sagged against it.

It's just Steve's luck, being taunted with a handsome guy just as he'd been briefly fooled into thinking someone might—

It's no use going down that path. Steve replies to the messages before he can talk himself out of it. If anything, the guy deserves to know what stuff he'd sent to a stranger on the internet.

SteveH: Not planning to steal your boyfriend, don't worry.

SteveH: I see you had a fun night. Remember to drink loads of water.

He goes about his day before he can overthink it, shoving the messages towards the back of his mind.

Steve's arms are aching from the hours of work he's put in this week. There's a constant tension in his shoulder blades from the amount of times he's had to load and unload the dishwasher. The smell of coffee is permanently baked into his skin.

But the sun is warm on his face where he'd found a free table to eat his lunch —a sandwich that's been the cafe specialty for years— so he really can't complain.

It's not like he has to work. His parents still pay him a generous monthly allowance. The house is all paid off and he has more than he needs, but he still enjoys filling his days with something that… gives back to the community or whatever.

He likes making small talk with the regulars. He likes being able to gossip with Robin during the lulls. He likes the food and the coffee and he likes that his parents absolutely hate he's doing it at all.

The extra cash definitely doesn't hurt, though. He's got plans. Far in the future plans.

The house is his, but it's never been his own. Hawkins is filled with the constant reminder of the person he used to be and it always stings. He barely finished high school, and when he did he did so as a freak, not a king.

He'd never go back to being one, though. The King. It was a foolish title for a foolish boy. Someone who thought he knew himself, only to find out he was dead wrong.

One day he hopes to get out of this place. Move to the other side of the country. Build himself a life outside of his parents' shadows.

He crosses his legs, biting into his sandwich with a sigh. The weather has been turning warmer these days. Warm enough for him to not need a jacket anymore. He's been enjoying it, for the most part. Though he knows the wedding is going to be a hassle —if only because California is about a thousand degrees hotter than Hawkins could ever wish to be.

He pulls out his phone without a second thought, opening his new messages.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: oh shit

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: fuck, i am so sorry

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: didn't mean to waste your time

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: we were celebrating. anniversary stuff

Steve runs a hand down his face before shooting a quick 'You're good'. The next message makes his phone ding just as he's putting it down.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: so you're serious about looking for a boyfriend?

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: or a fuckin pretend-boyfriend, i guess

SteveH: Yes. Was that not clear in the ad?

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: whatever man

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: some friendly advice

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: if you're trying to scam people you should at least make the prices a little more realistic

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: did you mean to type 50 a day?

SteveH: I am not trying to scam anybody?

SteveH: No, it's 500.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: yeah, right

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: sorry but literally no one would pay 1500 dollars just to hang out with some stranger for a weekend. are you trying to get a sugar baby or something? want more out of it? there should be other sites for that

SteveH: Everything about the offer is in the post. I need someone to attend a wedding with me. No extras.

SteveH: And it's 2000 dollars. I'll give 500 upfront.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: are you in the mob or some shit?

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: this can't be anything but an elaborate prank

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: and not even a good one at that. do you seriously think anyone's dumb enough to fall for that shit?

SteveH: I have other things to do, if you're just going to waste my time.

SteveH: Goodbye.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: hey, no wait

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: you're really serious about this? 2000 dollars for three days?

SteveH: Do I need to repeat it another five times? I am.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: shit…

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: fuck. alright.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: would you take two guys? for the same price

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: my names Billy

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: i'm based in California, my boyfriend's the guy in the picture i sent. Eddie.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: [billy.png]

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: that's me

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: and at risk of being trafficked or turned into a sex slave or, like, cut into parts and sold on the black market

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: we really need the money and i'm not feeling particularly great about sending my boyfriend off to date some stranger for three days on his own. so, if you'd consider it…

SteveH: It's this weekend. You're sure you can make it?

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: for 2000 dollars, hell yes

SteveH: 3000. Do you have suits?

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: the ones we have are cheap as shit from a funeral 7 years ago, but yeah

SteveH: I'll find a tailor in the area, we can go there Friday.

SteveH: I'll pay for the suits and anything else you two might need.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: jesus christ

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: alright, fine

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: this shit's gonna be a real fancy deal, isn't it?

SteveH: My family doesn't do casual.

+1 (XXX) XXX-XXXX: we're not real fancy people, i'll warn you

SteveH: Good.

Friday

Steve calls an Uber after dropping off his bags at the hotel. He hadn't been surprised to see Rosaline had gone all out. There's a whole floor reserved for just their family and she and her husband-to-be are up in the penthouse. Even the hallways are already decorated with flowers and pictures of the two of them. It should have been cute, if his family looming everywhere didn't make him shiver in fear.

It seems he would not be getting a break from the wedding, not until he's back in Hawkins.

And then there was the actual hotel room. Something he couldn't help associate with his parents' bedroom, back in his own house. The white, fluffy sheets covering the bed —which is big enough to fit nearly four grown men, by the way— and the golden accents on the wall. He wouldn't be surprised to find out his parents hired the same interior designer as the hotel did.

There was another flower arrangement on the coffee table, complete with a card thanking him for coming. He'd thrown it in the trash the moment he'd seen it. The card, not the flowers. The flowers were kind of pretty. A pale purple combined with some white. Classy, yet modern. Not that Steve has any idea what he’s talking about.

With no time to spare —Billy had texted him he and Eddie arrived at the tailor fifteen minutes ago— Steve made his way back outside. It's not like he needs the rest, anyway. Flights always manage to rejuvenate him in the strangest way.

It must be his DNA. Some deep, primal part of him that thinks he's on his way to a business trip where he can freely bang any woman he wants because his wife allows it. Honestly, his mother should not have been as surprised as she was when he told her to write him down for two plus ones. He knows it's different, but still!

Maybe she feared he was planning to bring both Robin and Dustin.

The sun blinds him through the car's window and he slides a pair of sunglasses on his face. Always prepare for the weather. Especially when you're used to Indiana summers, instead of the stifling heat of California.

He has no idea how he's going to survive the weekend. From all the activities to his relatives nagging to the fact he'll have to spend hours upon hours in a three piece suit.

The Uber pulls up in front of the tailor and Steve exits with a promise of 5 stars. He deserves it for not kidnapping him. And not talking.

Right as he's about to pull up Billy's number, he hears his name being yelled from across the street. His head whips around, eyes squinting through the dark tints the sunglasses give the world. There are two vague shapes in the distance, and he lifts his hand in a wave.

Billy and Eddie grow more clear the closer they come and when they stop in front of him Steve can clearly make out their features. He's almost embarrassed to find their pictures really did not do them justice. His mouth turns dry.

Billy is tan. There's no doubt he's a local with his shirt half-buttoned and the blonde curls falling over his shoulders. Steve's eyes linger on the necklace resting between his very, very firm pecks.

His smile is as bright as anything, though. Pearly white teeth, his tongue peeking out. He lifts his hand in a wave as he says, "You look like a douche bag with those glasses."

Steve rolls his eyes before taking them off again. They'll be going into the store soon enough. He can survive a few moments spent in the brightness of the sun, isn't that what California is all about?

"Jesus Christ," the other boy says. He's standing next to Billy with wide, chocolate-brown eyes. His curly hair is pulled back into a bun, something that surely would not work for anyone but him. And maybe Billy.

He'd really pulled the short straw with these two. It's gonna be a long weekend of metaphorically splashing himself with cold water, he’s sure of it.

Eddie licks his lips before slapping Billy's arm. The sound rings through the streets. "You never told me he was hot!"

This time it's Steve's turn to act surprised. Not because he's built some sort of inferiority complex since high school. He knows he's hot. But the fact Eddie is proclaiming it so plainly, right in front of his boyfriend?

Well, who is he to judge? It's not like he's had a successful relationship in, like, ever. Otherwise he wouldn't even be here right now.

Eddie is one to talk, though. He's wearing a ripped band tee that's cut off a few inches above his waistband, showing his dark happy trail where it leads into his black jeans. Something Steve definitely shouldn't be looking at.

"I didn't know he was," Billy replies, a moment later. Steve looks back at him, his bright blue eyes.

The weekend is going to be absolute torture with these two, especially if they’re going to act like that.

Steve clears his throat. "Thank you. We should head inside, it may take them a few hours to make the needed alterations and I do not want to be late for the rehearsal dinner."

Seeing the two of them in the suits Steve picked for them —side by side as they stare at their reflections in the mirror— does not help. Not in the slightest.

They were hot —handsome, pretty, gorgeous, probably angels in disguise— when they were wearing the clothes they picked out for themselves. The ones that fit their own moods and aesthetic. But this?

Steve has been holding his breath for what feels like minutes, sitting frozen on the couch in the shop while he watches them. Breathing would mean being discovered. And being discovered would mean his whole plan blowing up.

At least he's not in love with them, or anything. It should count for something. Though he doubts they're looking forward to some kind of creep that keeps staring at them like he's imagining tying them up and having his way with them. Or the other way around. Steve really hasn't decided yet.

Not helping.

He'd looked up the suits back in Hawkins, cruising the tailor's website in the middle of the night with his glasses sliding down his nose.

Eddie's midnight black suit —that's what the website had called it— has been pinned and tightened to fit his lean frame. The shop will alter it later, but for now it does the trick.

A three piece with silver chains and charms attached. The blazer is decorated with velvet swirls and magical designs that are only visible when Eddie turns just right. With his hair down he looks almost like a vampire of sorts. Steve is almost surprised at how well he wears it, with his back straightened and chin lifted, even when his eyes can't stop straying towards Billy.

When Steve had first seen him that day, he'd known getting him to wear a tie was a lost cause. A blazer might have been in the cards, but then he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up and Steve forgot all about it.

He's wearing a plain shirt. A deep red color, like it has been soaked in blood. He hadn't bothered to button it all the way to the top —because of course he hadn't— which means Steve gets another teasing look at those pecks. It almost looks like cleavage when the light hits just right.

His pants are plain black. The same as Eddie's, even though Billy's stretch tight around his legs and butt.

So, to summarize, Steve is one good look away from a heart attack. And a boner.

Billy meets his eyes in the mirror. That icy blue makes him jolt. "Pleased?"

There is no doubt he'll be looking like he'd gotten more than he can handle when he shows up in his plain suit. He's completely alright with that, though. This isn't about him.

This is about pissing off his family. And Steve's boyfriends outshining just about everyone at the stupid wedding? That will definitely do the trick. The first step of his grand plan to make them realize Steve is not the box they'd forced him into back in high school. Not anymore. No matter how hard they try.

Steve swallows before nodding. "Yeah, looks good. Just need the few alterations. I don't suppose I can get you to wear a tie?"

It's meaningless chatter. Anything to distract himself from the situation he'd gotten himself into. All the ways his body reacts to it. Something akin to fear, but not quite. Anticipation, maybe. For what, he doesn't know.

Billy barks out a laugh. "Yeah, that is not happening, Harrington."

"Harrington?"

Billy tilts his head, curls falling over his shoulder like the ocean waves. "It's your name, isn't it?"

Before Steve can answer, Eddie interrupts. "We saw some stuff about the wedding online. And maybe we stalked you a little bit to make sure you weren't, like, a serial killer." He tugs at his tie, loosening it up before turning around —much to the dismay of the person that was taking his measurements. "You're surprisingly private, though. We couldn't even find any pictures on your mom's Facebook and from what I hear—"

"Alright, Eds, he gets it. No need to bring up the dead mom thing already." There's a mischievous look on Billy's face as he turns towards Steve as well. "Oops."

Eddie cackles like that's the greatest joke Billy has ever told. His hands clutch his stomach as he shakes.

"Oh, I'm—"

"I swear to God, if you're going to apologize right now, we are out. It's only a four hour drive back home. We can make it before dinner."

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Billy waits. Steve has his mouth clamped firmly shut, though. There is no way he's ruining this opportunity, not now he's so close to finally showing his family what he's made of. Not when he's already told his mother he's bringing guests.

He doesn't want to face that certain embarrassment.

"My accounts are all private," Steve says instead. "Not that anyone could guess it was me based on the username… My friends in high school were kind of wild."

What he means is: Tommy forced him to make an Instagram account with some lame username to throw people off. Then he turned it into a private account to be even more sure their parents wouldn't catch them, so they wouldn't find out about all the shit they'd get up to.

He still has that account, though he tries not to look at it too often. The pictures on there range from embarrassing to incriminating. Besides, he isn't the same person he'd been back then. RandyIcecream69 is dead and buried for all he cares.

"Well, isn't that interesting," Eddie says. "You don't look like the guy that knows how to let loose. Didn't you remind Billy to drink water when he texted you that first time?"

Leaning back against the couch, Steve rolls his eyes. "He was drunk." It wasn't that weird of a thing to say, was it? Steve wouldn't have a clue. He hasn't been very social since… well, high school. The only people he consistently talks to are Robin, her girlfriend, and Dustin and his mom.

"It's sweet," Eddie says before turning back to face the mirror. "So… Is that what you're like in a relationship? Sweet and caring like a mother hen?" He plucks at one of the chains, eyes still on Steve, even through the mirror.

It's been a long while since he even bothered thinking about relationships. He's given up on trying to find a partner back in Hawkins and though it's a bit lonely, he's happy with his friends.

He supposes it's true, though. He'd been sweet to Nancy. He'd made sure she didn't forget to eat. He'd carry her books and walk her to class. Not that it counted for much. "Isn't everyone?" he asks.

Billy huffs a laugh. "Eds isn't. He's a pain in the ass, doesn't care for anyone but himself."

Gasping, Eddie places a hand over his chest. "You're one to talk! You say such mean things to me."

Eddie tilts his head enough for him to look at Billy, at the sly smile on his face as he says, "Only 'cause you're into it, baby."

A soft blush spreads across Eddie's cheeks as he turns back to the mirror. "At least Stevie will be nice to me this weekend, won't you?"

Steve swallows as Eddie's eyes raise to meet his again. A bit more pupil than they were seconds ago. "Yeah," he stutters, coughing into his fist before trying again. "Yeah, sure."

These boys were trouble. Undiluted, dark, fiery trouble wrapped up in a neat little bow —or a suit of his own picking. And not for the first time that day, Steve wonders what he's gotten himself into.

Before leaving, Steve buys the two of them some simpler suits. Ones that don't need to be measured and perfected because they don't matter as much as the ones they'll wear to the actual wedding.

For Billy, he chooses a pale blue suit that accentuates his eyes. It almost makes them look sharper, more defined. And Billy even promised to wear his jacket for at least half of the night. Steve counts it as a win.

Eddie had been roaming the store and Steve found him touching a deep red button-up with a faraway look in his eyes. The color is dark enough to be mistaken for black and the fabric is silky smooth. It didn't take any convincing to buy it and another pair of black pants. No blazer for Eddie —something that made Billy sigh in feigned annoyance.

What can he say? If it works, it works.

And the suits… definitely worked. If Steve had been crazy about the suits they'd picked before, he's practically rabid about these ones. There's just something so alluring about seeing them in a more casual state of dress. Not even mentioning the fact that Steve picked them, Steve bought them.

It won't be Steve taking them off that night. Something he could almost find himself regretting if not for the fact he keeps reminding himself they're just doing this for the money.

They grab some coffee to waste the next few hours away. Steve doesn't find himself looking at his watch as much as he would back home. Eddie seemingly doesn't know how to shut up —especially after finding out Steve knows a little bit about D&D from the few times he'd played with Dustin's group— and Billy is content listening to him while dropping sarcastic comments every now and again.

They ask him about his life too. About his job, about his family. Steve tells them about Robin and her girlfriend, laughing to himself as he recalls the popcorn somehow exploding in Robin's face at their last movie night. He tells them about Dustin and the way his mother manages to turn even a simple PB&J into a culinary masterpiece.

In return, Billy and Eddie tell them about their life. Billy talks about Eddie's last show, about his new songs. About the way he can never get out of bed in the morning while Billy's already restless around 7AM. And Eddie talks about Billy's dream to build a surfing school, about his studies and the way his hair turns frizzy when he doesn't use the right conditioner.

Time passes quickly. Before Steve knows it, they're rushing back to the tailor before it closes for the day —something Billy doesn't seem to mind at all, taking the sharp corners with a grin and music blaring from the stereo.

They make it in time, thank God. Steve doesn't know what he'd do if they didn't have their suits. Make Billy get them early tomorrow morning? It sounds a little cruel for a guy that's only doing him a favor.

All is well, though. Steve pays for the suits before they're heading back to the hotel to change for the rehearsal dinner.

And now they're in the Camaro again. The sky is still bright —Steve doubts the sun ever goes down in California— and the leather interior of the car makes him sweat even worse than he already was. The nerves combined with the weather, combined with the fact the two most handsome guys he's ever met are sitting in the front seats of the car he's in, is enough to make him rethink the entire plan.

He tries to redirect his focus. Name five things he can see, or is it smell? The car smells like weed, he lists. Beer and sweat and a heavy undercurrent he shouldn't look too close at. Not unless he wants to pop a boner in the same backseat Eddie and Billy have probably gotten off in plenty of times.

Steve knows he would, if he owned a car like this. Or if he had a boyfriend. Or someone in general. Someone that's not his right hand.

Once he starts thinking about it, it's hard to stop. It doesn't help that Steve hasn't been on a proper date in years. His mind's all twisted and tangled, trying to think of impossible scenarios where it'd be him getting railed on that backseat.

Three days. Hell, less than three days. He needs to have his shit together for less than three days before he flies back to Hawkins and he won't have time to think about these two men anymore. He'll be flooded with open to closing shifts and movie nights and phone calls from his mother he won't answer.

He'll have to think of some excuse as to why they broke up. Make it seem like it was Steve's choice all along, before she starts to find him even more pathetic than she already does.

Everything will be fine if he manages to get his brain out of the gutter.

At least things aren't as awkward as they could have been. Eddie and Billy have their moments but it seems the two of them aren't big on PDA. It still feels like third wheeling, but Steve had taken that into account when he'd accepted the offer. As long as nobody notices, he can suffer through their sweet glances and almost loving bickering.

Eddie is twisted around in the passenger seat to look at Steve. He's still rambling about that D&D campaign he'd set up to play with his friends when he gets back home. Something about a troll and a princess that will turn out to be a dragon. Steve's just slightly impressed.

It's hard to follow all of the storylines, though. He's played D&D before, sure, but he's not the sharpest tool in the shed at all. Once things become theoretical or Eddie starts talking about advantages and dice rolls, he's lost. Not letting his attention stray grows even more complicated when Billy catches his eye through the rear view mirror.

Despite having been around the two of them for a couple hours already, Steve has not gotten used to that piercing gaze. He doesn't know how Eddie does it. Honestly, if he was in love with Billy on top of everything? He would probably open up a hole in the earth with sheer willpower and disappear in it the moment their gazes cross.

Not that looking at Eddie is any better. His eyes are warm and caring, where Billy's are sharp and critical. He doubts anyone can look at Eddie without feeling the love hidden underneath. Not because Eddie would ever actually love Steve —he's not foolish enough to think that— but because love radiates from him. It's the foundation the rest of him is built on, Steve's sure of it.

After a short, yet torturous, drive they pull up in front of the venue. There's a few cars in the parking lot, though Steve doubts any of them are from his family members. They have enough money for private chauffeurs, or to hire a limo. And they're not above any of that either.

The venue is beautiful, though, he has to give it to them. It looks almost like a palace with its brick walls and plentiful gardens. A small staircase leads to the front door, already propped open and awaiting guests.

Steve slides out of the backseat, flinching when Eddie slams the door closed. Billy had made it very clear that should anything happen to the car, Steve would pay —and not in cash.

It had sounded much sexier than Steve thinks the actual outcome would be.

Eddie's hand slides into Steve's like this is normal. Like they've truly been doing this whole boyfriend-thing for ages.

It's kind of weird, holding hands. Steve's always thought so. He's just much too aware he's touching another person, that their fingers are twined with his, to relax.

Eddie has big hands, long fingers and callouses that scratch against Steve's palm. It's different from holding a girl's hand. Eddie's fingers twitch and tap a short pattern against Steve's knuckles before settling down again, like he's not even aware he's doing it at all.

It's different. Because Steve doesn't have to be careful, or gentle. He can just… be.

Billy rounds the car, stopping in front of them. There's a cigarette dangling from his lips —Steve would claim it to be disgusting if he didn't have the same habit a few years ago— and his head tilts as he assesses Steve.

When Billy reaches out to run a hand through Steve’s hair, Steve has to clench his jaw not to whine about it. "We forgot to tell you something," Billy mumbles, distracted as he licks his thumb and wipes it across Steve's brow.

Being scrutinized doesn't feel very pleasant, especially when he'd spent at least fifteen minutes standing in front of their huge bathroom mirror and making sure every single hair is where it should be. Everything's perfect. He looks good.

Still, he lets Billy do as he pleases. "And what is that?" Steve asks, as Eddie squeezes his hand.

Billy takes a step back, now looking at Eddie. He brushes a hand over his shirt, lingering at the collar before smoothing it down and popping the first two buttons to show a sliver of pale skin. "Eds is a really picky eater," he says, not taking his eyes off his boyfriend.

A laugh escapes his lips. For a second he'd been worried Billy had something bad to tell him. Like, that they can't make it to the wedding after all. Or that they're actually not okay with pretending to be his boyfriend.

Eddie being a picky eater is the least of his worries. Steve knows picky eaters, alright. Every single time they go to Benny's Robin bitches about the pickles on her burger. And Claudia has become a master at altering recipes to fit Dustin's tastes, if only to make sure he doesn't eat Pringles for dinner. "That's all?" he asks.

"I'm just saying, he might throw a fit in there if anyone forces him to eat something he doesn't want." Billy winks at Eddie, like he's telling an inside joke. It might be, Steve would be none the wiser.

Eddie leans against his arm, placing his cheek against Steve's shoulder even though Eddie is objectively taller. "I don't know the difference between the salad fork and the normal ones either. It all looks the same to me, but the little ones are more fun to eat with."

This time it's Steve giving Eddie's hand a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be fine. Nobody can force you to eat things you don't want to eat. And I'm sure there will be something you'll like, there's five courses. If not, we can order in once we get back to the hotel."

He looks down at Eddie, finding big eyes already looking at him. "Alright?" he asks.

"Really?" Eddie bites his lip, like he had expected Steve to complain about it.

Steve nods. "I'm grateful you guys found the time to come, the last thing I want is for this to be a miserable experience. Though, my family has probably got that covered."

The more he's gotten to know them, the worse he feels about bringing them into the hellscape that is his family. He knows all about their scathing comments or disgusted looks. "If anyone says something…" Steve trails off, remembering all the times he'd gone home from a family gathering to cry himself to sleep. His eyes meet Billy's.

They're not really his. Not to keep, at least. After the weekend is over, they'll both go back to their normal lives and as will he. He knows this, logically, and yet… It almost feels like this is real. Like he's about to introduce his boyfriends to his family, praying they will treat them with the kindness and respect they deserve.

Billy and Eddie, they're good people. Better people than his family, there's no doubt about this. Steve just hopes they won't break like he might have.

"Just come find me, okay? And don't take it to heart, please. My family has a certain view of the person they deem worthy enough to hang around. How they're supposed to act and dress and—" He closes his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. "They're going to try to make you feel shitty just for existing and it's absolute bullshit."

The word tastes like vomit in his mouth. Like the sharp sting of a fist to his teeth. Like a stuffy bathroom and punch that's more vodka than juice.

It's the only word that counts, though. The only word accurate enough to describe his family.

A pair of lips presses against his cheek. Steve would think it to be sweet if it wasn't all pretend. "Don't worry, Stevie. We can take it."

Billy nods, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not the worst we've had to deal with."

Heaving a sigh, Steve straightens his back. "Just wait until you're inside."

With heavy steps, Steve tugs Eddie toward the entrance. It's better to get this whole ordeal over with rather than show up late and get a stern talking to on top of everything. Billy and Eddie should at least get the chance to have some fun without Steve jinxing it before they even make it through the front door.

The hallway is big and well lit. The tiles all seem hand painted with golden swirls directing them toward the dining room. Flower arrangements line the walls, all in the same white and pale purple color palette, just like in their room.

The dining room —which looks more like a ballroom, if Steve's honest— is more filled than Steve had been expecting. His family is big, he'd known this since he was a young child, but it had been a while since he'd seen them all together. And then there's the groom's family as well, filling the room with laughter foreign to the Harrington family.

There's round tables scattered around the room, decorated with white tablecloths and purple name cards. Chandeliers hang suspended from the ceiling, a thousand twinkling lights bathing the room in a warm yellow.

Eddie's grip on his hand tightens as a woman walks over to them.

Rosaline is dressed in a long white gown, purple flowers on the hem. Steve had never known she was this into the color purple —or flowers, for that matter— but he supposes they were never very close to begin with.

Of course, being the same age meant they were often seated near each other. Or that they'd automatically gravitate towards one another at family events. But that didn't mean the two of them talked often.

Steve found out rather early on Rosaline is as boring as plain tofu. Where he'd had an interest in comics and, when he entered high school, sports, it seemed like she was just there to sit still and look pretty. More often than not, she shot him a pleasant smile before zoning out again, staring blankly at her parents or a wall of her own choosing.

She'd been nicer than most, though. She let Steve talk her ear off, even though she never really listened. There had even been this one instance where Steve had gotten way too drunk —high school days, he's not very proud of them— and she'd gotten him settled in his bed with a trashcan for emergencies.

If she were anyone else, Steve would have probably declined her invite.

She looks happier now, though. There's a bright smile on her nude glossy lips as she bounds over to them, a certain awareness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. He's glad.

"Steven!" Rosaline pulls him into a quick hug once she's close enough. Another thing to add to the list that has changed about her.

None of the Harrington's are very big on physical touch. He can count the times his parents have hugged him on one hand. And even when she was younger, she always flinched when someone reached out a hand to touch her.

Not now, though.

"I'm so glad you could make it." She squeezes his shoulders before letting go of him. "I have to warn you, though, your grandmother is here."

Steve frowns. "I would hope so, she's your grandmother as well."

"No, I mean Miss Valentine." She heaves a sigh, running a hand through her pin straight hair. "I didn't mean to invite her but we ran into her in New York and then I didn't really have a choice, did I?"

Miss Valentine is a deceiving name for his grandmother. She's a stern lady with a short bob and a frightening sense of style. She built her own perfume brand in the eighties and has since then been on the rise. The fact that she might even be more well known than the Harrington name pisses his father off endlessly.

Other than their shared interest in pissing off his family, they have little in common. She never wanted her daughter to marry his father, which means she sees him as… Well, sometimes it feels like she sees him as the offspring of pure evil.

"Thanks for the warning, Rosaline." He wonders how rude it would be to make a u-turn right now. There's little he enjoys less than being around that woman. Not because she's straight up mean or judgy like the rest of his family, but because she's somewhat otherworldly. Not in a good way, either. Strange and always jumping head first into arguments.

Steve clears his throat. "My boyfriends," he says, effectively changing the subject. "Eddie Munson and Billy Hargrove." He gestures in their direction, willing himself to keep a straight face. Similar to dogs, his family smells fear. And the last thing he needs is to let that show.

With a smile that's just a tick too wide, Rosaline shakes their hands. "It's very nice to meet you," she says, brushing her hand against her dress. Steve clenches his jaw. "Is that Eddie for Edward or Edwin?"

Eddie glances at Steve, fingers tapping against the back of his hand. Steve has no way to help him, though. He has no idea what his name is short for. He didn't think to ask. In all honesty, he thought Eddie to be his legal name. It suits him.

Looking back at Rosaline, Eddie says, "Edward?"

"Edward. Very suiting." Rosaline nods. "My fiance's name is Edwin, but we call him Ed. Such a funny coincidence, is it not?"

Steve is only half-ashamed to admit he had no idea what her boyfriend's name was. It's not like they ever talk these days. And he must have missed it on the wedding invitation.

Okay, maybe he should have paid more attention. But there were more important things to worry about. Such as the fact he could not show up to a wedding alone (again).

Eddie clears his throat, nodding. "Yeah, so funny. Just make sure not to marry the wrong one."

Rosaline's brows furrow. "Now why would I…" Before she can finish her sentence, someone calls her name. It might be for the best. "My apologies, I'll have to get going, but it was very nice meeting you! My fiance should be around as well. If you see him near the drinks, please redirect him! He can't have a hangover while getting married!"

The moment she's off, Eddie is pressing his face into Steve's arm with a groan. "Oh my God, she hates me. Why did you invite us again? This is even worse than meeting Max."

"That's because Maxine is a freak. You fit right in with her and her little freak friends." Billy places a hand on his shoulder.

Eddie places his free hand on top of Billy's.

"It's fine," Steve tells him, not really sure what else to do. "She's like that with everyone. She doesn't really get humor. I thought it was funny though, if that helps."

Eddie looks up at him, mouth still down-turned. "It does. It really does. Thank you, Stevie."

"Anytime." Steve smiles before he starts directing them towards their table. It's best to get all the unpleasantries out of the way before dinner starts. Though he doubts his family is capable of being anything but unpleasant.

Once they near the table, Steve catches part of the conversation his mother and grandmother are having. There's no doubt she's trying to convince his mother to take over the business again. That's what she's always wanted his mother to do, after all.

Some things never change.

His father is standing a few steps away from the table, phone pressed to his ear as he exchanges words with the person on the other side. He's surprised they even bothered to show up at all. He doubts they'd come if he were to ever get married. Not unless they got to pick the bride.

Next to his father's empty chair are his aunt and uncle, both looking at him as he approaches. The last person sitting at the table is none other than his cousin Mary, nose buried in her phone as her thumbs move over the screen. Her hair is combed back into a bun at the base of her skull.

"Steven," she greets, not bothering to look up from her phone. "I see you've still got that hideous haircut."

"Mary. Still got that hideous attitude," Steve counters. He squeezes Eddie's hand once —more for his own sake than Eddie's— before letting go to pull out a chair for him and Billy.

Once they're both seated, Steve sits down as well. Mary lifts her eyes, a calculating look sliding from Steve to Billy to Eddie before finally settling on Steve again. "You've brought escorts, how modern."

His cousin isn't someone he enjoys spending a lot of time with, for good reason. She's young, younger than he is, but she's pure venom presenting as a teenage girl. She got most of her features from her mother. The dirty blonde hair, the clear green eyes. It's not the typical Harrington look, but her attitude more than makes up for it.

"I brought my boyfriends," Steve tells her, doing everything he can to keep his cool.

If he did lose it, it wouldn't be the first time. There's just something about her that brings out the worst parts of him. She uses her intelligence not only as a weapon, but as means to prove she's better than him. Like her smarts make up for her cold attitude.

It doesn't help that he sees a part of him in her, either. Not the intelligence, he never had much of that, but the attitude.

Steve spent practically all of high school thinking he was better than the rest. Like they were only there to serve him, to entertain him. Of course, he realizes his skewed point of view now, but it seems she hasn't yet gotten to that point.

High school is in the past. He's a different person now. No longer angry, not like he used to be. There's no reputation to uphold, because he's already lost it all. And a part of him is glad for it too.

It means there's more space for him to think clearly. For him to realize she's just taunting him when she clicks her tongue before saying, "So, how much did you pay them?"

She doesn't know a thing. She can't, Steve sees it in her eyes. All she wants is to see him lose it and he is not going to give her what she wants. Not now and not ever again. He is not a toy for her to play with.

Steve opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Billy interjects. "You shut your mouth or we're gonna have a problem, missy."

Her eyes flick over to him, like a predator looking at its prey. Her expression could be described as bored if Steve didn't see the gears turning behind her eyes. She tilts her head with a barely-there smile on her lips. "Ohh, feisty."

"It's fine." Steve places a hand over Billy's, curling his fingers around his fist. The last thing he needs is to give her the opportunity to bully someone else. Someone that will give her the pleasure of getting them to break.

Besides, it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before. His family is all about those kinds of mind games, seeing how long it takes for him to give in to their wishes. It used to be much easier, but he isn't planning on it now —or ever again.

He looks at the rest of the table to see his father has returned, meaning all eyes are on Steve. Something that used to make him feel powerful now makes him queasy.

Straightening his back, Steve says, "This is my boyfriend, Billy Hargrove." He places an arm on the back of Eddie's chair, smiling at him. "And my other boyfriend, Eddie Munson."

With a pointed sigh and a roll of her eyes, Mary slumps back against her chair, all her attention going back to her phone.

Steve tries his best to suppress a smile at that, though he isn't sure whether he succeeds. It's the best response he could have gotten. Once Mary realizes he refuses to give her what she wants, he might as well be another floral arrangement. She doesn't care about his life, or his boyfriends. She only cares about the entertainment he could give her.

"Billy, Eddie. Meet my family." Steve nods towards the rest of the table. "Miss Valentine, Alice Harrington, Richard Harrington, Tony Harrington, Rebecca Harrington-Sanders and Mary Harrington."

The only thing he wants is for his family to realize they don't own him anymore. They don't have to like it —hell, Steve kind of hopes they don't—, they just have to accept it. Accept the fact Steve is not theirs to command. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

A hand finds his knee under the table and squeezes. Eddie's lips are pressed into a tight smile when he says, "It is such a pleasure to finally meet you, Steve's told us a lot about your family."

"Suck-up," Mary mutters, still tapping away on her phone. Eddie's hand tightens on his knee while Rebecca hides a smirk in her wineglass.

"Has he now?" Steve's mother tilts her head, regarding Eddie like he's some common antique at a thrift store. Alice won't be fooled by nice exteriors. No, she sees right through those. Steve bets she's putting a mental price on him right now and the thought makes him squirm uncomfortably.

She used to do that, back when he was younger. It's a way for him to learn all about money, she told him. About what matters in the world and what doesn't. Tommy Hagan was worth 5k, because the Hagan name was worth a little something. Though, she'd told him, he'd be worth more if he grew up to be handsome and learned a little about the world while he was at it.

Steve doubts he ever did learn much, and his face still looks similar to how it did when he was a teen. He doubts Tommy will ever look his age, will ever look serious.

It had been a sort of game they played back then. Steve guessed someone's worth and his mother confirmed or denied it. And over the course of the years Steve learned just how his mother's mind works.

He doubts Eddie's getting anything above a 50.

His mother's looking at Steve again, twirling a strand of curled blonde hair around her finger. "From what I was aware he wanted little to do with our family."

Eddie freezes and Steve immediately wants to reassure him. It's alright, it really is. The words don't land as hard as they would a couple years ago. He's used to it.

There's nothing he can say, though. His attention is called elsewhere.

Billy's hand turns, twisting until he can twine their fingers together and squeeze. His hand is smaller than Eddie's, with thicker fingers and more muscles. Steve has to bite his tongue not to scream.

"You smell good, strong," his grandmother is saying when Steve looks over to their side of the table. Billy's shoulders are squared like he's preparing for a fight, while his grandmother noses at where he'd undone the top buttons of his shirt. Her hand slides over his arm. "Very dark and seductive. Undertones of some femininity…"

"Grandmother!" Steve yelps, resisting the urge to bat her away like a fly. "Please don't sniff my boyfriend!"

From all the things that could have gone wrong. His boyfriends— pretend-boyfriends, have been insulted, degraded and touched in ways that could potentially be scarring. His half-hearted warnings about his family don't seem like nearly enough now.

It's only the beginning of the evening.

"What! Can't a lady smell someone's perfume?" His grandmother huffs, sitting back against her chair. She crosses her arms in front of him, bracelets jingling. "It's nice, not very expensive. I doubt it'll last through the night, especially when—"

"Shut up, grandma!" Steve hisses, turning red already. He'd take a thousand barely-concealed insults over her innuendos. The last thing he needs is to start thinking about having sex with the two of them while they're sitting at the dinner table.

He'd almost forgotten she was like that. So open, so teasing. Don't get him wrong, she's still pure evil incarnated —it's a surprise Mary isn't a part of that family tree— but she's also quite progressive.

Now he remembers why he can't help but think of Miranda Priestly whenever he sees her.

Steve silently apologizes by squeezing Billy's hand —which has, thankfully, stopped trying to break all his bones.

A mic screeches, calling for attention. Steve sighs as the very much needed interruption, turning towards the stage to see his cousin Rosaline holding the mic.

From what he remembers, she never much liked attention. Steve once caught her hiding a report card and when he asked she'd told him she didn't want her parents to start bragging about it and praising her every chance they got. It had been the exact opposite reason Steve tended to hide his report cards, but he hadn't judged.

Now, though? She's practically shining as she looks over the room of people. Their family, all gathered together for something as beautiful as two souls being united for eternity. Something Steve used to dream about, back when he still assumed he'd one day be standing at the altar too.

"Hello everyone," she says, her voice projecting throughout the entire room. Eddie shuffles his chair closer to Steve's so he can lean against his chest. "Thank you all for coming, I will try to keep this short because there's a whole wedding to get through tomorrow."

Her voice is brighter than it had been years ago. She is brighter. Steve just hopes that one day he'll find the same brightness, that he'll finally be able to live without his family judging his every move. Or that he won't care about any of them anymore. That he'll find love.

It's a lot of demands, he's aware. He just can't help himself. He spent such a long time living in his parent's shadows, he's excited to see what would become of him when he decides his own fate.

"I just want to say how grateful I am for my family and my soon-to-be husband's family. You have all been there through the rough times. I don't know where I would be without any of you, all I know is that meeting Ed is the best thing that has ever happened to me. From the moment I saw him, I knew that he was it for me. I can't wait to spend the rest of our lives together, but—" She holds the mic away from her face, laughing softly as she blinks up at the ceiling. "But that is not what tonight is about."

Billy squeezes his hand and Steve realizes he'd been holding his breath. "Tonight," Rosaline continues, as Steve tries to subtly gulp in air, "is about family. About all the times we've helped each other, shared secrets and confided in one another. It is for all the times when you didn't know who to call and family came to your rescue."

Her eyes move across the room. Steve thinks they settle on him for a long second. He wonders whether she remembers that night he'd gotten too drunk. He wonders whether his imagination is playing tricks on him.

"Tonight is about honesty, loyalty and perseverance." Some of Harrington's —guys his age or younger, those that still have a chance at getting into the family business— cheer at hearing those three familiar words. The ones they're taught to pray to at night, before they go to bed. Their sacred little rules. Ones Steve has broken countless times over.

There's a secretive smile playing on Rosaline's lips as she waits for the room to quiet down again. "And tonight is about love." She glances over at her fiance, where he's standing just off stage. For a second, Steve is captivated by the look in his eyes. Like Rosaline is the only person in the universe that matters. "But most importantly, tonight is about food. Let's eat!"

Applause fills the room as she exits the stage, letting her arms fall around Edwin again. For the first time that night, he can finally place what's different about her.

Happiness. She's happy.

His attention is drawn back to their table when Rebecca scoffs. She takes another sip of her wine before mumbling, "The nerve of that girl, standing there and proclaiming she's still loyal to this family all while marrying a commoner."

Steve holds in a laugh at how stupid she sounds. He can't believe he would have agreed with her ten years ago.

"Get with the times!" His grandmother calls, leaning over the table to whisper, "Men don't matter."

If there's anything Steve should learn from Miss Valentine, it's her scary independence. That and her bravery. Maybe she's not as bad as he'd always thought.

"I wouldn't say that," Tony says, his voice a low rumble as he places a hand over Rebecca's.

Mary sighs as her phone meets the table with a thud. Finally something interesting enough to pay attention to, it seems. "By that logic Steven's well on his way to becoming the company's president, dad. He's collecting them like Pokémon."

"Steven has made it very clear he wants nothing to do with the company," Rebecca counters. Steve's almost glad he didn't have to say it himself. "We wouldn't be here if it weren't for the Harrington men."

Crossing her arms, Mary says, "Well, then too bad they didn't die out. I could've been in Ibiza—"

Before anyone can counter that statement, the first course is brought to the table. A rich tomato soup that's still steaming when it's put down. Steve pulls his arm away from Eddie's shoulders so he can start eating.

He's a little sad when Billy pulls his hand away as well.

"So, Steven," his mother begins after a few minutes of tense silence. "How did you and—" She waves her spoon in the vague direction of Eddie and Billy— "meet?"

Despite the amount of hours the three of them spent talking earlier. Of all the topics they've discussed, they did not think to plan ahead should a question like this arise. Part of him didn't think his family would care enough to ask.

Steve is not proud to say he freezes.

"We met online," Eddie says before anyone can call Steve out for not immediately replying. He should know how he met his boyfriends. There shouldn't be a doubt in his mind, he shouldn't even have to think about it. "One of our friends connected us because they thought we might have some similar interests and then—"

"So this is the first time you've, like, actually met him?" Mary interrupts. Her face is nearly gleeful. What are those mythical creatures that feed on misery called again? "That's hilarious. How difficult is it to hide your disappointment?"

"Definitely not the first time," Billy says, pressing his knee against Steve's. Honestly, he got pretty lucky with these two guys. Anyone else would've just scoffed and let it go —or worse, played along with it and made fun of him— but here they are. Defending him. Putting up with his family, even though most of them are horrible people that only want him to hurt. "We've both flown out a couple of times before. And disappointed is the absolute last word I'd use."

The look Billy is wearing is one of the hottest things Steve has seen in his life. That certainty that makes doubting him near impossible. Like he's challenging Mary to push harder, to argue.

She doesn't.

From the other side of the table, his mother hums. Something non-committal and questioning. "You've never mentioned California," she says.

Steve doesn't bother looking at her, going back to his soup as he says, "Why wouldn't I? Maybe you just weren't listening."

For a second Steve feels a storm brewing, but there's no harsh winds in the form of smiting words. There's no thundering rain that'll try to beat him into the ground. When he looks back up, he sees she's gone back to eating again.

The rest of the dinner goes… surprisingly well, considering the usual chaos the Harrington family brings along. The silences are awkward and he's forced to listen to his father and uncle discuss business, because the alternative would be listening to his grandmother try to chat up one of his fake-boyfriends.

It's a little scarring, but Billy doesn't seem too bothered. If anything, he'd started laying on the charm nice and thick, playing into anything his grandmother says. So don't blame Steve for not coming straight to the rescue.

Mary, thank whatever lords are looking out for him, spends the entire dinner with her phone in one hand and a fork in the other. It's clear that two simultaneous activities are just about the limit of what she can handle, which means she doesn't bother Steve too much.

The times his grandmother isn't openly flirting with Billy, she's bickering with his mother. She repeats things Steve has heard a thousand times before —men don't matter, Alice! You'd be better off joining the Valentine's— like saying them one more time would finally flip a switch in his mother's brain and make her agree.

Honestly, Steve has no idea why she doesn't just give in already. She won't have to take over the company for a long time, not for as long as his grandmother is alive, and she won't be living in the shadows of his father anymore.

All his grandmother does is oversee the most important decisions. A yes-no stamp like the word from God herself. His mother would just have to sit around and look pretty —something she knows quite well to do, if her time with his father is any indication— maybe make some minor decisions.

But it seems that Alice Valentine is dead and buried. From the musty dirt arose another person entirely. The perfect trophy wife. Pretty and powerless. Alice Harrington.

It's not like Steve cares. It wouldn't change a thing about his life. His mother would still remain that empty porcelain doll he's always known. He wonders whether she's always been like that, or if his grandmother tries again and again because she still sees the remains of some bubbly young girl.

And then there's Rebecca, who seems to be content listening to whatever boring conversation his father and Tony share. Until…

Eddie pushes away his plate a moment after it's put down. His eyes are somewhere on the wall in front of him, where the swirls collide. Maybe Eddie's seeing something Steve doesn't. Or maybe he's just lost in thought.

His fingers trail mindless patterns on Steve's thigh. It feels kind of nice, actually, comforting.

"Why aren't you eating, sweetheart?" Rebecca asks, all feigned worry. Eddie freezes, his hand clamping around Steve's leg. "Are you sick?"

Eddie smiles, his grip relaxing. Steve admires him, really, for being able to act so kind when he probably wants to run far, far away from Steve. Just so he'll never have to sit through the torture of a Harrington event again. Steve can't really blame him. "No, ma'am, I just don't really like shellfish."

It's clear that Rebecca doesn't like this answer. She tuts, pushing his plate closer again. "Come on, hasn't your mother taught you any manners? It's impolite not to eat what's served."

Eddie's hand squeezes his thigh hard enough to hurt. "More impolite than not minding your own business?" Steve asks his aunt through a bite of food. She pulls back her upper lip at his obvious lack of manners.

Like manners aren't just some made up ideals. Manners never apply to those that enforce them, do they?

"I'm just letting him know that not everyone would accept such behavior, Steven. Clearly nobody told him and he deserves to know." She turns back towards Eddie, voice lowering like she's talking to a child. Steve's jaw clenches. "Sometimes, sweetheart, we have to do some things we don't like."

"Aunt Rebecca." Steve swallows his food, trying to keep his breathing under control. He'd never minded her much before this, but she might as well be the devil right about now. How dare she even talk to Eddie like that? Like… What is it she said? Like he's a commoner.

With a voice more level than he'd thought to be capable of, he says, "How about you focus on your own children instead of trying to 'raise' a full grown man."

Mary doesn't reply at the obvious jab, and he's grateful. She'd probably tear him a new one if her eyes weren't glued to her screen.

God, he sounds like an old man.

"I'm just—"

"No." Steve shakes his head. "He is not your son and he never will be. If he doesn't like the food, he is allowed to leave it be. He's not hurting anyone and most importantly, he owes you nothing."

There's a certain fire in her eyes Steve isn't used to. Normally she sits by quietly and speaks to only her husband —who Steve thinks might as well be an angel in her eyes.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she grits. "I was only trying to do the right thing. There's no need to… to get your panties in a twist."

Steve almost laughs at the attempt. "And I'm politely informing you that you're overstepping. Are we clear?"

She nods her head, lips pressed into a thin line as she goes back to her meal.

Steve is used to things like these. Family meetings often turn into public humiliation for him, especially these last few years.

After a few years he'd gotten good at ignoring their cutting commentary. Accepting insults became a second nature to him. And he supposes they think it serves him right for refusing to go into the family business to live a small life.

Eddie has done nothing to deserve their judgment, though. Steve has only known him for a couple hours, but he's already certain of one thing. Eddie will forever be a better person than anyone else sitting at the table —Billy being the only exception, maybe.

It all feels like Steve's fault. He's the one that brought them here without immediately letting them know how harsh his family can be. He should have warned them, in the advertisement. But would they have shown up even then?

He isn't so sure.

The tense atmosphere of dinner only grows. And things don't improve when Billy gets up sometime after dessert, pressing a kiss to the side of Steve's head and announcing he's going for a smoke.

Eddie's hand —fingers now safely twined through Steve's again— twitches like he wants to follow. Steve gets it, almost wants to give him the go-ahead, but Eddie is old enough to make his own choices. He stays seated.

No one has left their seats yet and it's clear his parents are only just holding back from saying something about how rude it is to be the first one to stand. They keep their mouths shut, though. At least until he leaves.

Once he's gone, his mother rolls her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. It's all performance. Steve knows about the menthols she keeps tucked away in her purse. Only to be revealed in secret. Dark alleyways that don't suit her complexion or the middle of the night, staring out at the pool like the soft glow will give her the answers she seeks.

Smoking is one of the least attractive qualities a woman could have, at least in his father's eyes. That means she has to keep up the act. Be the good wife who shakes her head if the subject is brought up.

Which isn't something you could say for his grandmother.

She places a hand over her heart, sighing in a much lighter —too light, if you'd ask Steve— way. "Could that boy of yours get any more attractive, Steven?" she asks, like Steve would know. He only met the guy a few hours ago.

Though, he can't help the sneaking suspicion that a little less clothing would certainly do him no harm. That solid chest is enough evidence.

There's no need to tell his grandmother that, though.

"Grandmother, please," Steve sighs. That headache that has been thrumming behind his eyes ever since he sat down only grows.

These people act like adults. They act like they know all about the world, about how they should act, what they should say, but all Steve has been doing all night is call them out for being inappropriate or impolite. It's a nightmare. "Could you please act a little more… refined? He's not some hooker."

"Isn't he?" Mary snorts, once again not bothering to lift her eyes from her phone. The dessert —a thick lava cake that was served with a nice helping of vanilla ice cream— stands untouched on the plate in front of her. Just as untouched as his mother's and aunt's.

The double standards are absolutely ridiculous. They're allowed to skip dessert because, what, they feel the need to restrict themselves? Because a lady shouldn't be seen stuffing her face with chocolate-y treats?

All while Eddie got unfairly called out for not eating something he genuinely dislikes. Steve sees those glances his mother keeps sneaking at her dessert, it's not like she doesn't want to eat it!

"I can't help it, Steven. They don't make boys like that in New York, I'll tell you that much." She laughs. "That's the smell I couldn't place earlier… Smoke." Right, earlier. When you sniffed him without permission. Steve keeps his mouth shut. "I could incorporate that in… Excuse me."

She promptly stands, waving her hands as if to say 'don't mind me!' before fishing her phone from her purse and dialing a number. She puts the phone to her ear and someone must answer her call because Steve hears her greet the person on the other side of the phone before she walks out of earshot. No doubt to tell her assistant about the genius revelation she had while having dinner with Steve's boyfriend. And sniffing said boyfriend.

Has his family dialed up their insanity? Or is he only realizing how batshit crazy they are now that he's brought guests?

His mother sighs, massaging her temple. "Please tell me you're not getting back into old habits, Steven."

Steve laughs, not because he thinks any of this is funny, but because he has no idea what else to do. Of course his mother thinks that him being with someone that smokes will make him start again. Of course she thinks his boyfriends are a bad influence on him. "What makes you think that?"

She doesn't know half of what he used to get up to, in his teenage years. A couple times she'd caught him in the garden. Smoking, drinking. Laying on one of the pool beds stargazing —which strangely seemed to be the thing she disliked most.

It's almost funny, thinking she could catch him and he couldn't catch her. Like his room doesn't overlook the same pool she'd stand before with a cigarette perched between her fingers.

"Well… Clearly you're getting influenced one way or another." It almost sounds like she thinks Eddie and Billy performed some kind of black magic spell to make him like boys. If they did —Steve entertains the thought, because he'd found early on it's much more entertaining than blowing up— they must have enchanted him when he was fourteen and staring just a tad bit too long at Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic. "I'm just looking out for you," she adds, like she isn't absolutely fucking clueless to what Steve gets up to.

Like she cares.

"You could've tried that when I was twelve. I can take care of myself now." He takes a deep breath, willing the calm to return to him. That's all in the past. She's in the past. "But if you must know, I don't smoke anymore. Not since four years ago."

Since his grandpa died, he doesn't say. Mister Valentine —though nobody but Steve called him that, his real name was Joe Thomas— had been a kind man. Steve had visited him often, even back when he was still doing the King Steve thing. Probably even before then.

His grandpa owned a cottage on the outskirts of Hawkins, hidden away between the trees. It was a place that made Steve's thoughts slow down in ways nothing else had managed. A few times a week Steve would visit and they'd sit on the porch and play a few games of cards while smoking.

And then, one day, he was gone. Leaving behind a hole in Steve's heart. The shape of the only man that ever saw him for who he truly was, even when Steve himself had no clue.

He knows Mister Valentine never really was the same since Miss Valentine divorced him. If it weren't for Steve and a couple of old friends in town, he would have been all alone in those last few years. Sad and quiet and shutting out the entire world…

Steve remembers the funeral. He remembers there only being a crowd of ten. His grandmother didn't show. His mother left soon after saying goodbye, not even waiting until he was lowered into the ground.

Steve doesn't think he can ever forgive her for that.

It had been a difficult day and he'd stood outside —the sun was high in the sky, though not nearly as hot as the one in California, because it had only been spring and it was Hawkins, after all— the funeral home, leaned against the brick wall with tears streaming down his face.

That was the last cigarette he'd had that didn't taste of nothing but disappointment. He'd grabbed another that evening, or maybe it was the following day, Steve isn't sure, and it did nothing for him. He'd put it out after the first drag. No satisfaction.

Sometimes he'll reach for one again, when work or life gets overwhelming. He'll light it and see if they miraculously taste the same once more. If they'll fulfill that bone deep craving that had gotten less the longer Steve went without.

They never do.

He still likes the smell, though. It's the closest he can come to that satisfaction, that feeling of content. A sense of comfort that never quite reminds him of his grandpa, because while Steve had smoked a cigarette, his grandfather preferred cigars. Another left over memory of a previous life he'd lived. One he never managed to move on from.

His mother hums and taps her chin like she doesn't quite believe him. He's fine with that. She's allowed to believe whatever she likes, as long as she doesn't bother him about it. And she doesn't.

People start bidding good-bye's and see-you-later's around the same time Billy returns. For some reason it feels like the hand around his heart loosens up a little, knowing Billy hadn't been caught up by guests harassing him or something of the sorts.

He sags down in the chair next to Steve with a smile —a possible result of seeing his grandmother's absence. Steve can't help but lean closer and whisper an apology into his ear.

Billy laughs, shaking his head. "That's alright, I'm used to it."

Steve makes a questioning sound and from his other side, Eddie explains, "This happens basically anytime we go out. He's like an old lady magnet. It's infuriating."

"He's scared I'll leave you two for one of those raisins." Billy smiles. A softer smile. A smile that tells Steve this isn't the first time something like this has been brought up and it most certainly won't be the last. "But I'm gay. So, if I'm leaving you for any raisins, it'll be a very old, very wealthy man."

His mother scoffs and it's only then he realizes she's been listening in on their conversation. He can't be bothered, though. Let her be insulted. It's not like Steve's forcing her to eavesdrop.

"Steven." His father's voice interrupts him from his thoughts, and, more importantly, the conversation. He's standing a few feet away from the table, phone still clutched in his fist but eyes settled on Steve. He beckons him over.

Standing, Steve lets his hands linger on Billy and Eddie's shoulders for just a moment. "I'll be right back and then we can leave, alright?"

Billy places his hand over Steve's and it feels awfully encouraging. Before it grows into something Steve has difficulty explaining to himself, he makes his way over to his father.

"Steven," his father repeats. The sound of his own name has never felt so painful. No, that's a lie. It always does when coming from him.

They're far enough from the table —and any other guests— as to not be overheard. It makes a slimy feeling crawl through his body. He doesn't like talking to his mother, but his father can be ruthless in ways only a father can.

It's not difficult to guess what his father plans to tell him. Steve braces for it, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Just what do you think you're doing showing up with these boys and embarrassing every single one of us?" His father asks. Yep, that's the hit. Steve feels it, even though he'd seen it coming. Even though he knows his father, knows how much he wants to break Steve. "I'm aware that you're trying to act like you're old enough to stand on your own two feet, but actions like these prove you wrong time and time again. There are some things you just cannot come back from, Steven. It's about time you realize that."

For a long moment, Steve stands there, mouth agape. Does his father truly still thinks he gives two flying fucks about his ruined reputation? And if so, why should they ruin it further?

If Steve prays to be anything, it is a good, honorable man. He prays to be the kind of man his father would never be. Accepting and kind and— Fuck, all Steve wants is to be himself and his father does not seem intent on letting him.

"I'm not going—" Steve's mouth closes, opens again. "They're my boyfriends. I'm not going to leave them just because you refuse to accept the fact that I'm bi!"

His father's eyes scan the room. Like Steve being bi is something that might still come as a surprise to any of them. Like he didn't bring two boyfriends to this stupid —no, not stupid, sorry Rosaline— wedding.

He looks about ready to smother him, pointer finger tapping the side of his phone anxiously. "One day you are going to regret this, Steven. There is no other outcome. You will come to your senses and realize us Harrington's are not built that way."

Sighing, Steve lowers his head. He hadn't thought his father would accept him. He hasn't done so since Steve came out, why should he suddenly start now? And it still hurts. Every single word hurts. Every time he flat-out refuses to believe Steve when he tells him the truth.

"Built what way?" Steve says, defeated. "Queers? Faggots?" He shakes his head.

"You," his father says, pointing his phone at Steve's chest, "are throwing your life away. You're throwing it all away for boys that live halfway across the world and wouldn't look twice at you if it weren't for your last name."

His phone starts buzzing in his hand. Steve takes a step back, tears prickling against the back of his eyes.

Congratulations, Steve, game well played.

He now knows what it would be like if he brought along his actual boyfriend. It hadn't been a test. Not really. It had just been something of a last resort. He'd still had some hope he'd one day manage to convince his family he's telling the truth. That he's serious about this. About his life back in Hawkins, with Robin. About being bi.

In their eyes, he's still that same young boy they didn't bother to raise. They would have never believed him.

"And once they realize you have nothing? They'll be gone before you know it." His father pulls his phone closer, frowning at the screen for a moment. "This conversation isn't over," he says, before picking up the phone.

Steve leaves before the tears welling up in his eyes spill over. His father would have a field day and Steve refuses to give him the satisfaction.

Steve bites his tongue to hold back the impending tears on the drive. It's clear that Eddie and Billy sense something's wrong, if their stilted conversation and worried glances through the rear view mirror tell him anything.

They haven't asked Steve what's wrong, and Steve doesn't really want them to. There's enough going through his mind without the added pressure of having to explain everything to practical strangers.

After Steve basically bolted from the wedding venue, Eddie had taken his hand and squeezed. It was probably meant to be comforting, but it only made Steve want to cry more. He'd wanted to pull his hand back and cradle it to his chest, because the touch burned. He hadn't wanted to explain anything, though, so he'd let Eddie hold him like it's real.

But it's not. Steve doesn't know why he bothered.

The buildings pass them by as Steve stares numbly out of the car's window. They're blurs, flashes of light and color. Families sitting together before going to bed, maybe. The thought makes him nauseous.

Where the radio had previously been blasting loud music through the car, it's now all too silent. There's only the soft strumming of a guitar, drums slow and quiet. Words are only murmurs and Steve couldn't make them out if he tried.

He wishes they would have just acted like everything is fine. The silence only makes his thoughts louder and knowing they're worried makes him feel even guiltier for dragging them into this thing.

If he hadn't posted the ad, or replied to Billy's drunken messages, they would have never met. Steve would have gone to the wedding alone, or he'd have made up some excuse as to why he had to stay in Hawkins. Most importantly, the two of them wouldn't have had to deal with the mess that is Steve Harrington's life.

The car pulls into a parking spot near a group of restaurants. Steve doesn't flinch. When Billy offers to stay behind and keep Steve company —even if it meant having Eddie order two of everything on the menu— Steve refused.

He doesn't know why they pretend to care. After this is all over, they'll go back to living their glamorous California lives while Steve slowly starts smelling like coffee again. They won't think twice about him, about that stranger they went to a wedding with to earn some money. Maybe they'll write it down, tell it to their kids —two boys and a girl, Steve thinks— as a funny bed-time story.

Staring at a blinking sign he can't quite make out in the distance, he fumbles for his phone and presses it to his ear. He's had a shit day and all he wants to do is talk to his best friend. She's the only one that can make this better, his soulmate. The only one that will know just what to say.

Things have changed between them these past few years. They're not quite as joined at the hip anymore, especially since Robin met Vicky —a girl with red hair that keeps shooting him off-glances like he's not where he's supposed to be.

It's not like he'd expected Robin to stay single forever, like him. It just happened sooner than he prepared for. One day it had been Steve and Robin against the world and the next… Steve had been pushed aside because 'Vicky needs a ride to work. Vicky and I are going on a date! Vicky wants to go strawberry picking.'

Vicky, Vicky, Vicky.

And Steve's lonely. Lonelier.

Robin still picks up after the first couple rings, though. Her voice carries through the phone, light, like it always is. He can imagine her sprawled on her couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her stomach and some niche movie he wouldn't understand even if he watched it a thousand times playing on the TV.

"What's up, dingus? Having fun at your fancy-schmancy wedding?"

All those tears that he's been keeping in for however long it took to drive to the restaurant suddenly come bursting to the surface. In between all those expensive dishes and judging family members, he'd forgotten what normal felt like.

He'd missed it. More than he'd care to admit.

Robin's voice floats somewhere between the hiccuping sobs and shaky breaths. Tears spill over his cheeks, dripping to the green of his pants. He covers his mouth with his hand, like that would make it any better. Like he can take it all back, if he just tried hard enough.

His eyes are squeezed shut as he hunches forward in the car seat. He has the urge to pull his legs up to his chest and bury his face in his knees, but he doesn't think Billy would appreciate finding shoe prints on leather seats of his pristine car.

"Robin," he cries. He isn't sure what he wants from her. What he needs. It's been ages since he cried like this. He knows, because despite the fact his life is still a long way from perfect, his family are the only people that manage to make him feel quite this miserable. It's like their special superpower.

The horrifying realization came somewhere between the moment they sat down for dinner and talking to his father. They still matter to him. Steve hates his family more than anything —even bad characterizations of his favorite characters and himself when he was sixteen— but their words still matter to him.

All Steve wanted was to become his own person. To be kind and be allowed to do the things he enjoys instead of being bullied into working for a company that he couldn't care less about.

Maybe a part of him had hoped that his family would, at some point, accept that person. Love him, even, despite the fact he won't work for his father's company and likes boys as well as girls.

But now? He doesn't think they have ever loved him. And they never will.

His mother. She hides her cigarettes and her intentions —not that she has to do that well of a job, because his father is too busy looking at other women— while pretending to be worried about Steve for falling back into old habits. Like he can't take care of himself. Like Billy is some kind of delinquent.

His father would rather have no son than one that likes men. He'd rather Steve be miserable, lonely and sitting behind a desk all day than face a potential hit to their 'reputation'.

And then there's the rest of his family, who are all too happy to stick their noses in Steve's business. Complaining and gossiping about all the things going wrong in his life. About how he'd let Nancy go. How he's reaching his mid-life crisis at the age of 24. How he's doing anything to harm the company, the family.

They will never love him. Never. They might pretend to, if he ditches his true self and starts acting in the ways they want him to. For years to come, they'll shake their head when he walks into a room, a constant reminder of what they all see as mistakes. And Steve will still have to stand there and take it. Repent for something only they see as sins.

Love is not in the cards, not for him, not from his family. He thought he'd accepted that a long time ago. Back when he'd first decided to stop going along with their wishes and start doing whatever it is he wanted.

It seems that he'd overestimated himself.

"Steve, breathe. Please." Robin's voice sounds panicked even through the phone. He shouldn't have called her, he could have dealt with this on his own. He should have dealt with it on his own instead of worrying her like this.

He tries, though. For her. Even though it doesn't see like an end is near for him. He pulls his hand off his mouth and gulps in breaths before pushing them through his lips again. They're shaky and it's difficult to keep a steady rhythm with the tears still streaming down his face, but he's breathing. And that's all that matters.

"Steve?" He hums. A pathetic, high pitched sound. "Tell me what happened? What's wrong?"

Steve swallows through the lump in his throat. He doesn't know how to tell her he'd fallen for the same trap again. His mind is playing him once again. The promise of love, of acceptance, being too far to reach.

"I guess they really don't like that I'm gay," he laughs wetly, only to break down into sobs again a moment later.

A long moment passes in silence. Steve tries his best to keep his breathing under control, when all he really wants to do is lie down on the backseat and hope that somehow both Billy and Eddie forget about the car. When Robin speaks again, he'd almost forgotten she's on the other side of the phone.

"What the fuck, Steve? Did they do something to you? Do I need to call the cops?"

"No, Robin. It's fine. They didn't…" He brushes away some of his tears, taking another deep breath. He's sitting here crying about a stern talking to while things could have been so much worse. He needs to get a grip. "They didn't hurt me, or anything. Not physically, at least."

He bites his lip. "I don't think the cops could do anything about my family even if they had," he adds, almost like an afterthought. Talking to her helps, at the very least. It calms him in the same way visiting his grandpa would. His thoughts clear a little and he takes another deep breath. "It's just been a really long night and they're—"

"Assholes?" Robin suggests.

"To say the least." Steve huffs a laugh, brushing a hand over his face. There's still a few tears leaking from his eyes, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was before. His head is pounding, though, and his contacts are blurry from all the crying. "I don't know why I'd assumed things to go differently this time. I thought bringing Billy and Eddie along would make them take me seriously. That this is me, that they can't… purge it by sheer willpower. Or something," he continues.

"Oh, Steve…"

"No, don't—" Steve closes his eyes, wiping at his nose. "Don't do that, don't pity me. I knew what I was doing when I walked into this."

"Still." Robin sighs. "It sucks, man. I don't wish that upon anyone. Even that kid from high school that put gum in my hair. Want to talk about it?"

"It was just the Harrington special with a few more targets." He wipes the last tears from his cheek. "Mary called them escorts, hookers, suck-ups," he lists. "Miss Valentine started off by sniffing Billy, then continued to flirt with him throughout the entire meal. Aunt Rebecca got on Eddie's case about not wanting to eat shellfish. Mom thought I was getting back into bad habits because Billy smokes—"

"Like she's any better," Robin huffs. Steve smiles.

"And then my father. He pulled me aside after the dinner and told me about how I'm ruining everyone's reputation and they —Eddie and Billy, I mean— won't want me anymore when I have nothing left." He chews on his lip, thinking the words over for the first time since he heard them. "You don't think he's closing up my second bank account do you?"

"You have a good amount of money saved from work, don't you?" she asks, because she knows how hard Steve's been working. If only because they're often on the same shifts and Robin's saving up money to move out of her parent's house.

Steve had suggested she'd stay with him, but she declined. Her parents don't really like him.

Sighing, Steve sags back against the seat. "Yeah, but I promised Eddie and Billy a shit ton of money to go to this stupid wedding with me. Now I wish I'd just cancelled."

"I'm sorry." Robin is quiet for a few seconds, like she doesn't know what to say. "Are they cool, at least? Your pretend-boyfriends?"

It's a stupid question to Steve, who has only spent half a day with the two of them and already thinks they're maybe the nicest people on the planet. Robin hasn't met either of them, though. She actually discouraged him from doing the whole Craigslist thing, because she'd been afraid it would draw in all sorts of creeps.

"They're not weirdos, if that's what you're implying. Not any weirder than you are," he answers. "They're polite, even when my family were being huge dicks. We spent a while chatting and hanging out before dinner —we had to wait for the suits— and we have quite a bit in common. They're nice."

"Steve," Robin says. There's a hint of warning in her tone. Steve knows what she means without her spelling it out.

"No," Steve laughs, shaking his head. "No. It's nothing like that. I mean, they're hot. Like, really hot, I don't know how they walk down the street without being jumped. Billy has these really blue eyes and he's got quite a bit of muscle going on. Combined with that tan? Do not get me started. And Eddie has dark hair and pale skin but it totally works for him. His hands are really nice, too. Long fingers."

"Steve! Ew!"

Steve gasps, before bursting into laughter. "Oh my God, not like that! You're disgusting." He stares out the window, wondering when the two of them will be back. "They're really nice, fun to talk to, chill. But I promise you, it is not going to be like that."

"You just spent like five hours waxing about Eddie's long fingers, excuse me if I don't believe a word coming from your mouth."

"I mean it, Robs. They're disgustingly happy together, I can see it. I doubt they'll even want to see me after this is all over with how much my disaster of a family must have traumatized them already." He takes a deep breath. "And if somehow they still want something to do with me, we'll be just friends. Who probably text once every six months before forgetting about each other's existence."

Before Robin can say anything else, Steve spots two figures exiting the restaurant. They're holding a few bags worth of food and Steve is suddenly very grateful for the fact the servings at the rehearsal dinner were small. He can already feel his stomach rumbling. "I gotta go, they're here."

He pulls the phone away from his ear, ready to end the call when he hears a soft 'Steve?'

He hums into the phone, hoping she'll make it quick because Billy and Eddie are already halfway to the car. Eddie does something —pokes Billy, maybe— to which Billy tries to respond but can't without dropping all their food. Steve feels a fond smile forming on his lips.

"Will you just promise me you won't get too in your head about this? About them, but your family as well. You know I'm always here if you need someone to talk to, right?"

In that moment, Steve knows Robin has realized it too. The fact they have grown apart, if only just a little. That sometimes Steve will sit in his dark living room, unable to sleep, and stare at the phone wondering whether it's still okay to call for something that small.

"I know," Steve sighs. "I promise. I love you, Robs."

Her voice sounds relieved when she replies, "And I love you, dingus."

The car door opens just as Steve lowers the phone, the screen lighting up to show how long he spent talking to Robin. Just fifteen minutes, but he feels like a weight has lifted off his chest.

The scent of hot food fills the car, making Steve groan. "Jesus." He leans forward to peek over Eddie's shoulder, but all he sees is a vague outline of a few white bags. "That smells like fucking heaven."

"Right?" Eddie asks. His hand disappears into the bag and comes back out holding a fat piece of orange chicken that makes Steve's mouth water. "Want a bite?"

What Steve does next can only be blamed on temporary insanity, caused by conflicting emotions. He leans forward, biting the piece of chicken from between Eddie's fingers. His lips brush Eddie's skin and it should be disgusting —really, Steve should have immediately apologized, because what the actual hell— but it's entirely lost when the flavors hit his tongue.

"Oh my God," he groans, sagging back against his seat. He closes his eyes as he carefully chews the food, as to not be distracted by anything else while tasting those sweet flavors. "I hadn't realized how unseasoned that other food was, might as well have been tap water compared to this."

Because, really. He assumes Rosaline must have paid a pretty penny for whatever chef that was to serve them —the Harrington's are not easy to please and they're a big family. The perfect opportunity to waste a shit ton of money on whatever chef is smart enough to take advantage of that— and it isn't like the food was atrocious, it just… Tasted like nothing, really.

Now, this is real food. Real, moist, flavorful food. Steve could die happy right now.

"I take it you're feeling a bit better?"

Steve opens his eyes to look at Billy through the rear view mirror. He's a little embarrassed at his earlier display, at being caught acting like a fucking toddler who's not being paid attention to, but he appreciates Billy's directness. And the fact he doesn't mention how red Steve's eyes must be right now.

"Yeah, I just—" Steve swallows, suddenly realizing how idiotic he must look talking with his mouth full, "I just needed a moment."

He twists his phone, tapping it against his leg and debating how much he should share. Though, he assumes if these are to be his boyfriends for two more days, they deserve to know as much about him as real boyfriends might. "I called my best friend. Robin. I told you about her earlier."

"Band geek co-worker?" Eddie guesses.

"Yeah, her. She knows about my family and stuff, so…" He doesn't know how to explain the fact that hearing her voice was enough to calm him down without sounding like he's hopelessly in love with her, so he lets the sentence trail off.

Billy starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. "That's good."

The drive is mostly silent. Steve stares out of the window while his stomach rumbles. Every once in a while Eddie and Billy would say something in a hushed voice and Steve doesn't bother trying to make out words that aren't meant for him. Neither of them have turned up the radio again, but Steve doesn't mind it this time.

It would be a lie to say there aren't any thoughts running around in his brain. He does realize that they've been pushed away into this distant thing, though. Something he might address at a later point, just not now.

They arrive at the hotel quicker than Steve would have assumed. In the dark of the night, he can clearly see the fairy-lights strung up all over the building, like despite it being the middle of the summer they've got the Christmas decorations put up. It would be cozy, if Steve didn't know about the inhabitants.

Luck must be on their side a little, though, because they don't run into anyone —at least no one besides the woman behind the desk and the doorman. Billy and Eddie carry the food, leaving Steve with empty hands and a longing to say fuck it and start eating in the elevator.

He just barely manages to resist.

His contacts are still fuzzy when they enter the room and the first thing he does is rummage through his luggage to find his glasses. He finds the case containing his glasses somewhere stuffed between his clothes and wastes no time switching out his contacts for them.

It's instant relief as the world comes back into focus. His eyes are less strained and he feels his shoulders relax.

Steve stands, shrugging off his blazer and throwing it on top of his suitcase, to be dealt with later. He toes out of his shoes and turns to the rest of the room to find Eddie already looking at him.

"Glasses, huh?" Eddie asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. His shoes are kicked off in front of him and he's gathering his hair in one hand before tying it into a loose bun. Some hairs spill out and Steve —against both his own and Robin's judgment— finds himself remembering he used to like girls in messy buns, back when he didn't know guys were an option too.

He clears his throat, shrugging. "I've got pretty bad eyesight. Found out when I was a teen." It had been a few weeks since starting middle school. His English teacher suggested he get his eyesight checked because he couldn't see the whiteboard from the second row.

Finding out he needed glasses had been devastating, to say the least. He'd switched over to contacts almost right away.

That was ages ago, though, and he's not embarrassed about his glasses anymore. He still prefers contacts when going outside, whether it's just an inkling of being unsure or if it's because he likes the barrier between productive Steve and stay-at-home Steve, he doesn't know.

Eddie nods, a small smile on his face. "Well, they suit you."

A moment later, Billy emerges from the little kitchen. His button-up has been unbuttoned more than half-way —showing a nice sliver of tan skin all the way from his collarbones to the first lines of his abs— and his blazer is nowhere to be found. He's holding three plates and gestures towards the table, where the two of them must have dumped the food when they first came in. "Where are we eating?"

"Bed?" Eddie's eyes are wide and expectant, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He looks at Steve, like he's waiting for permission.

Steve shrugs. He supposes it won't hurt being nice and cozy while they have their second dinner. "Alright."

The three of them settle against the headboard, food spread out on the bed in front of them. There's some sewing competition playing on the TV, but the sound is off because no one is really watching. It does make for a nice ambiance, though.

"Sorry about your family," Eddie says, his shoulder warm against Steve. He spears another piece of chicken with his fork.

Steve shrugs. He's never known anything else, so he's used to it. Mary's mean comments. His mother's off-glances. The constant talk about how he's ruining the family by not doing what his father wants.

Most importantly, he's used to the pit that's left in his stomach after family events. The disappointment, both in the gazes of family members and his own thoughts as he realizes, time and time again, that they will never change.

"That's alright," Steve says with a sigh. He stares at his plate until all the rice blends together in one white mash. "Every family has their shitty sides. I just wish I'd have warned you better, you guys don't deserve to be treated like that."

"Like what? Hookers or peasants?" Eddie laughs. He places a warm hand on Steve's knee. It feels almost natural and Steve hates how much he's been craving the touch unconsciously. That alone makes him want to pull away, get some distance between them.

Steve bites his lip, letting the touch linger against his own better judgment. "I'm sorry. I really am. If you want to back out now, I'd completely understand. I can make something up. Or not. My father would honestly have a field day either way."

He imagines his father's gray eyes growing a touch brighter, his smile pulling wider as he hears the news. No matter how little joy Steve assumes the man to be capable of, Steve's misery always makes him feel better. "Don't let that stop you, though. Like I said, I'm used to it."

"Stop spouting that bullshit," Billy huffs. He throws his arm over Eddie's shoulders and tugs at a strand of Steve's hair. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to feel. Steve frowns. "We said we'd be here and we are. We're not some pussies that will back out because your family has apparently never seen poor people before."

Like a flood wave, the memory comes back to him. The vague promise Steve's father left him with. He puts his plate to the side before pulling his phone from his pocket and opening his banking app. "Fuck."

"What's wrong?" Steve barely hears Eddie over the ringing in his ears. His father used to cut him off when he was in high school. Steve had almost forgotten it was still a possibility.

At least he still has some money saved up from work. Money he'd meant to use for getting the fuck out of that stupid house he lives in. Money he needs to buy food and pay the bills.

Fuck.

"Nothing," he finds himself saying, shaking his head and closing his phone before either of them can look over at his screen. He should tell them, right? But he still has enough money to pay them as promised, he'll just have to shuffle some things around. He can manage it. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Is it always like that with you?" Billy asks. His hand rests on the back of Steve's neck. How hadn't he noticed? "I've suddenly got much more respect for that best friend of yours."

"What?" Steve asks, blinking.

Eddie squeezes his knee. "He means disregarding your own feelings. He had to—" Eddie clears his throat before mumbling, "Never mind, please continue."

There's too little space in his brain to analyze whatever that was. Steve knows he has an issue feeling like he's not worth anything, alright? It's hard not to when your entire family keeps reminding him.

"I'm gonna sound like a rich asshole right now."

"Right now? Then what did all that other shit sound like?" Eddie yelps as Billy, supposedly, pinches his side. Steve can't help the smile that briefly crosses his features.

He starts. "My parents pay me a monthly allowance. Mostly for the upkeep of the house, but I like cleaning and gardening, so I usually try to save it up for things I want instead. Like figurines, or something." He bites his lip, waiting for them to make fun of him, but they stay quiet. "My father just kicked me out of my second bank account, which means I only have my personal bank account left, where I'd been saving money from work because—" He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Doesn't matter. I just thought I could pay the two of you from my father's money, but it's fine. I promise that I will get you your money."

"That's alright." Eddie's voice is soft as he squeezes Steve's knee again. He'd forgotten it was there at all. He's getting too comfortable with them and he knows it. "We trust you, Steve."

"We wouldn't be here right now if we didn't," Billy adds. "We might have accepted the offer because we're tight on money, but that doesn't change the fact that we're in this until the end."

If Steve expected anything, it isn't that. He swallows, throat clicking. "You'll stay?"

"We just told you that, like, a thousand times," Eddie says. "We're friends now. You're not getting rid of us so easily, not unless you truly want us gone." He's quiet for a moment. "Do you?"

"No." Steve speaks before thinking. Them leaving wouldn't do him any good. Besides, he enjoys their company more than he thought he might. He doubts he'd survive this without them.

Steve lets his eyes drift closed as the water from the shower flows over his skin. It clears him of any evil curses his family put on him during the dinner, if only by their negative thoughts and sharp glares.

The bathroom is big. Bigger than the one he has in his own room. There's a bath pushed into one of the corners and the shower faces a big mirror —slightly confronting, because working at a cafe and not really playing sports anymore have made his body change in ways he's not ready to look too closely at, until the mirror fogs up and all he sees is the vague shape of himself as he rubs soap into his skin.

It's not like he doesn't think he's handsome. Being handsome —or pretty, or nice to look at, or whatever you'd call it— runs in the family. Steve got his strong facial features from his father, same as his brown hair. His eyes are his mother's.

There's no going through life thinking about it like that, though. His features are his own, above anything. They don't dictate who he is. Only he gets to decide.

Gaining a few pounds made his mother's voice ring through his mind. No matter how much he tried to stop it. He sees it as his own form of rebellion, even when he's not sure how to feel about it.

There's a few foreign products placed on the tray in the shower and Steve spends a while reading all the labels with squinted eyes. They smell nice, too —okay, maybe he really is no better than his grandmother, but at least he's not sniffing Billy and Eddie directly— familiar in ways he only knows to place because there's no other person the products could belong to.

It only reminds him of how close they'd been these past few hours. From the tailor's to sitting shoulder to shoulder in that big bed while eating dinner. Steve really needs to set some boundaries if he wants to make this out alive.

No matter what anyone might say, he's not completely oblivious to his… Romantic tendencies. Once he had a crush on a frequent customer at the cafe just because he was nicer to him than the other customers —he asked about Steve's day, complimented his handwriting even though it's really not that great, asked about the specials of the week— only to find out the guy was married.

He can't start assuming Billy and Eddie feel something for him other than friendship. And most importantly, he can't start crushing on one —both?— of them just because they're nice when it feels like the rest of the world is out to get him.

After he's done reading all the bottles, he spends a while staring at the blob of himself while running his hands over his already clean body. The water is hot, close to burning his skin but not quite hot enough to do anything but turn him red and wrinkly.

The headache has gotten a bit better since he'd taken pain killers earlier. It's gone from a constant splitting ache to a dull hammering. He calls that progress.

He sighs before cracking his neck and finally turning off the shower before he completely melts away.

The warmth of the shower has soaked into his soul, taking away all the pain and leaving him feeling slightly distant from himself and all the things that happened at the rehearsal dinner.

He wipes a hand across the mirror, checking his face. Puffy eyes aren't the best look on him, but there's nothing to be done about that now. He just hopes that it'll be gone in time for the wedding tomorrow. The last thing he needs is a confrontation about crying like a little baby.

His hair hangs limp and he runs a hand through it, brushing out the last knots the conditioner didn't take care of. There's no need to style it now. It will only get ruined again in his sleep, and he needs to look his best tomorrow. He can't afford to give his family any more ammunition.

He puts on a pair of sweats and an old graphic tee, so faded he isn't sure what the design is supposed to look like. They cling to his skin the moment he puts them on, the air in the bathroom still hot and damp.

Without thinking, he opens the bathroom door and steps into the slightly cooler air of the hotel room only to rush back and slam the door closed a moment later.

He hadn't seen much. Just Billy's muscles working underneath the skin of his back as he leaned over Eddie. Their mouths were connected, sliding together as Eddie pulled him closer with a leg around his waist.

It's not like he hadn't expected something like this. They're boyfriends, they have all the rights to kiss or— Steve doesn't want to think about it. He can't think about it, because thinking about it would mean he's imagining it and imagining it— There's no way in hell he's going to survive the weekend like this.

He's just about resigned himself to a lifetime of humiliation spent inside a steaming hot —do not think about other steaming hot things— hotel bathroom while Eddie and Billy get up to whatever they want behind there.

Oh, God. He's imagining it.

There's a crash on the other side of the door and Steve closes his eyes. It really is too bad there's no window in the bathroom, otherwise he could have made an escape —or died trying. It would have been less embarrassing than whatever's going to happen next.

The bathroom door gets yanked open. Eddie Munson stands in front of him, wet hair pulled into a bun as he takes deep, gulping breaths. There's a flush covering his face and Steve doesn't want to think about whether that's because of Billy or because of getting caught. He couldn't think about it if he wanted to, because all he can think about is how pretty it looks on him.

Eddie runs his tongue over his lips. Lips that were connected to Billy's just a moment ago. Red lips —too red, swollen too— Steve can't stop staring at.

"Sorry," he breathes, eyes wide and apologetic.

Steve misses that distant feeling. He's painfully aware of his entire body right now. His heart, every time it slams against his chest. His blood rushing through his veins. The dryness of his throat.

"No, it's fine." He croaks. God, this is what he gets for not hooking up with anyone in the last… How long was it since Nancy broke up with him? He's a mess. "You're dating, you're allowed to do…" He clears his throat. "Whatever you want."

"We were not having sex!" Eddie yelps. His cheeks turn a shade darker. It's a good look on him. Too good. "We didn't hear the shower turn off. Fuck, Steve, we're sorry, okay? We're not some horny teens and it's only a few days. We can be respectful."

"Says the guy that fucking jumped me," Billy adds, now laying casually on the bed. Eddie pushes Steve into the bathroom and closes the door behind them.

Being confined in a space that's still steaming from the heat of the shower with the guy that looks like he walked out on his hook-up for a smoke break is not something Steve needs right now. He's having a difficult time getting his heartbeat and the direction of his blood under control as is.

"Sorry," Eddie says again. Steve can't really remember what he's apologizing for. Eddie's hands are still on his shoulders, and he's looking at him almost expectantly— No. That's his mind playing tricks on him. "I should have taken you into account. We can make out all we want when we get back home and—"

"Hey." Steve's voice is softer than he intended. He resists the urge to lean forward and— No! Fucking hell, Steve has done a lot of bad shit but he's not a homewrecker. He knows how much it hurts to be cheated on and he will not let anyone else go through that. Not if he can help it.

He clears his throat. He just needs to put his head on straight. He's confused, is all. There's nothing strange thinking it's hot seeing two hot guys make out. There's no need to include himself into the equation just because he has a hard-on for guys.

Guys in general. Not just them.

"It's okay," he continues, a moment too late. Eddie, thankfully, doesn't comment on it. "I was just surprised. You can do whatever you want, just let me know if you guys… need a moment and I'll leave the room."

Eddie opens his mouth. To protest, if Steve reads him correctly. His brows drawn together, the slight downturn of his lips. Before he can, though, the bathroom door bursts open.

Shirtless Billy is something Steve might never get over, no matter how many times he tells himself he's unobtainable. It will haunt him, day and night. Like a fucking wet dream.

There's a smirk on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest. His lips are as red as Eddie's, hair slightly frizzy. Maybe Eddie ran his hands through it one too many times. "If you're gonna ask pretty boy to take over, at least let me watch," he teases.

Or, Steve hopes he's teasing. That he's not misreading the meaning hidden beneath the words. What if Billy's pissed off? He didn't throw in the insult for nothing, right?

"We weren't doing anything," Steve is quick to defend. "God, no. I would never—" He bites his lip, tilting his head. "Pretty boy?"

When Billy grins —something that looks to be pure evil, eyes glinting— Steve can't help but relax. "If the shoe fits."

For one long moment Steve stands there, staring at Billy. He makes a split second decision. "Okay, out." He pushes at Eddie's chest, making him bump into Billy as they exit the bathroom. "We're done. Go make out, I'll go read."

He doesn't spare a single look towards the two as he makes his way towards the small couch in the hotel room. The same couch he's resigned to sleep on the following nights.

"No," Eddie whines. He's already following him, dropping down onto the other side of the couch. "I only kissed him so he could keep me company until you were done in the bathroom. He wants to sleep, like a grandpa." Eddie rolls his eyes.

Steve raises an eyebrow, glancing over to where Billy is already getting comfortable in bed. "He wants to sleep?"

"I know right?" Eddie grumbles. "Could be spending time with his lovely boyfriend. And the just as lovely Steve Harrington, but no."

"Don't twist my words, princess," Billy slurs. Steve picks up his glasses from the coffee table and can now clearly see his closed eyes, the way he's cuddling a blanket to his chest as if to make up for someone that's not there. Eddie.

"Yeah, yeah." Eddie waves a hand, not bothered even though he pretends to be. "Good night, old man."

"G'night."

Steve is still looking at Billy as he seemingly drops into sleep within a short few seconds. If only he learned that trick. The only times he manages to sleep easily is when he's had a busy day at work. "So, why were you waiting for me?" he whispers.

"To keep me company, of course!" Eddie grins, voice loud despite Billy sleeping only a few feet away from them. Like he knows what Steve's thinking, he adds, "Oh, don't worry. He'll sleep through just about anything. He's conditioned to. I'm kind of loud and I spent most of my nights practicing and stuff like that."

Eddie's eyes linger on Billy's sleeping form. Not for the first time that day, Steve wonders whether he'll ever find something like the two of them have.

Not if he doesn't survive the weekend, that's for sure.

"Now that I'm thinking about it, we do have really different sleep schedules." Eddie taps his chin. "It's a little annoying, but it's alright. We spend most of the day together and it's not like he doesn't want me there, I just sleep much later than he does. Honestly, we'd probably end up fucking every night if we went to bed at the same time. It's a disaster, really." He blinks. "Sorry."

"No, it's alright." Kind of. He crosses his arms and leans back against the couch. "It's not like I'm a prude or anything, I just wasn't expecting to walk in on you like that."

And the last thing he wants is to pop a boner at his cousin's wedding because he can't stop thinking about his fake-boyfriends making out. Or let his imagination take care of the rest.

He needs this to go as smoothly as possible. Sure, there might be a few roadblocks, and his family deserves those, but having a boner? At a wedding? There are certain things he can't come back from.

"Don't be embarrassed," Eddie says. For a moment Steve can't help but think he really can hear his thoughts. "Your blush is kind of cute."

"I wasn't blushing."

Eddie laughs. "Sure you weren't."

"It was hot in the shower! You were blushing." It's a little childish, maybe. Eddie makes him feel like he's allowed to be, though.

Back when he was younger, all he focused on were the things that would get him into his parent's good graces. At least for a while. He'd been nice and quiet. Didn't ask too many questions, because there's nothing more annoying than a child that asks too many questions.

Until he realized his parents didn't care about him. He might have been a good kid that behaved well and didn't speak out of turn, but it had also been like he was invisible. They went away more often, stayed away longer.

At least his classmates would pay attention to him. When he became mean and powerful. When he hosted parties with enough kegs to last them through the night and then some.

"Yeah, well." Eddie shrugs. "My boyfriend's hard-on was pressed against my leg just a few minutes ago, so I think I'm allowed to blush a little."

Steve's certain he turns very red, though Eddie doesn't mention it this time. Doesn't even gloat.

They spend the next hour or two alternating between conversation and Eddie showing him songs. Eddie talks about his band, the way they came up with the name and some of their most popular songs.

The most refreshing thing is the way Eddie doesn't flinch away from sensitive topics. He addresses them almost like talking about the weather, telling Steve about how his father and mother split when he was a child, resulting in him being sent away to live with his uncle in California.

He looks at Billy, then, a soft smile on his face as he tells Steve how the two of them met. Something about booking a show in a bar near the place Billy lived at the time. The bar owner told him about the kid that showed up looking angry and bruised, how he'd left before the show ended.

Eddie knew exactly who he was when he ran into a bruised, angry kid a while later.

In return, Steve tells him a little about the person he was before meeting Robin. How, instead of being angry, he'd been lonely. He'd thought the only solution for it was to become bigger, become admired.

Then he started working at an ice cream shop after failing to get into any colleges. He'd met Robin and on that first day he'd realized that he hadn't felt nearly as lonely when he'd been with her.

After Steve's fifth yawn in fifteen minutes, Eddie nudges his knee. "Go to bed if you're so tired. I'm starting to think I'm boring you."

Steve shakes his head. "No, no, you're not. I'm sorry." He fails to suppress another yawn. "I'll stay awake until you go to bed. Don't wanna banish you to one of the dining table chairs."

Confusion crosses Eddie's face before the realization hits. "What? You're not planning to sleep on here, are you? It's like concrete! I am not letting you spend the night like that. You'll be all sore tomorrow."

"It's fine, I'm used to sleeping on the couch." Back when he was a teen, he'd fallen asleep in front of the TV more often than not. The only source of comfort he'd been able to find in those days ridden with loneliness. "I don't want to intrude."

"All three of us could starfish on that bed without touching. You're not intruding, Stevie."

The bed did look awfully comfortable. Plenty of sheets. And his butt did kind of hurt from sitting on the couch for two hours, let alone spending the night on there... Steve bites his lip.

"Come on." Eddie nudges him again. "You know you want to."

That's how Steve finds himself moments later, glasses placed on one of the night stands as he finds a comfortable position near the outer edge of the mattress. He can feel the warmth radiating off Billy, even though he'd made sure to leave a significant amount of space between them. It might be psychological.

Closing his eyes, Steve resigns himself for a night spent tossing and turning —all while doing his best not to bump into Billy or Eddie, once he joins. Moments later, though, sleep finds him easily and takes his unassuming consciousness far, far away.

Saturday

Steve's dreaming.

It feels like he is, at least. He could open his eyes if he had enough willpower, break from the spell that's keeping him under, but there's something soft about the daze, so he lets it slip. His consciousness is buried deep within his body, just barely brushing wakefulness where he's surrounded by the clouds of darkness.

Cold seeps into his side. Logically, he knows he shouldn't be anywhere near cold. He's in California. He's been close to overheating since the plane landed. And he's still cold.

His arms flop uselessly against the sheets, searching for something he can't see. Searching for something he doesn't know to name. All he remembers is comfort, and then cold.

"It's alright," some disembodied voice lets him know. It's distant, in ways dreams usually are. He keeps blinking in and out of this. The dream. The darkness getting replaced by another, before he finds his focus again.

A pair of lips press against his temple and Steve hears himself sigh. "Go back to sleep, pretty boy," that same voice says. A stupid command, because he is asleep.

The last thing he feels is a hand brushing away some of the hair that's fallen over his forehead. Then, the darkness overtakes his senses once again.

He doesn't know how long he spends floating until he hears the voice again. All he knows is that one darkness overtakes the other and suddenly those distant rumbling tones are back.

Something solid presses against his side. Something warm, like he's been covered with a blanket somewhere between the last dream and this one. He knows he'll be pissed in the morning if it means waking up sweaty and having to take another shower, but he can't seem to mind any of it at the moment.

The voice is talking to someone, that's what it sounds like. He can't make out the words, or the other person's replies. Maybe there's no voice at all and he's making it all up. Dreams are weird like that.

When Steve wakes up it is to the bright sunlight shining through the blinds. A warm hand presses against his shoulder and his head is still fuzzy from sleep.

Steve grumbles. There's no reason to wake up now he's finally so warm and comfortable. His alarm isn't going off, so he doesn't have to haul ass to make it to work on time. It's perfectly acceptable to sleep in on his Saturday off. It's not like he's got any big plans for the day ahead.

"Steve," a voice says, so soft it's almost a whisper. It's kind of funny, because he recognizes that voice, though he can't remember from what.

"Fuck off," Steve moans, trying to twist away from the hand and the voice and everything that's currently trying to ruin his life by waking him up.

At least the person sounds nice when they laugh. It almost makes Steve more annoyed. "Steve, wake up."

A finger pokes his cheek and Steve swats at the hand with a certain agility he hasn't shown since high school. It's good to know he's still got reflexes. For when someone robs his house. Or tries to rob him.

"Steve, for the love of God, you're worse than Eddie!"

Steve's eyes shoot open as memories come rushing back to him. Getting suits at the tailor. The rehearsal dinner. Eddie's hand in his. Crying in the car. Talking to Eddie late at night while Billy was already fast asleep and then, later, joining him in that same bed.

"What—" His voice comes out garbled, like despite him being so rudely awoken, his tongue has not gotten the memo. There's drool on his cheek.

The room is spinning when he turns his head. Billy is standing over him, a too-awake grin on his face as he retracts his hand to give Steve his glasses. He holds them carefully, making sure not to smudge the lenses. "Good morning. Fucking finally, thought you were auditioning for the sleeping beauty."

Steve pushes his glasses on his nose. Seeing everything in HD does not make the situation any more enjoyable. There's still a weight resting on his chest and— Oh, fuck. That is… Not a blanket.

All Steve sees is a mop of dark hair. That, combined with the breath currently fanning over the skin of his neck is all he needs to know.

"Shit," Steve hisses. He pushes at Eddie's shoulder —his bare shoulder, Jesus Christ, Steve gets a really nice glimpse of his tattoos before he turns his eyes away— until he rolls over, enough for Steve to get out from underneath him.

A single great miscalculation later and Steve is on the floor. His ass stings from the fall. Nor more than his ego, though. He lets his head thump back against the bed, a whine lodged in his throat.

"Jesus, Steve," Billy laughs. Steve wants him to stop saying his name already, if it's going to sound that velvety every single time. "It's alright, we're not running late. Got all the time in the world."

None of it registers. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

His face burns with shame. He only just met these guys yesterday and he's already trying to insert himself in their seven year relationship by inviting himself into their bed. He's a homewrecker.

"Steve," Billy says, crouching in front of him, like he's some child. Steve wants to punch him. Really, he wants to do a lot of things to him. None of which appropriate whatsoever. Billy with his stupid kind eyes and his stupid understanding expression. "It's fine. I promise."

He feels so small. So stupid. Robin was right, maybe his heart couldn't handle this. All that pretending. All that love that in reality was just some made up scenario. He can't distinguish fantasy from reality, he never could.

All that's left is to put a stop to this as soon as possible.

He'll treat them like friends, unless his family's eyes are on them. He can pretend for two more days. Tonight, he'll sleep on the couch. He has to keep his distance to make sure his heart —and their relationship— stays intact.

It's impossible to look at Billy, though he can feel his gaze resting on Steve. It burns, just like his face. And his ass.

A moment later, he clears his throat. The scent of coffee fills the hotel room and he wants nothing more than to pour himself a cup but first, he needs to get his head back into the game. "I"ll just…" he motions for the bathroom.

Billy lets him go without complaint and after staring blankly at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror for an uncertain amount of time —and giving himself about 15 pep talks that all boil down to 'they don't like you, they're happy together, just be normal'— Steve heads back to the room.

Eddie is sitting upright in bed, a cup of coffee clutched between his hands. His eyes aren't open all the way yet and his hair is one frizzy mess. He hadn't bothered to put on a shirt either, his pale skin on full display.

For a moment, Steve's eyes trail over the tattoos dotted on his torso. He looks away before he can get caught.

"I got breakfast, thought neither of you would be ready fast enough to make it in time before the hotel stopped serving." Billy is standing behind the dining table, already fully dressed. Not in his suit, but in some work-out gear, his hair pulled back into a ponytail. Did he go for a run?

His eyes are on Steve. "Didn't know what you liked so I got a bit of everything."

Steve looks at the white take-out boxes stacked neatly on the table. "I usually don't eat breakfast, I'm sorry." He chews his bottom lip.

Billy blinks. Eddie gasps, words leaving his lips in a rush of breath. "Oh my God, Stevie, don't get him started I just woke—"

Before he can finish, Billy interrupts, "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It literally makes your entire—" He cuts himself off, pointing at the chair in front of Steve with a loud sigh. "Sit the fuck down, Steven.

Steve really has little to no choice in the matter. Billy is still staring at him and he rushes to take a seat. He's learning new things about these guys every day, isn't he?

"Only my family calls me Steven," Steve grumbles. He hates the fact it sounds kind of nice coming from Billy. Kinder, in a way. Steve never knew his name could be said like that.

Billy rolls his eyes, sitting down in front of him and grabbing the first box. "Blueberry pancakes. Extra syrup. We also have some chocolate chip pancakes in here…" He starts rummaging through the boxes, peeking inside.

"Dibs!" Eddie calls from the bed. Steve doubts he plans on leaving that spot anytime soon. "Love me some chocolate chip pancakes," he mumbles to himself before taking another sip of coffee with a sigh.

Steve turns back to Billy, who's smiling softly at his boyfriend. He clears his throat, face going neutral again as he looks back to Steve. "Alright. We also have waffles without syrup, but I brought some packets. Scrambled egg. Bacon. Garden salad." He taps the boxes along with the foods being named. "And then we also have apples, grapes and tangerines."

"You're really serious about all this, aren't you?" Steve is a little shocked by it. He didn't think Billy would care about him enough to force him to eat a meal. That he'd grab so many options from the buffet, just so that there'll be something Steve likes.

He's the one that slept in, after all. He's responsible for that. And the fact he wouldn't have gotten to breakfast in time. It's become a habit for Steve, skipping breakfast in favor of sleeping a few more minutes. But it seems he won't be allowed the same privileges now.

"What part of 'breakfast is the most important meal of the day' don't you understand?" Billy raises an eyebrow at him.

"Alright, alright, I get it." Steve mauls over his options.

Eating something loaded with sugar and syrup seems like an awful time to him. He's going to spend all day in a stuffy suit at a presumably stuffy wedding where his family probably won't stop looking at him for a single moment. Which means the waffles and pancakes are out.

A salad sounds like a bore, quite honestly. He's never liked salads, never understood them. They're a popular item at the cafe, but he can't help but feel like a rabbit when eating them.

Eventually, he settles on eggs and Billy pushes the correct box forward. There's a little plastic fork included and Steve's heart clenches. Is this what dating Billy would be like? All that care and consideration? He pushes the thought down before it takes over his entire brain, digging into his food instead.

The morning is calm, calmer than he would have expected. A comfortable silence stretches as Eddie sips his coffee and starts on his pancakes —still resting in bed, like Steve would have expected anything else. Billy serves him like he's some sort of royalty, grabbing him a napkin and refilling his coffee when asked.

He always returns to the chair in front of Steve, though. Steve thinks it's about him not wanting to exclude him, or something. It would have been fine, Steve's done enough by bringing them here, he doesn't want them to feel forced to constantly entertain him as well. He knows this and he still doesn't mention it.

It feels pretty nice, Billy's company.

"Wayne called earlier," Billy says when Steve's about halfway done with his breakfast. He raises his eyes at the sound of his voice. "At around nine. Was surprised you weren't up and at it already."

Wayne is Eddie's uncle, or so Steve had been told. "Oh yeah?" Eddie asks, not bothering to swallow his food before speaking. "Doesn't know me at all then."

"You've been up before eight every day this week, thought you were a changed man for a second there."

Eddie huffs a laugh. "Only because you kept waking me up!" Billy shrugs, a guilty smile on his face. "What did he want?"

Feeling very out of place in their conversation, Steve goes back to silently eating his eggs while Billy tells him some story about a chicken on Wayne's property. Besides, he kind of likes listening to his voice. It's nice. A little rough around the edges, but still smooth in a way Steve can't put his finger on.

It's a good morning.

It didn't take Steve long to get ready for the day.

While Eddie continued sipping his coffee from the comforts of the bed and Billy stored away the rest of the breakfast items for a later date, Steve slipped into his suit with practiced ease.

He must have worn it to at least five other weddings at this point. It's a pale blue color that goes well with his skin, his mother picked it out for him a while ago. Told him he should have at least a few nice suits if he wants to become a real man.

Which means that he's done before Billy and Eddie even start getting ready. The most he does is push his hair into submission with some hair-spray. It takes him less than five minutes and the rest of the time he's stuck on the couch while Billy and Eddie take their time putting on their suits and doing whatever it is they do to feel presentable.

It's another thing he's learned about the two of them. They care more for their appearance than Steve had assumed they did. Every hair pushed out of place is a careful decision. Every necklace that looks slapped on has been mulled over for at least fifteen minutes.

Steve doesn't get it. They looked perfect just after waking up, there's no reason for them to feel like they have to do the most. He just doesn't see it, the way everything —every tiny little choice that makes up the full look— falls together for them. They look good. Better than good. That's as far as his knowledge goes. They could show up in sweatpants and still look the part.

It's a little infuriating to Steve, who's convinced it doesn't matter what he does. Doesn't matter how much effort he puts into it. He'll always look like a teen trying on his father's most expensive suits.

Then there's the other thing.

The more time he spends with them. The more time he watches them —something he hopes doesn't look as creepy as it sounds— the more he realizes how well they work together.

It had been clear from that very first moment, that the two were practically made for each other. Their love was blinding, even from a thousand miles away. And it becomes even more obvious each and every passing moment he spends with them.

He sees it in the way Billy had Eddie sit down on one of the kitchen chairs —his shirt still hanging open, showing off all those tattoos— and places his hands on his shoulders. He takes his time with him, massaging the skin of his scalp before gently working in whatever hair product he brought to make Eddie's hair look more like a stylish mess than a real mess.

When Billy asks whether Eddie's falling asleep again, the only response he gets is a huffed laugh.

Billy smiles down at him. Something soft that's only reserved for Eddie, while the rest of the world have to make do with teasing grins. A moment that passes as soon as Billy gives Eddie's hair a firm tug, telling him to 'hurry up already'.

Once he starts noticing it, that love, he can't quite ignore it anymore. It's in every lingering touch, where hands brush and the world seems to stop for a moment. It isn't greed, there's nothing greedy about the way they touch each other, at least not in moments like these —Steve still remembers the previous night. That had been greed.

It's something different. Something quieter, almost like worship without prayer. Because they don't need words to show devotion. All they need are secret glances and the sensation of fingers brushing over the back of their necks.

It almost burns to look at. How open they are to each other only.

Steve's never known something like that, at least not coming from both sides. Not with his family —he almost laughs thinking about it— not with his lovers. He'd been open with Nancy, but that was different. Despite being open, he hadn't been himself. And she'd been more closed off towards him than anyone else in her life.

He supposes he'd been open with Robin. That she'd been open with him. At some point, at least.

It was different, though. Their love was nothing as electric as Billy and Eddie's. Despite the fact that he loves her more than anything, it's not the same as being in a relationship, no matter how much he hates to admit it.

For a long while, he'd fooled himself into thinking platonic love was all he needed. Relationships were overrated, and maybe he just wasn't built for them. But then came Vicky, and Steve started seeing the ways Robin looked at her. The ways Eddie and Billy look at each other.

Steve wants that. Steve wants someone to kiss and to crawl into bed with at night. Someone to grow old with, to spend the rest of his life with. Someone that will love him unconditionally for all of time.

That's the type of love Eddie and Billy share.

Steve doesn't know much about them. There's no way of knowing whether he'll ever know more than what he's been told and what he can see plain as day when they look at each other, but… He can tell they've been through tough times together. That they'll always be there for each other. A person to lean on when the entire world is praying for their downfall.

A lump forms in his throat. It's beyond unfair of him to get jealous over this. Neither of them deserve his jealousy, even though it's not a personal thing.

Because he's happy for them, he really is. They're great people and they deserve this —that unconditional, blinding love— more than any asshole from Steve's family.

It feels like getting back at them in some way, having two male friends that love each other this much. Steve isn't involved in the equation, but he can still look at them with pride and think 'yeah, this is it'.

There's no reason for him to involve himself any more than his foolish scheme calls for, anyway. Knowing that things like these exist despite all the assholes of the world? It makes him feel a lot better about things.

Maybe he should stop looking at them. Should stop pretending he's not being a creep by staring at their loving gazes and soft touches. They're not even fully dressed yet, he's definitely creeping on them, even though his thoughts aren't inherently sexual in nature.

It wouldn't surprise him if they've forgotten he's there at all. They've only got eyes for each other. The world could turn to ashes right now and neither of them would notice a thing as long as the other is safe.

Is it always like that for them, the love? Do they spend their mornings lazing in bed, kissing and drinking coffee while telling each other about the silly dreams they'd had that night? Do they spend their days pretending the other isn't their sun? Their nights wrapped in each other's arms?

Steve had gotten a glimpse of it, that life. That love, real love. And he doesn't quite know how he can move on from it now that he's found it.

Not for himself, of course. No, that would be— that would be crazy. For them.

The thought hurts, even though he doesn't want it to. He's only just met them. They're in a more than happy relationship, there's absolutely no reason for them to look at him twice. They're so confident in their relationship they have no issue running around pretending to be his boyfriends. No issue allowing him to sleep in their bed. Wrapping their arms around him.

It had been a fluke, Steve knows it was. They're used to holding each other while they sleep, their subconscious minds just got confused with the third body joining them.

Besides, it's not like it matters. Steve is not a homewrecker.

"Hey!" Steve's eyes snap up to Eddie, vision still fuzzy as he emerges from his thoughts. Eddie's hand is resting on his hip as he stands in front of the couch. "Jesus Christ, did you go to Mars or something? You got a secret mind palace up in there? Watching Shrek Two?"

Steve blinks, smiling as he softly shakes his head. "No. Just lost in thought, sorry."

"Lost? You were fucking MIA! I was afraid I'd have to call the cops to put in a missing person's report or some shit. They don't like me very much." He shakes his head, curls bouncing around his shoulders. The smile he's wearing is big and bright. It suits him. "I was asking whether it's okay to do some make-up or if your family will have a heart attack seeing a guy wearing eyeliner."

"Uh…" Steve can't help but imagine it. The already dark irises of Eddie's eyes popping even more because of some make-up. Jesus Chris. These guys are going to be the death of him one way or another, aren't they? Whether it's death by kindness, hotness or the amount of love radiating off of them, Steve will have to wait and see.

He briefly glances over Eddie's shoulder, but Billy is nowhere to be found. Shaking his head, Steve says, "Yeah, no. Go for it. They're already pissed off, so what's a little more? Go big or go home, right?"

Eddie's smile widens as he winks. "Attaboy."

His mouth turns dry as Eddie continues talking. Steve doesn't hear a single word, gone somewhere —disappeared into the depths of his mind once more— where there’s only the ringing in his ears. The end of Eddie's sentence ticks up like it's a question. He really hopes he's not mistaken. Though, really, he cannot be blamed for a single thing right now.

"Sounds good." Steve gives him a tight-lipped smile. Just friends. Just friends. Just. Friends.

With a thumbs-up, Eddie makes his way towards the bathroom, leaving Steve alone to fall back into his thoughts again. Thank fucking God. He does not know what would have happened if Eddie hadn't left. Something wildly embarrassing for Steve, he thinks. Like… fainting. Or something.

He shakes his head, willing all thoughts to return to normal. There's no reason to look too much into things. Eddie is probably like that with everyone. Or maybe it was a joke. Yeah, it was probably a joke.

Ultimately, his thoughts return to the wedding.

What would his family say when they show up? Last night had been nothing compared to the storm that's brewing, he can already tell.

He feels bad for his cousin —who has been nothing but nice to him up until this point— for ruining her wedding. Though, is it really him ruining the wedding when all he's doing is bringing his boyfriends?

Sure, they're not his real boyfriends and he'd already anticipated what kind of response he'd get from his family, but the principle is the same, isn't it? Steve doesn't have a say about who he falls in love with, hypothetically, of course. All he's doing is expressing himself and allowing them to express themselves the way they deserve to.

It wouldn't be him that ruined the wedding, it would be his family. If they yell and whine and berate him, that's on them. Steve's only trying to live his life. Nothing more, nothing less. All he wants is to get them off his back.

The one thing he does feel bad about is his family making this all about him. He's acting out of line in their minds, surely that will draw the attention away from the couple it's really supposed to be about. Maybe he should have just let it go, and wait for another wedding. Mary's wedding, perhaps.

But then again—

"We're ready!" Eddie calls, busy shoving his feet into the shiny black dress shoes Steve bought for him the day before. It's not a very flattering angle, but Steve still holds his breath. The suit fits him like a glove —as it should, because he paid a pretty penny for it. He's just grateful he paid in advance, otherwise his wallet would be hurting more than it already will.

When Billy steps from the bathroom, Steve's attention is pulled into another direction. His curls are done neatly, falling over his shoulders like waves. The red shirt he's wearing is rolled up at his elbows. His dress pants pull tight over his butt.

Eddie straightens, wrapping an arm around Billy's waist and resting his head against his shoulder. The suit makes him look even taller than he already is. He'd carefully picked out some necklaces to wear on top of everything, and the hand that's clutching Billy's hip is decorated with rings.

Black lines his eyes and Steve feels both their gazes burn through him. They aren't awaiting his judgment, are they? Steve doubts he could compliment them without sounding like he's trying to get into their pants.

But they look… Good. Powerful. Too powerful.

Two matching earrings dangle from each of their ears, catching in the light. Steve recalls Robin saying something about matching couples being hard to look at and Steve can't help but agree, though he doubts it's for the same reason.

He stands, brushing the wrinkles from his suit before looking at them once more. "Let's go, then."

It's all he can think to say, and he's grateful for his unwavering voice, despite all the thoughts trying to break through the confines of his mind. The last thing he needs is Eddie and Billy to think he's some weirdo.

And the thing is… They'd be right. Only a weirdo would look at friends the way he's looking at the two of them. It's not like he's intending to do anything about it, he just can't help himself. They're standing there looking like they belong on the cover of some magazine and Steve has always been a weak man.

He still can't believe that one drunk message led to all of this. That these are the men that will accompany him to his cousin's wedding. These fucking gorgeous men, next to him.

There's a full day ahead of them and Steve can't risk exposing himself. Not now, not ever.

Eddie looks back at him with a smile as they make their way to the elevator. Steve can hear him talking about something, but Steve isn't really following. He doesn't bother, because all he can hear is the voice in his head, constantly reminding himself to keep it together.

He keeps his eyes trained on the ground. If he hadn't, he'd be looking at the muscles of Billy's broad back and how they move underneath the dark red of the shirt Steve picked out for him.

Is this how sugar daddies feel? Steve hates to make the comparison, but he can't think of anything else to compare it to. He's paying the two of them to hang out with him, buying them expensive suits. And he feels good about the way they look in them. Proud, almost. Pleased.

There's little to no sexual aspect to it. At least, in the way that Steve doesn't expect anything sexual out of this. He's only a man and he can't help but wonder when looking at them in the suits he'd selected, but that's not how things are going to go and he knows it.

Though, if the situation were any different from what it truly was. And they offered, he isn't sure whether he'd still be so confident in saying he would turn down sex with them.

But it's not and Steve is 100% fine with that. A platonic sugar daddy arrangement, for just a weekend. That, and the fact Steve isn't an old man. Are all sugar daddies old men? He really should have done his research before trying to make an accurate comparison, but he can't banish the thought from his brain, now.

He's probably the least stylish person on the entire globe. Robin makes sure to remind him of it each and every time they hang out. He can't help the fact that he doesn't know what to buy when he goes shopping for clothes! And you can never really go wrong with basic, can you?

His closet is a pretty even 50-50 split. Half of what he owns are things he'd worn back in high school —too expensive and too comfortable to throw away— and half are things he'd bought after he'd decided to start living for himself instead. Graphic tee's of his favorite shows. Baggy jeans with holes on the ends from how much he'd wear them. Plaid.

He still isn't so sure about the plaid.

It's all about comfort to him, not style. That's something he's accepted a long time ago. Something he's completely fine with, because he has to wear a uniform at work so his clothes don't get out much either way. Other than the growing collection of sweatpants, that is.

These suits, though? The ones he'd picked for Eddie and Billy? They look good.

Steve doubts he'll be able to forget the way they looked in them, the way they wore them with pride and confidence, even after all of this is over. He'll lay in bed and wonder if they'll ever wear those suits again. To parties, or —if Eddie's band blows up like he's hoping— events. He wonders whether he'll see pictures of them together, wearing those same two suits he'd bought them on the red carpet.

Something hot blooms inside his chest at the thought. Something he doesn't like paying attention to, because it feels criminal. It feels like he's making things into being something they're decidedly not. Because Billy and Eddie don't know anything about his perversions. They don't know he's thinking about them this way.

Still a weirdo, it seems.

He doesn't know why he cares so much. Why them wearing the suits he'd picked is making him feel this way. Why there's warmth blooming over his face as he remembers the way they'd looked at him earlier.

Would they think about Steve every time they wear the suits? It sounds probable, especially with the way the weekend has been going so far. If there's as much chaos on the agenda as Steve's assuming, they won't soon forget about it. Forget about Steve.

Because, let's be honest, Steve is not going to forget about them. Not anytime soon.

There aren't many people he hangs out with. And the people he does are all strictly friends. They can't be anything more than that.

Just as Billy and Eddie can't.

Steve wants to stop in the middle of this stupid hallway and rip out his hair. Now he's allowed himself to think about it for one single moment, it's hard to let go. He knows he should. He knows that thinking about it means feeding that voice in his head that's telling him that he still has a chance, if only he'd take it. That's telling him to never stop thinking about it, because they're wearing the suits and that must mean something, right?

It doesn't. Steve knows this. More importantly, he knows that there is nothing he'll do to jeopardize their relationship. He promised himself he won't ever be that person, and he's not breaking that promise.

Maybe he shouldn't have bought them those stupid suits. He's always known that he likes giving his partner everything they deserve. Gifts and comfort and love. Maybe it had been more serious than he'd assumed.

He heaves a sigh as he gets into the car. Billy had already turned on the radio, playing a song Steve now recognizes as one of Eddie's. He's got a pretty distinct style. A little clearer than any of the other metal Steve had listened to. There's all sorts of emotions hidden beneath every single line and Steve finds him relaxing against his seat as he listens.

Eddie has a nice speaking voice, but it's even nicer when he's singing. It's soft and careful, only to fade back into rough and mean. Steve can barely make out the words, but it sounds nice even though it's all a garbled mess to him.

It must be the effect Eddie has. He doubts he'd be enjoying it much if it were anyone else.

The car slides smoothly along the roads as Steve stares out the window at the passing buildings. Anything is better than looking up front, at the two of them.

He'd promised himself distance, and that is exactly what this is. He gives himself this moment. From the hotel to the venue, fifteen minutes at most. He looks out the window and pretends they're not there at all. Not looking at them, and definitely not talking to them.

The sun caresses his face and he closes his eyes for a brief moment. It's only an hour past noon and not as hot as it'll probably get later in the day. A breeze wafts through the open windows, finding him.

For the first time since waking up, he feels like he can breathe again. He's just Steve. No boyfriends. No family. No worries. Not yet.

Sweat prickles against the back of his neck, but it's not unpleasant in any way. It's just there. Steve has always overheated easily and today won't be an exception. Not if the hot California sun can help it.

When he's at the wedding, he knows he'll be singing a different tune, but for now? He lets his eyes remain closed as the sun warms his cheeks. Enjoying the breeze. Enjoying this moment.

Staring at the grand building in front of him, Steve feels that all too familiar dread take residence in his gut once again. He's felt it for most of his life, at least with the looming threat of family near. It makes him bite his lip and stuff his shaking hands into his pockets as he debates whether to proceed or slip away.

Back when he was younger, he hadn't known how to place it, that dread. It's always been a part of him, always there in the background. During family dinners or Christmas. He'd blamed it on his father's high standards, his mother's calculating gaze.

All he wanted was to be good. To be worthy of their attention. A son that could make them proud, that they could brag about just like he heard his uncles and aunts brag about their children.

Logically, that dread should have disappeared a long time ago. When he'd decided he didn't give a single shit about being worthy. When he'd realized that his parents being proud of him would come at a greater cost than he'd have imagined. The cost of constantly straying further out of reach from the person he wanted to be. That person he gets closer to being every single day, now.

And yet, here it is. That same dread that has kept him company throughout most of his life, returned. It makes him clench his jaw and breath in the hot summer air, because he knows that once he's inside, he won't be able to breathe freely again. Not when his family surrounds him from all sides, when their eyes are on every move he makes.

He doesn't realize someone has stopped next to him until a hand lands on his shoulder. Steve can't help but flinch at the sudden touch, head snapping to the side to see Eddie, his eyebrows drawn to the middle of his face.

Worry. He's worried about him.

Steve looks back to the venue, if only so he doesn't have to be confronted with those eyes —still rimmed with black, still beautiful— any longer. Eddie's hand is a warm touch through his suit jacket. It's too familiar already, long fingers wrapping around his shoulder to touch his collarbone.

"We don't have to go in if you don't want to, you know that, right?" He says, voice soft. Steve has no idea how long they've been standing there, just waiting for him to make a move. It's like his feet are glued to the ground and he suddenly knows, with a dazzling sort of clarity, that this might be the last family event he ever has to subject himself to. Either because he stops allowing his mother to force him into activities that make him feel like his soul is being sucked out through a silly straw, or because he'll be effectively disowned.

Like his father will ever admit defeat.

If Steve knows anything about that man it's that he won't budge. His word is the law and Steve disobeying only means he needs to enforce the rules even more. Until Steve won't be able to form his own thoughts anymore. Until he's a zombie, waiting for his father's orders to move. To breathe.

Steve can't let him.

The sun just barely peeks out from behind the venue, casting them in a cool shadow. Steve sighs. "Not an option."

"It is." Eddie's thumb rubs circles into his neck. Steve wants to pull away from the touch. He would have, if it didn't make him feel just a bit less frightened. "We could text, say we hit a couple bars last night and got too drunk. Slept through the entire thing."

Steve shakes his head. No matter how much he'd like to do just that, he knows it wouldn't do him any good. He'd be ridiculed by his absence, once again. The only way out is through.

"You can go," he says, because a part of him still feels like he has to. Billy and Eddie aren't Harrington's, the only reason they're in this sticky situation is because Steve fooled them into thinking it was an easy task.

They'd still get the money, of course. For the two days they showed, at the very least. They could probably sell their suits to some second-hand shop and earn a little extra too. It would be fair, Steve thinks. Even though the thought of them giving the suits away without a single care makes his heart clench.

"You need to get your ears checked, Harrington," Billy pipes up. Steve looks to the side to see him standing a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest. "We already told you, we're not backing out."

Eddie squeezes his shoulder as if to say 'he's right'.

The sun rises those last few inches, shining its bright light into his eyes as he continues to stare at Billy's determined expression. The dread that hasn't let go of him since early childhood loosens its hold on him. He takes another deep breath. "Neither am I."

Billy tilts his head, a barely-there grin on his face. "Well, then. Lead the way, pretty boy."

The distance between the three of them and the building seems a lot less intimidating. It's just a building and the people inside are just that. People.

There is nothing to be afraid of. His family can't hurt him, not unless he lets them. And this time, he's got two friends to support him. Two friends that have proven that —despite the arrangement that got them here in the first place— they care about him, no matter how unlikely it may have seemed at first.

He reaches up to pat Eddie's hand once before stepping forward. Toward the sun. Toward the building that will dictate his future, if only because it signifies an end of an era.

After this, he's free.

Walking up the steps to those big wooden doors —closed this time of day, probably to keep the inside of the building at a bearable temperature—, he feels lighter than he has in days. He hadn't known how much he'd been worrying until now. Until everything feels just a little more manageable, if only because of his companions and his shift in mindset.

He's about to push through those doors, when they open on their own. A girl slips through, just a few years younger than he is. Her dirty-blonde hair is falling in loose curls around her shoulders and she keeps her head held low as she shoulders past the three of them. There's an angry nature about her, not unlike a bear —or, well, a teenage girl— despite the fact she's wearing a pretty red dress.

"Was that…" Eddie trails off. Steve watches Mary run to the other side of the building before disappearing around the corner. There's no way of telling where she goes from there, because the property is huge, a cliff to the ocean on one side and trees on the other. He nods.

Moments later, the doors creak open again, this time to the girl's mother, standing in front of them with wide eyes, her mouth dropped open. "Steven," she says, sounding more out of breath than Steve's ever heard her. Sweat dots along her hairline, she wipes her hands —no doubt just as sweaty— on the front of her dress. "I hadn't known to expect you today."

Unlike her daughter, Rebecca's hair is pulled into a tight updo. Her dress looks more brown than it does red and the amount of jewelry she's wearing makes Steve think it must be weighing her down. That and the god-awful attitude, of course.

"I did receive an invite to the actual wedding," Steve replies, holding back from making a snarkier comment. Not that he wouldn't love to see her face, he'd just hate to start drama this early on in the day.

She hums, placing a hand on her hip as she looks him up and down, then does the same to Eddie and Billy. Steve hates the way she pauses to consider each one, it makes something protective bubble up in his gut, filling the empty gaps the dread left behind. He reaches out to tangle his fingers with Billy's as if on instinct.

"Well, that's never stopped you from skipping town before. I thought you'd have enough tact not to show up after last night, but it seems you have as much to learn as—" She pauses, like she's only just remembering why she's out here in the first place. "Mary. You haven't seen where she's run off to this time, have you?"

"She went that way," Steve says, pointing towards the other side of the building. The side Mary decidedly did not go to.

Without so much as a thanks, Rebecca continues on the search for her daughter.

"Why did you do that?" Eddie asks, the moment the doors fall closed behind them. "I mean, she's an asshole, but so is Mary so why would you…"

Steve takes a deep breath —the air inside the building is stale and dry— to calm his heartbeat. He hates that woman, hates the way she seems suddenly intent on pestering him until he throws himself off the cliff and into the raging ocean.

"Mary's mean, but she doesn't pretend she's some sort of saint with a crooked savior complex. I know how she thinks of me and she knows how I think of her. There's no pretending or playing nice." He takes another breath, letting his anger and misplaced jealousy slip away from him. Billy squeezes his hand. "And if I can send Aunt Rebecca on a wild goose chase? Well, that's just hilarious, isn't it?"

Huffing a laugh, Eddie rolls his eyes. "That's the least she deserves."

Their footsteps echo the halls as they make their way through the building. An arrow points them around the corner and to another, though significantly smaller, set of wooden doors.

They step into the back garden, where white chairs are gathered in two sections. Each of them is decorated with a neatly tied bow. At the front of the aisle stands the altar, a big floral arch on top of a white platform, overlooking the ocean. It looks like they entered another world, despite the same sun beating down on them.

Most of the people gathered haven't taken their chairs yet, instead standing around and chatting with other family members or business associates. Some of them look up at the sound of new people arriving, their eyes lingering on Steve's boyfriends.

There's jealousy in their eyes. Disgust, mixed with amazement. Steve can't help but think he did a good job on the suits, though he doubts they'd be met with the same sense of astonishment if it were anyone else wearing them.

"Woah," Eddie breathes as he takes everything in, completely ignoring all the people looking at him. Steve hadn't assumed Eddie to be the type of person to be drawn towards these types of weddings. All the pristine white. He supposes Eddie isn't done surprising him just yet. "I've never been to an actual wedding before."

"Me neither," Billy replies from Steve's other side, sounding just as breathless.

It makes complete sense while surprising Steve at the same time. Sometimes he forgets most people don't have big families and bi-annual wedding invitations in their mailbox. He doubts there's been a year in his life where he hasn't attended a wedding. Though, he must admit, this one outshines most of the others he's been to.

If he were their actual boyfriend, he may find their awe cute. He might tease them for it. But for now he stays quiet, staring at the altar and wishing to see it from their point of view. Even if just for a moment.

It would look prettier, wouldn't it? If he'd be seeing something like this for the very first time? It would look even more majestic than it already does.

"You're going to bawl your fucking eyes out," Billy tells Eddie, not looking away from the scenery in front of them just yet.

Eddie laughs. "I'm gonna look like a fucking raccoon and you'll still be in love with me. Isn't that embarrassing?"

For the first time in minutes, Billy tears his eyes away from what's in front of them to look at Eddie instead. There's something intense hiding in his gaze. His hand tightens around Steve. He doesn't know what he'd do if Billy looked at him like that. With so much devotion.

It's the whole thing, he supposes. A wedding is bound to make people feel that much more in love. Until his family ruins it, of course.

Before Billy can say anything —or jump Eddie, because he looks like he might—, a familiar song blasts from his phone. It's one of Eddie's. Billy scrambles to pull it from his pocket, tearing his hand away from Steve's in the process. "It's Max, I gotta take this."

Steve swallows, stuffing his hand in his pocket. It feels colder without Billy's touch, despite the warm air. "Alright. Turn off your sound after that, please. And make sure to be back here before thirty minutes."

"Yeah, of course," Billy mumbles, distracted. He reaches out and pulls Steve down to press a short kiss against his brow before cupping Eddie's cheek and kissing him on the mouth. It's short and intense and Steve can't look away, even though he knows he should. "I'll be right back," he says before accepting the call and greeting the person on the other end of the line as he disappears back inside.

And then there were two.

For a while Steve watches Eddie watch the closed doors, like he can still sense Billy, even though he left. He brings up a hand to bite at his nails, an expression Steve can't make out on his face.

"Max, his sister, is staying with her boyfriend for the weekend," he says before tearing his eyes away from the doors. It's like he's snapping out of something, realizing Steve's there too. He gives him a soft smile.

The eye contact is sudden and Steve hates to admit he really hadn't been prepared. It feels too intimate, feels like Eddie is looking at the deep parts of himself. Like he can see down to his bones, just by looking him in the eyes. Steve has to fight the urge to look away. "They've been together since their freshman year of high school, met because of some partnered project in science. He played basketball, she was mostly alone, listening to music and stuff. You wouldn't think they'd work out, but they did."

He falls silent again, as though he's getting caught up in a memory. "They just make sense, you know? Sometimes you see those couples and you're like: 'I wouldn't have put you two together, but yeah.' That's kind of what they're like. Teenage love, man."

"Weren't you and Billy teenagers too?" Steve doesn't realize it's him asking the question until it's left his mouth in a hushed whisper. Vaguely, he knows this isn't the time or place. That he should be careful, because anyone could be listening.

Nodding, Eddie looks towards the altar again. Steve finally feels like he's able to breathe again, being able to look at Eddie without the added tension of looking him in the eye. He follows the slope of his nose, the dip of his lips. "Yeah, but it was different, you know. We weren't carefree, even though we pretended to be. And I guess Max and Lucas have their own shit, but it's— It doesn't control their lives. At least, I hope it doesn't."

"Lucas is her boyfriend?" Steve asks, even though he's not stupid —no matter what some people might say— and he knows how to read context clues quite well, thank you. That also means he notices the whole Billy-and-Eddie road is too heavy to go down right now.

"Yeah," Eddie says, shooting him a sharp smile before digging his phone from his pocket. "Here."

The picture on the phone shows a girl with long ginger braids sitting on a swing. Next to her is a boy, his body fully turned towards her as he smiles. He pulls at the iron chain of Max's swing with one hand, using the other to hold her braid like a bristle and brush her cheek.

He's wearing a look that Steve knows all too well. Love. He's seen it before —the way Robin looks when she talks about Vicky or how Billy looked at Eddie this morning, when doing his hair— and, more importantly, he's worn it himself. He's been the person so caught up in another soul he didn't notice the world around them, just like Lucas isn't noticing his picture being taken. He only has eyes for his girlfriend.

After their breakup, Steve had to sort through an assortment of stuff in his room. Make the distinct separation of Nancy's stuff and his own, even though it once belonged to the both of them, to share.

He'd found a pile of pictures from when Nancy had found her old Polaroid camera. There must have been a hundred of them, doing all kinds of mundane stuff like studying or watching movies. The most jarring thing about them, though, had been the look in Steve's eyes. Something he hadn't even noticed back when the pictures were first taken. Love.

"I don't know why Billy worries so much, to be honest," Eddie says, as he takes the phone back. Steve swallows through the emotions that have taken a hold of him. It's embarrassing. It's not like he's still in love with her, Jesus Christ. "They hang out at our place all the time, they've had plenty of sleepovers. It's not like he's going to treat her like some common whore when he looks at her like that."

At least it's good to know Steve isn't the only one familiar with the gaze of love. He should have known. He'd catched Billy and Eddie looking at each other like that plenty of times throughout the short time he's known them. It would be stupid to think Eddie didn't notice.

Steve clears his throat. "They're really cute together."

It's all he can think to say. He doesn't want to go too deep into the whole whore-comment. It doesn't feel like his place. Then again, he doesn't want to go too deep into the lovers-gaze thing either. It's much too vulnerable for him. For what they are.

"Aren't they?" Eddie slides his hand into Steve's, tangling their fingers together as he steps closer to him. He's warm. Steve enjoys it despite the fact that the weather is already growing hotter with the minute. "She's kind of like a mini-Billy. Totally grumpy and frowny, at least until Lucas comes around. He should know Max is smart enough to take care of herself. Billy, I mean. I guess those brotherly instincts are hard to let go of."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Steve sighs. He's a chronic only child, who isn't very close with any of his cousins. He'd just happened to stumble into Dustin while he and Nancy were dating and gotten stuck with an unofficial little brother, he guesses. He hadn't known he'd craved something like that until Dustin basically tormented him into taking him under his wing.

Eddie hums in question, looking at him and Steve explains, "It's not totally the same thing, but you remember Dustin, right? The kid that got me into D&D?" Eddie nods. "He's kind of like a little brother to me. He must be about the same age as Max and Lucas. He's starting college in the fall and I'm absolutely terrified for him."

For a long moment, Steve stays quiet. He'd been at Dustin's place when he'd opened the acceptance letter, had hugged him while he beamed and cheered while Mike and Will set off party poppers in the background. "I mean, he's gonna do great, he's the smartest kid I know. But he's going out there all on his own and that's just—"

"Terrifying," Eddie finishes for him. "Tell me about it. Max and Lucas are going to Stanford, which is like an hour away but it might as well be Alaska."

"Huh," Steve says. "Dustin's headed there too. Think they'll meet?"

"They're all nerds. I bet they'll sniff each other out on the very first day."

Steve nods. Dustin would probably start searching the campus for people like him the second he arrives, won't even unpack or anything. And Dustin is no quitter.

A thought occurs to him. If Dustin and Max become friends, that means that Eddie and Billy aren't just some guys he hired to pretend to be his boyfriends anymore. They're closer, in a way, even if Steve will never speak to them again.

Before he can think it through, he's speaking again. "Maybe you won't be rid of me just yet, then. After this whole thing is over, I mean." Steve swallows, feeling his heart thump against his chest. It's stupid. So stupid. There is no reason for them to ever want to see him again and here he is making hypothetical plans.

Eddie is distracted, though. Either he doesn't notice Steve's sudden bout of insanity, or he chooses not to comment. "Yeah, speaking of," he starts, leaning closer to whisper in Steve's ear. He just barely suppresses a shiver when he feels Eddie's warm breath on his skin. "Is it just me or are people staring at us?"

"They're staring at you," Steve replies in the same hushed tone of voice. It's true, the people looking in their direction are looking at Eddie, their eyes roaming over his body like he's just another marble statue or snack on the menu. "You look good."

"I do?" Eddie asks, looking down at himself almost self-consciously. He'd spent half the morning getting ready, he should know the effect he has on people. The whole eyeliner thing. The hair. The suit. If Steve wasn't here as his pretend-boyfriend, he knows he'd be staring at him just as much as the rest of his family seems to be doing

He just hopes his grandmother doesn't get wind of this.

"Yeah, you do." Steve swallows. The suit he's wearing does nothing to keep him cool, and he resists the urge to tug at his collar or wave his hands to generate a bit of wind. He shouldn't have told Eddie anything, afraid of his words going more out of control than they already have. There is no need to ruin a perfectly fine friendship by confessing things like 'if you didn't have a boyfriend—' or 'I know we only just met, but—'. No thanks.

Eddie looks at him for a long moment. "You're blushing," he teases. Or, Steve assumes he means it as a tease. The words come out as a hushed kind of whisper, like it's a secret that should exist only between the two of them. With the same tone of voice he says, "You look good too, Steve."

Like the touch of the hot sun, Eddie's eyes rake over Steve's form. Steve just barely resists the urge to squirm, he doesn't know why Eddie's doing this. Yes, there's people looking at them, but they won't notice Eddie checking him out! It's completely unnecessary.

Being looked at like this makes him nervous. He knows he's not ugly, there's plenty of girls from high school that can attest to that. Hell, he thinks even Tommy Hagan might, if he asked.

This is different, though. It's not high school and Eddie isn't some girl staring at him. He's a man Steve met only a day ago. Someone that's here for the sole reason of pretending to be in love with him to earn some money.

It's all just pretend.

The story he's making up in his head? The one where Eddie's his boyfriend and the way he's looking at Steve isn't just some ploy to get everyone to believe they're dating? It's fake. None of it matters, because Eddie has a boyfriend and half the wedding is looking at them so of course Eddie would think he'd need to up the antics. Make it just a tad more believable.

Steve would love to have a boyfriend that compliments him. To have someone that looked at him and saw the love of their life. Someone to call hot or handsome or pretty, whatever compliment they seemed fit.

But he doesn't want this to be confused for something like that. He knows damn well this isn't real, and yet, his heart still skips a beat when Eddie's eyes meet his again. Those same dark eyes Steve is convinced will continue to haunt him for the rest of his days.

Daydreams or nightmares, it doesn't matter. They're so… Captivating isn't the right word. Enchanting, maybe? They're the type of eyes that draw you in, that make you want to look and talk and fall in love. One moment they're soft and caring, the next Steve fears he'll go into early cardiac arrest because they've turned sharp and cunning and— Is it all just pretend? Is it such a strange idea that Eddie might truly think he's handsome.

It's not a very helpful thought and he makes sure to push it deep down into the confines of his mind. He's reading too much into things. Pushing his own thoughts onto Eddie, because Steve is not afraid to admit —at least not to himself— that Eddie is hot. More than he'd like.

This morning, when his hair was a mess and he hadn't had his coffee yet, he was hot. He's hot right now, wearing a suit Steve carefully picked out for him with his smooth curls and black lined eyes. And he'd been especially hot the night before when Billy was on top of him and—

"You're like a tomato." Eddie pokes his cheek. "Are you that bad at taking compliments, is that what this is?"

Steve clears his throat, half-heartedly swatting at Eddie's hand. Isn't that embarrassing, being called out for his very own delusions. He could use one of his mother's ice cold glares just about now. His father's lectures. Anything to get him out of this situation. "Sorry," he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face, like he could just as easily brush away the redness that's taken its residence there.

"Don't apologize. It's cute." He snorts when Steve gives up and covers the bottom of his face with one hand. Eddie hums thoughtfully before hooking his finger into the collar of Steve's shirt —Billy had been onto something with leaving a few buttons undone, especially in this weather— and leaning over to peer inside.

The sound Steve makes is quite embarrassing, if he does say so himself. Something between a squawk and a yelp. He pushes Eddie back and watches as he stumbles. "What are you doing?" He hisses, looking around to make sure nobody noticed.

He makes a brutal sort of eye contact with one of his cousins. Fuck.

"Just trying to see if your blush ran all the way down to your chest." Eddie shrugs before stepping closer again. It's like he has no sense of shame. Quite admirable, really. He wraps an arm around Steve's waist, leaning down to whisper in his ear once more. This time, the shiver gets the better of him. "It does."

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," Steve mumbles. It's not that he feels uncomfortable with Eddie. Just the opposite, really. He feels at ease when around Eddie, even when he's pulling stunts like these. It's frightening.

He must not be the only one feeling it, because Eddie's fingers slip under Steve's shirt to brush at bare skin. Maybe he doesn't notice. Maybe this is normal for him. Steve doesn't comment. He hates himself for how nice it feels, how he leans into it. He's disgusting. "I'm not making fun of you, Stevie, I promise. I think it's adorable how easily you blush."

Although Eddie isn't whispering anymore, he's still closer than he should be, Steve thinks. He's forgotten all about social norms and the rules of personal space. Eddie could crawl into his skin and Steve thinks he would let him. "Billy's annoyingly composed at all times, you know?" Eddie continues. "It's rare that I get a chance to make someone blush all nice and pretty."

Steve promptly chokes on his saliva. "Stop saying that shit, there's nobody listening in on us." That blush Eddie likes so much must be all the way down to his toes at this point.

"You're listening. Isn't that enough?"

Before Steve can reply to that, a soft voice calls for their attention. They turn to a short woman with a gentle smile, wearing a purple dress and pearl earrings. "Steven and Edward, right?" she asks. "It's such a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for not introducing myself yesterday, but you disappeared soon after the rehearsal dinner came to an end. My name is Sophia, I'm Edwin's mother."

Sophia speaks as though she's reading from a children's book. Her voice is kind and patient, as are her expressions. The few wrinkles on her face —crows feet, smile lines— tell him she's had a happy life. Her brown hair is turning gray and has been pulled back into a bun.

From all the people Steve knows here, she must be the most tolerable. He's glad to have met her, if only so he can say he knows more than just his own family. Though, he supposes, she's family now, too.

Steve holds out his hand, noting Sophia's firm handshake. "Congratulations on your son's engagement, Ma'am. The wedding is absolutely gorgeous."

The smile she wears Steve can only describe as motherly, though his own mother has never looked at him that way. "Oh, thank you. They sure did a lovely job, didn't they? I'm very proud of them." She nods, looking around like she's only seeing things for the first time. "Well, I hope you two have a lovely time and feel very welcomed." She reaches out to give Eddie's shoulder a squeeze before moving on to talk to other guests.

Steve sighs, subconsciously leaning closer against Eddie. There's plenty of mothers that take a liking to him. All except for his own. He's still grateful, though, because he doesn't know where he'd be right now if it weren't for Claudia Henderson. She could raise a city all on her own if she ever wanted to.

"That's one person that doesn't despise my presence," Steve mumbles. He wishes for it to come out as a joke, but from the pause that follows he knows it doesn't.

Eddie grants him a small laugh, squeezing his hip. "I don't either, but I don't know if that's any consolation."

For a brief moment, Steve feels the urge to pull Eddie into a bone-crushing hug. Just a short one. So short that it could be explained by temporary insanity. He wants this to feel real, no matter how pathetic the thought may sound.

He wants to play pretend and lose himself in it. In the game. In acting like Eddie loves him truly. He wants to not feel crushing loneliness for just one fucking second.

Steve clears his throat, stepping out of Eddie's half-embrace. "We should go find our seats."

"You do that. I'm gonna see what's taking Billy so long, okay?" He leans in to press a soft kiss against his cheek. It does little to dispel the loneliness. If anything, it makes Steve feel even emptier. "I'll be right back."

The seconds tick by. One by one like the beating of his heart. It rattles around in his skull, reminding him —with every passing moment— that Billy and Eddie are nowhere to be found.

Steve had briefly checked the venue earlier, rushing around the halls ten minutes after Eddie had left him all alone, stranded with the stares of his God-awful family. He hadn't found them in the hallway, he hadn't found them in the dining room or any of the other rooms he checked. It's like they just vanished from the face of the earth, leaving no traces except for the memories in Steve's brain.

For a moment he wonders whether he'll be the only one to remember them. The way Billy's too-sharp canines show when he grins. Eddie's warm eyes and how they sparkle in a certain light. It would make a good plot for a movie, he thinks. Though, it's a lot less cool if he's the one going through it.

With their disappearance the sun seems to shine a little less brightly. The shadows make him shiver, even though there's still sweat beading on his forehead from the heat. The eyes looking his way seem more pressing and the silence he resides in is dull.

He's lucky nobody has tried to speak to him yet. Part of him had assumed that the moment he'd be alone, someone would come running with a thousand insults to throw his way. Maybe being the neglected child really wasn't as bad as he'd always felt like it was.

The ceremony is just about to start any minute and the seats next to him remain empty.

The boredom nearly killed him, if he's honest. He'd spent a while just staring at the altar before he'd realized he must look like a lunatic zoned out like that. He'd taken to reshuffling the cards with their names so he'd be sitting between Eddie and Billy, except it really shouldn't matter that much and he felt stupid so he'd changed them back.

He paced their row for a while, memorizing all the name-cards, until most people started taking their places and he'd sat down again.

It's hard to ignore the obvious. They both said they'd be right back, didn't they? It isn't hard to believe they never planned on returning. Steve didn't check whether the Camaro was still parked in front of the venue. He feels stupid for it now, it would have taken him only a second and it's not like he can go to check so close to the ceremony.

All those insecurities that oftentimes arise during family events take root once more. He's not as strong without Billy or Eddie or both at his side. He can't quite ignore the nagging voice in his brain telling him 'They left. They left you all alone'.

God, wouldn't that give his father a kick. He might even smile for the first time in his miserable little life at being proven right.

The most frightening part is that Steve fears he won't be able to ignore their jabs without his friends at his side. If they left him, truly left him, Steve would be a vulnerable target. What if he just agrees to whatever his parents offer in those moments he can't think straight? What if all those years of resisting, all those years of finding himself and finding real happiness, were all for nothing?

He needs to leave. If they don't show up for the ceremony, Steve is calling an Uber and getting on the first flight home. His family can call him whatever they want, make fun of him for fleeing once again, he doesn't care. He is not giving in.

It probably won't come to that, no matter how the empty chairs to his left seem to mock him. Both of them had promised to stay. To support Steve throughout all this inevitable misery. They know how important this is for him. They'll be here.

They might be caught up with Max —Steve hopes she's alright— or with one of his family members pestering them. Maybe they even forgot the way back, but they will be here. In time for the ceremony. They won't make him look like a fool.

Someone sits down in the chair to his right as he's clicking through Robin's countless Instagram stories —which he'd decided was a much better pastime than worrying— and he looks to the side as if on instinct.

His mother looks flawless, as she often does. She's clad in a green dress with a high neckline and golden earrings adorn her ears. Her hair is falling over her shoulders in loose curls and her eyes are lined with black —though, combined with her eyeshadow which is a similar shade of green, it looks decidedly more elegant than Eddies— and her lips are painted a deep red.

"Steven," she greets, placing her hand on his knee. He'd almost say she looks worried, if not for the fact he doubts the woman could actually be genuinely worried about anything other than herself. He doubts he's in for a good conversation.

"Mother, I don't think you're in the right seat," Steve replies. Unless her name suddenly changed to Mary Harrington, he doubts she's supposed to be here. Not that he's very happy about that other arrangement, but at least Mary won't be able to pester him during the ceremony, even she isn't that mean. If she shows up, that is.

His mother's brows pull toward the center of her face. "Don't joke around, Steven. This is serious." Her eyes are cold and her lips are pulled into a thin line. No matter how serious, Steve doubts he wants to hear any of this. "Your father asked me to talk some sense into you—"

"If he's using you to convince me I'm going to hell for being gay, don't bother," Steve interrupts before she can continue. He won't let her words worm their way into his brain. "I'm not going to change my mind about my partners and I am not going to drop to my knees and beg for a position at the company. Please leave."

"Steven, you are not thinking clearly." His mother sighs, rubbing her forehead. "This isn't you. You've been acting out since you were a teenager and I think it's about time for you to be a little grateful for all the things we've done for you."

A choked off laugh falls from his lips before he can stop it. He cannot believe she has the fucking balls to sit here and pretend she did anything for him. "All the things you've done for me, huh?" he asks. "Like what? Birth me? Leave me alone to take care of myself since I was seven? Give me a shit ton of pocket money like fucking money can fix all the things you think are wrong with me? That's hardly anything to be grateful for."

"I gave you life," his mother hisses, showing her true colors for the first time in years. Her voice is as cold as her eyes. Anger clear from the way her hand tightens on his knee. "I provided for you. Me and your father made sure you had everything you needed and now you're acting like you don't want any of it? I don't know what else I could have done, Steven!"

Some people nearby glance in their direction. If his mother cares, she doesn't let it show.

"You married my father because you think money is all that matters. Do not assume I think the same way, I will not make your mistakes." If his mother is going to be as cold as ice, he won't hesitate to treat her with the same respect. "I'm going to say this once and I'm going to say it clearly, I do not give a crap about money. I could be dirt poor for all I care, as long as I'm with the people I love. That is all I need."

"You don't know what you're talking about." His mother shakes her head softly, like he's just some child she can manipulate into loving her. Those days have long passed. "You may think you care about these boys, you may think they care about you, but once you're dirt poor, as you so elegantly put it, they will be gone before the morning sun rises."

Steve closes his eyes, holding back from lashing out at her. How is it that she always manages to play into his insecurities just so? It doesn't help that the lines between pretend and reality keep blurring in his mind. It doesn't help that they might be gone already. Leaving to go back to their real life, the life they live when Steve's not in the picture. Loving each other without the added eyes of a third, not-quite boyfriend.

"You don't know anything about my life."

"Of course I do." His mother's voice is soft again. He grits his teeth, just barely holds back the tears threatening to spill over. "I'm your mother, Steven, I know you better than anyone. I just want to protect you, because I see the way those boys look at you. They wear their greed plain on their faces, they don't love you, Steven. They can't! Because all they care about is—"

"Excuse me," a voice pipes up from behind them. The hand around his heart suddenly loosens. "I don't appreciate you talking to my boyfriend like that."

Steve feels Billy's hand land on his shoulder and it's like he can suddenly breathe again. The warmth of the sun beats down on him. When he opens his eyes, the colors seem a bit brighter.

His mother looks past him. "This doesn't concern you."

"Oh, yeah?" Billy asks. His hand tightens on Steve's shoulder. It's more reassuring than anything he's felt in his life. "I think it does. See, that's my relationship you're talking so crudely about."

There's something in his voice. Not anger, but something similar. He's confident. When he speaks, he chooses his words with utter care. And Steve feels himself relaxing, knowing that his boyfriend is standing up for him.

His mother looks like she wants to argue. She looks like she might have, if she hadn't been caught so plainly in her foolish manipulation tactics. Instead, she huffs before standing up and leaving, presumably to find her own seat.

Steve lets out a sigh, turning to face his fake-boyfriends as they take the seats next to him. "Thank you," he says, finding that the words don't nearly convey everything he feels. It might be better this way.

Billy hums, throwing an arm around Steve's shoulder and pulling him against his chest. "I hope we're not late."

Shaking his head, Steve lets himself lean against Billy. It would be suspicious to push him off now. There's still a few eyes lingering. "No, but it should start any second. What the hell took you guys so long?" He bites his lip. "Is Max alright?"

Mary slides into the seat next to him. Steve doesn't comment when her leg bumps against his. She doesn't either, swiping her arm over the underside of her nose before straightening in her seat.

"Max is fine, we just—" Billy gets cut off by the sudden sounds of piano music. Steve shushes him as they all turn towards the back of the aisle, where the doors slide open to reveal Rosaline.

It's one of the most beautiful wedding ceremonies Steve has ever attended. The convenience marriages are no match, but it strongly rivals the one where his cousin Cecile had flown them out to Iceland.

His cousin is beautiful, too. Her dress hugs her upper body, but the skirt is big and —for lack of better word— poofy. It's in the same shade of purple as those floral arrangements and the bodice is decorated with rhinestones that reflect the sunlight and make her look even more like a woman that's stepped straight out of a fairytale. All she needs is some tiny birds to carry the back of her dress and she'd pass as a Disney princess.

The moment the doors open to reveal her, Edwin starts crying. Big, ugly tears roll down his cheeks and drop to the altar. Rosaline hides her smile with a hand as her father walks her down the aisle.

Edwin's suit is decorated with those same purple rhinestones, though it's fully white underneath. His hand shakes when he reaches out to help her step up the altar and when he pulls away it's with noticeable hesitance. He mumbles something that sounds like 'sorry' before talking off his glasses and wiping at his face, a smile tugging at his lips.

Steve quickly finds himself burying closer against Billy's side. They haven't even exchanged vows and there's a big lump of emotions clogging up his throat at the sight of them. Edwin's leaning forward, just a little bit, like Rosaline draws him into her aura without even meaning to. They look ethereal together, like angels underneath those floral bows with their white and purple flowers.

It's clear now, how everything ties together. A truly well thought out color palette. Something that suits the two of them so well, even though it's not tradition.

Throughout the entire ceremony, they just keep smiling at each other. Steve doubts they hear the words spoken by the priest. He doubts they remember the people gathered here to watch the two of them say 'I do.'

When the time for the vows comes, Steve is close to losing it. He's convinced they don't need to speak a single word to let the other know just how they feel, but they do.

Rosaline's vows are delivered in a soft and smooth manner. She doesn't look down at the paper in her hands once, like she remembers the lines from the top of her head just by looking at her fiance. Or maybe they just came naturally, the same way their love did.

What really gets him, though, are Edwin's vows. It's clear that he's nervous as he alternates between looking down at the paper in his shaking hands and looking up at Rosaline. The smile she wears is unrestrained, showing all her perfectly straight teeth. Her eyes glisten softly in the same way those rhinestones do.

Edwin's voice shakes as he stumbles through the sentences. He's sniffling and the paper is crumbling with how tight he holds it. And his vows are— God.

It's hard not to tear up when he speaks so poetically of the time they've spent together, and all the time they still have left in them. Love is poured into every trembling word and he doesn't pause to breathe or think as he murmurs how she's on his mind from the moment he wakes to the moment sleep finds him. How he thinks he'll be young and in love forever, even when they'll be old and wrinkled.

Steve distractedly pulls a handkerchief from his pocket with the intention of dabbing away those tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, only for it to be yanked away by Mary. He briefly glances at her —because he can't look away from the ceremony for too long, it draws him in, makes him long for something he doesn't have— and sees that she needs the thing more than he does.

Tears are spilling down her cheeks, her eyes red and mascara running down her face. He lets her have it, wiping his face on his suit jacket instead.

When they say 'I do' it's with a soft sort of confidence. They smile into their kiss, though it doesn't last long as Edwin crumbles forward and wraps his arms around her waist. His back shakes as he cries into her shoulder and Rosaline is smiling as she rubs a hand up and down his back, mumbling words Steve can't quite make out. He thinks she must be reassuring him.

With a shock, Steve realizes he completely gets where Edwin is coming from. He knows —more than most— what it's like to let the love you feel for another person consume you from the inside out. For better or for worse.

Back when he'd been with Nancy —something he's thinking about too often for his liking this weekend, though he knows it's only because she's the only real relationship he's had and has nothing else to compare it to— he'd always felt that way about her. They could be sitting at the lunch table at school and he'd be ready to burst into tears knowing that she chose him.

Except for the fact she didn't, not really, but he hadn't known that then.

He'd wanted to marry her. Something that sounds quite foolish now. He still can't help but recall those days fondly. Loving so plainly, he used to see it as a weakness. Something that people could use against him, something that he feels like has been used against him, even though it might not have been her intention.

Now, though, he thinks it's special that he opens up so easily. That he can fall in love quick and hard and with little doubts even though he knows better.

Billy's arm is warm around his shoulders, warmer than the California sun. Steve tries not to think about it.

Dinner goes about as well as he'd expected it to. His mother sends him icy glares while his father tries to make conversation with his uncle. Mary isn't talking —or eating, or tapping away at her phone, for that matter— which means she's not bothering him. He should feel nicer about that than he does.

Rebecca sighs every three minutes, Steve has counted the seconds out of pure boredom, and Tony is only half paying attention to Steve's father because he's too busy shooting Mary glances she doesn't respond to. Her eyes are still red. She didn't bother to clear the make-up off her cheeks.

Lastly, his grandmother. She's picking at her food silently, not pleased to be seated next to Eddie instead of Billy. Though Steve argues —in his head, of course— Eddie is handsome in his own way, that he draws the attention from every onlooker with his dark hair and edgy looks, he has significantly less muscle for his grandmother to grope.

It had been a conscious decision to switch their places. He'd seen the way his grandmother looked at Billy earlier and pushed him to the other side of the table. He does not want to deal with his grandmother crossing all kinds of boundaries today.

Though the silence is near deadly, it's better than the possibility of his family berating him once more. He'd had his share the day before, he would prefer not to get a repeat performance.

There's no question of whether they'll try again later. Try to get him to break up with his fake-boyfriends and join the family company. They really never do give up, something Steve has taken to resenting.

Maybe they'll even try to send someone else to bother him. If they've realized Steve has no intention of listening to his parents. He can't imagine Tony or Rebecca caring about what he does, as long as it doesn't affect them. Hell, they probably take more joy from his parents' misery than they do from seeing them flourish. And they've got a daughter to look after today, it seems.

It won't be Miss Valentine either. All she'll do is try to encourage him to get as far away from his father as possible. He's the devil in her eyes as much as he is in Steve's. A small comfort.

He plans to stick as close to Eddie and Billy as possible. He's learned from earlier encounters that his parents don't like talking about business —or Steve's fake-relationship— in front of them. Whether it's because they're not Harringtons or because they're embarrassed, he has no idea. All he knows is that he can use the two of them as a shield, and he will not hesitate to use it to his advantage.

It doesn't seem like Billy and Eddie are planning to let him go either. After the whole disappearing act, one of them has always been near. Always touching him. When Eddie went to the bathroom to fix his eyeliner —it did, in fact, make him look a little bit like a raccoon after he'd cried— Billy stood close with a hand pressed to the small of Steve's back. And when Eddie returned, he'd slung an arm around Steve's shoulders and kissed his temple.

To say he's close to losing his mind would be a grave understatement.

It's somewhat reassuring, because he knows they won't ditch him the first chance they get, but he just doesn't know what's in it for them. They're just here to play pretend, not try to make him fall in love!

It's infuriating, to say the least. Steve can never get himself to step away from the touch. It quiets something in his brain, despite knowing this is not for him.

All they're doing is acting like he's their boyfriend. They're probably naturally touchy with each other and all they're doing is implementing it onto Steve and their pretend-relationship. He has no idea how to feel about it.

The fact is, he's not their real boyfriend. So why are they acting like he is? He lives in a constant state of fear, like any moment he'll do something he can't come back from. He'll feel their touch or hear the way they say his name and think of it as real.

He tries to sneak off to call Robin, the one person that never fails to talk some sense into him. He's about halfway through the hallway when Eddie comes bounding after him, talking about some bird he's seen like it's the most important thing in the world.

Steve hates that he thinks it's cute and lets Eddie follow him into the bathroom.

So far for personal space.

A part of him is afraid they feel like they need to babysit him. They've already rescued him from his mother once, they'd seen the way the conversation with his father impacted him. What if they think he can't handle it on his own? Honestly, Steve's starting to doubt whether he can.

After dinner, there's the speeches.

Rosaline's best friend —a woman with long blonde hair and pink cheeks— tells the room she didn't believe in true love until she'd seen Rosaline and Edwin at a party during their college days. Apparently, Edwin had looked at Rosaline from across the room and fell for her in an instant. That's how she describes it, at least.

The next speaker confirms the story. He's one of Edwin's college buddies and says he'd been there that night. Talks about how Edwin couldn't shut up about her for the life of him. How he'd thought he'd have to console him after Rosaline eventually turned him down, only for him to be surprised when she didn't.

There's a few more people before Sophia takes the stage. There's tears in her eyes and she looks at only Edwin and Rosaline as she speaks, instead of talking to the entire room like the rest of them had. Her voice is a soft murmur into the microphone, her words carefully picked.

'My dear son. My dear daughter-in-law. I am so grateful to have been able to experience the love the two of you found within each other. How happiness built at a slow and steady pace until it became an apparent part of you, not to be questioned. To be able to give away my son to a woman so loving as Rosaline, it's something a mother could only hope. I have never been as happy as I am today, not since your birth, sweetheart. I wish you such a long and happy life together, though I know this will be inevitable.'

Steve tears up again near the middle of her speech and Eddie squeezes his hand, giving him a napkin to wipe away his tears. Steve sniffles, embarrassment bubbling in his gut at being so emotional for people he barely even knows.

When he'd first gotten the invitation, he'd assumed this wedding wouldn't be much different than the others he'd gone to. He'd never have thought there would be so many emotions in the air. Despite all the anger and chaos his family brings with them, there are two people that love each other so much it fills the room.

He's grateful for Eddie and Billy, too. He doesn't know whether he could have done this without them. Facing his family along with all the conflicting emotions.

After Sophia's speech, Rosaline and Edwin rise for the first dance. He takes her hand at the first sounds of piano-music and together they fall into an easy rhythm. It's nothing fancy. Steve is relatively certain Edwin steps on Rosaline's foot at least twice, but they're smiling like it's the most perfect moment of all.

Slowly, some other couples join. Edwin's grandparents. Some people he doesn't recognize. Rebecca's best friend with, presumably, her boyfriend.

Steve can't take his eyes off of Rosaline, though. Her head is placed against Edwin's shoulder, eyes closed. They speak softly to each other, not a sound audible over the music where it builds its sound and echoes through the room. They're not as much dancing as just swaying together, existing in a world that's only theirs to share.

A while later Eddie and Billy are so wrapped up in conversation Steve risks sneaking away, praying they won't notice his sudden disappearance. Despite how much he likes spending time with them —too much— and being treated like he's part of a whole, he needs a break. A moment alone where he can reorganize his thoughts in peace.

It's been a few hours since his cousin and her husband tied the knot. The bar has opened and drinks are flowing. He heard his father argue with his grandfather earlier —something to do with money, he assumes— which only ever happens if they're a few drinks deep.

Chaos is looming over the edge of the horizon, and if Steve has the choice between being sober or tipsy during the confrontation, he knows which option he'll choose.

There's still some soft music playing as he makes his way to the bar. He hadn't done much dancing himself —Billy briefly pulled him into a slow dance earlier but Steve had broken away before the song was even over, telling Billy he needed to use the restroom. A weak excuse, but the first one that came to mind when he found himself wanting to lean his head against Billy's chest and lose himself in the soft and gentle rhythm of it all.

Something like that would make things feel too real. And that's exactly what this isn't. Real.

It's the one thing he hadn't taken into consideration when he'd first posted the ad. This whole arrangement is strictly business, there was no need for him to worry about his weak little heart. His love life is less than lackluster, he'd assumed it would just carry over into this. He hasn't been interested in anyone since Nancy, why should he start now?

Steve has never been good at keeping things strictly business, though. This only proves that. He gets caught in Eddie's dark eyes or the way Billy's tongue runs over his bottom lip when he thinks and he's pretty sure there's some mental line that has been crossed.

If he were any smarter than he is, he'd be slipping away right now. Take a drink and lock himself up in one of the countless storage closets in this building and call Robin. She might be asleep already, but she always picks up the phone. More importantly, she's always ready to give him a piece of her mind, no matter what time of day. He can already hear her voice in her mind, completely exasperated.

'Didn't I tell you so? I think I told you so! This was a bad idea from the start, I called it. But you didn't listen and now you're talking about them like any day from now you'll be the one at the altar and I won't even have time to fly over there and be your best man because when you're in it, you don't think about anything but them. Except that's not what's going to happen, because you'll get your heart broken and I'll have to put you back together again. I think you should leave now instead of torturing yourself even more. Hey, you should listen to me, I think—'

He shuts her up by swiping someone's abandoned glass of champagne and downing it one go.

There's no reason to call her if he already knows what she'll say. He also knows that none of it matters because he won't listen. He doesn't want to leave. He doesn't need to leave. He's an adult, he can hang out with two insanely attractive guys without falling head over heels in love with them. It really can't be too difficult, he just needs to keep up that mental barrier between friends and a little more than.

He orders himself another glass of wine and a beer for Eddie —Billy had insisted on staying sober because he's driving them back to the hotel, saying something about Ubers being a waste of money and not wanting to drink in front of a bunch of strangers, anyway— and leans against the bar as he waits.

His eyes scan the room. Rosaline and Edwin are making the rounds, big smiles on their faces as they talk to family members and show off their rings. There's a few people on the dance floor, including his grandmother with one of his younger cousins. Steve thinks he's about the same age as Dustin and then he realizes he doesn't want to think about it at all.

Before he can turn back to the bar, someone grabs his elbow and pulls. He stumbles along, watching the blunt blonde bob swish as his cousin Cecile drags him to a dimly lit corner, where they'll be able to talk privately without anyone overhearing. Great.

"Steven," she hisses.

"Why does everyone keep saying my name like that and thinking I'll be able to magically understand what the fuck they're on about?" He asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

They've never been close, him and Cecile. She's about ten years older than him, though he can never recall her actual age. Most she remembers of her is how much of a killjoy she'd been when they were younger, always stealing his toys and telling on him when he snuck sips of his father's drink.

Honestly, he understands why she had a problem with a seven year old sipping whiskey without flinching, but then again, he hadn't really known what he was doing. He wonders whether his father actually cared or only pretended to because she called him out. Maybe he'd hoped it would mellow Steve out, or something.

And then she left for college and he didn't see her as much anymore. Now they only ever meet at weddings and other family events Steve plans to skip from here on out. No need to torture himself any longer, he knows now that his family won't suddenly change their minds about him.

"Watch your language," she snaps without even having to think about it.

"I'm not a kid anymore."

It's been a long time since she treated him this way, like he's still that young child she could torment. Looking at her now, Steve realizes she never really changed. There's still the same look residing in her eyes.

"You sure are acting like one." She huffs, placing one hand on the bump of her belly. He hadn't noticed it before and almost feels like a bad cousin because of it. Though, she's already managed to pop out two kids without him even knowing —they'd just appear one day, on her arm or in a stroller— so he decides it's not the end of the world.

"You're pregnant?"

She rolls her eyes. "Due in a month."

"Congratulations." He doesn't know what else to say in reply. He's happy for her, in the same way he'd be happy for a stranger. That's all they really are to each other, anyway.

"Cut the crap, Steven." Her voice is cold, straight to the point. When he'd been dragged over here he assumed there's a valid reason for it, but he thought that maybe he could talk himself out of another horrible encounter. She's not here because his parents sent her, is she? To convince him to throw away a life he loves and replace it with whatever they think suits him best?

He sighs, willing this conversation to be over as quickly as possible. "Fine. What do you want?"

Her words come pouring out like she's been waiting to speak for hours. "My poor Luna walked in on your…" Her face contours in a way that makes her look a little like she just bit into a lemon. "boyfriends, connected at the mouth!"

Of course. Of fucking course it's some weird homophobic bullshit. Steve has to bite his tongue to suppress a smile. Just how predictable can his family get? "She saw Rosaline and her husband kiss not too long ago and she looked absolutely fine to me."

Steve raises his eyebrows, daring her. "It's different," Cecile says, her cheeks turning pink. "She came to me crying at the sight of two boys kissing."

"Tells me more about you than it does her," Steve says, shaking his head. He knows not to expect too much of his family but fuck. Is there really not a single person who's not an asshole? "She's six. There's no difference to her, unless you taught her there should be. I don't know what kind of stuff you've been telling her and I honestly don't want to know. I've never been fond of your manners."

"It's unnatural, Steven. We're just looking out for you," she insists.

It's like something else takes over his brain. He's just so done with everyone pretending like they care about him, pretending like they know best. He is the only one that's going to be choosing how he spends his life. And he's the only one that gets to decide who he spends it with.

The words leave his mouth before he can think them through. "Then why does it feel so good?" he whispers, before raising an eyebrow at her gaping mouth. "Excuse me."

He steps away from her, walking back over to the bar and pretending not to hear her call his name. There's no reason to give her another chance to make him feel miserable.

A pang of hurt slices through his chest at the knowledge that there wasn't a real reason why Billy and Eddie nearly missed the ceremony. They had just been too caught up making out. It's the only time frame he thinks it could have been in, unless Cecile is full of shit.

The pain isn't rational in any way. They're boyfriends for fuck's sake. And Steve has nothing to do with any of that. They have all the right to find a room to make out in. He's glad they still have the type of romance that makes them feel like they feel like they can.

Most of all, though, he's giddy.

He's not against a little scandal to keep things hot under his family's feet. It serves them right for being so easily enraged. All the two did was love each other and Cecile had looked about ready to explode. He just wished he'd seen it.

Not the kiss. No, not that. Just the way Cecile replied when her daughter caught Billy and Eddie. How she turned it on them like they're the villains in the story.

Okay, maybe the kiss too. Just a little. Not because of any weird or creepy reasons, just because… He thinks he should probably stop thinking about this before he pops a boner at his cousin's wedding.

He makes a quick stop at the bar to retrieve the drinks he'd ordered earlier before making his way over to Billy and Eddie. They're still thoroughly engaged in their previous discussion —something about Eddie playing guitar at night— like Steve never left.

For a while he sips his wine while listening to their conversation. Eddie snakes an arm around his waist and accepts his beer when offered without taking his eyes off Billy. Steve finds, more and more throughout the time he spends with them, that he likes listening to them speak. They have nice voices, soft undertones, yet rough enough to send a tingle down his spine.

If he were truly dating them, he thinks he'd let his head drop to Eddie's shoulder and close his eyes. If only so he could truly bask in their company in ways he can't while keeping his guard up.

"So," he interrupts when there's a lull in the conversation. "I hear you scared a poor six year old to death because you couldn't keep your mouths off each other."

Eddie's hand tightens on his hip as his head swivels around to look Steve in the eye. It's much too confronting, even when they're comically wide and almost afraid. "Oh my God," he whines, pulling Steve closer. Their hips bump together. "We're sorry, Stevie. We lost track of time and then she was suddenly there and—"

"She wasn't scared," Billy interrupts, "she was giggling and shit. It's not like we were fucking. We didn't traumatize her."

Steve bites his lip, suppressing a laugh before he realizes he doesn't need to hide. Not in front of them. He lets it out, head tipping back. "Fuck, that's the best thing I've heard in days."

"Is it?" Eddie asks. His fingers press into the skin above Steve's hipbone. "You're not mad?"

"About you sneaking off to make out? No." There's still a soft smile on his face as he looks at them, a ghost of the laugh that had escaped him. "I did kind of think you left me to fend for myself."

"We told you we wouldn't leave you," Eddie hums, seemingly relaxing more now that he knows Steve isn't going to lecture them on where and when they're allowed to kiss. They're adults, they can kiss whenever they want. "When are you gonna start believing it, huh?"

Steve sighs into his glass in lieu of a reply. If only he had a clue.

The night progresses in a manner similar to watching a natural disaster unfold in slow motion. People trickle out of the party —those with kids to put to bed, or those that decide they want to head to bed themselves— the more drinks get poured. Somewhere around 10PM the music changes from soft melodies to something Steve can only describe as club music. The people slow dancing start dancing a little more… Well, Steve doesn't want to look too close at it. They're his family, after all.

Steve has had a bit to drink. Just some wine to make him tipsy, but not drunk enough to lose his self control entirely. Which is a good thing, because the more he drinks the more that barrier he'd put into his mind —the one he keeps up to separate thoughts about Billy and Eddie into strict platonic territory— crumbles.

To say he's distracted would be an understatement. He can faintly hear Billy ramble on about his experiences of being on the basketball team in high school. And he can hear himself give hummed replies, even while his mind is somewhere else entirely.

His eyes stray to where Billy's chest is exposed in the V of his shirt. That necklace, nestled between those tan pecks. He wants to reach out and touch it —the skin or the necklace, he isn't sure— in ways he certainly should not.

It's like a magnetic pull. He can just barely stop himself from leaning over and licking a long stripe over his skin. It would be salty, he thinks. Billy's hands would reach over to tug at his hair until he's—

Steve blinks, forcing himself to look back at Billy's eyes. Not quite an improvement —they're an icy blue, settled somewhere on the lower half of his face until Steve wipes at his mouth to make sure he doesn't have stray crumbs lingering on his lips and they snap back up to his own eyes. At least Billy didn't notice him staring.

"Did you play?" Billy asks.

Steve nods, looking around the room. Heat creeps up his neck making eye contact with Billy. It's best to just not look at him at all. That way he won't have to fight the thoughts and the urge to touch. He's never had a great sense of self control, but he must keep it together now. "Yeah, I was the uh…"

His thoughts melt into a puddle as Eddie tugs him closer, his hand warm on his waist. He keeps gravitating towards that spot, like holding Steve is his greater purpose in life, or something. Maybe he thinks it will help them sell his pretend-relationship, or something.

All Steve can think about for that brief moment is the way those fingers slipped under his shirt earlier. In front of everyone, like the touch alone didn't send all kinds of shivers down his spine. He thinks about the way Eddie looked at him —eyes dark— as he told him he blushes down to his chest, and how he thinks it's adorable.

Steve's losing his fucking mind. And it's not because of the drinks or Steve's complete lack of self control —he's relatively certain anyone in his position would be feeling the same way— but because of the amount of hours he's spent with the two of them. Such close proximity, from the moment they met before the rehearsal dinner until now. It blurs that barrier. It makes his brain want to turn into mush.

Steve swallows, trying to remember what he'd been saying before Eddie made him lose track of his thoughts. He never finds the word, though, because all of the sudden his eyes land on the bar. More importantly, they land on the girl leaning over the bar, waving her hand to get the bartender's attention. She wobbles on her heels before deciding they're not worth the trouble and kicking them off.

"Mary," he mumbles. A sudden sense of responsibility washes over him. It isn't something he's felt before, at least not towards his own family. He can just imagine it not being her but Dustin standing there. Not in a dress, of course —not unless he wants to— but as someone he cares about. Someone he needs to help.

It might be because he's looking for any odd excuse to get him the hell away from Billy and Eddie before he loses his mind entirely. Or just because he's spending too much time thinking about his family and the way Rosaline had helped him out when he was young and too drunk at a party. All he knows is that if he can do anything to help, he should. No matter how much he hates her guts.

He's tearing away from Eddie before he realizes he's moved. "I have to…" he mumbles, feet already carrying across the room. "I'll be right back!" he calls, not bothering to glance back and make sure they heard him.

Pushing past the bodies on the dance floor makes him wish he brought some bleach to clean out his eyes, but he has a purpose so he does little more than dodge someone's arm when it swings his way.

When he breaks through on the other side, Mary is standing on her toes, putting all her weight onto her forearms like her legs can't hold all her weight anymore. Or like she's planning to climb over the bar and grab whatever she wants herself.

Memories come rushing back to the surface. Mary running past the three of them upon arrival, clearly upset. Her not bothering to make fun of him when he cried during the wedding ceremony. The plates in front of her at dinner remaining full while she stared blankly in front of her.

And then there's the other memories. Older ones.

Twelve year old Mary sitting at the kitchen table and completing worksheets instead of playing with the other kids. Eight year old Mary dissolving into sobs when a relative asked about how school is going. Eighteen year old Mary graduating valedictorian —something Steve hadn't seen in person, but heard plenty about from his mother.

"Mary," he calls, placing a hand on her shoulder once he's close enough. Nineteen year old Mary at her cousin's wedding, drunk off her ass.

She looks over her shoulder, eyes narrowing for a moment. She looks a little like a raccoon. Steve feels sick. "Steve."

The moment she says his name, he knows she's not nearly as sober as she tries to look. The last time she called him Steve was when she was six and didn't hate him yet.

"How many have you had, huh?" Mary rolls her eyes, turning back to the bar. "You can barely stand, I'm cutting you off."

"Why are you always trying to ruin my life?" she asks, not bothering to look at him. "It's a private event, I can drink as much as I want."

Never in his twenty-four years of life had Steve thought he'd be in a position where he would become the responsible relative. "Where are your parents?" Steve asks, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. Not that he won't feel just a little bad about dumping her with her parents, who —Steve assumes— will be less than pleased with this.

"Dead, hopefully." She slaps her hand on the bar, yelling, "Are you fucking deaf? I asked for another shot!"

The bartender —a man who Steve thinks is about his age, even though he's already started balding— looks at Steve with wide eyes. "Nope," Steve says, shaking his head. "She's nineteen. Get her some water."

"Steve!" Mary twists to face him, clearly going faster than her brain can keep up with because she wobbles before nearly collapsing. She would have, if Steve hadn't wrapped a hand around her arm to keep her upright.

"Woah," Steve says, looking her over to make sure she's alright. "Jesus Christ, Mary. What's gotten into you? Thought you were a smart kid."

"That's what they all say," Mary mumbles, pulling her arm away from Steve's grasp and rubbing the spot his fingers must have dug in too hard. "'m not a kid."

"Sure you aren't." Steve grabs the water the bartender had placed in front of them before grabbing her heels. Surely she'd dislike losing them in a drunken stupor. "We're going outside to get some fresh air."

She sighs, but doesn't argue. That's one win, at least. Except when she turns to walk, she bumps right into a bar stool and grabs her hip with a whine.

"Shit," Steve mumbles, rubbing his forehead. What has he gotten himself into? "Alright, are you gonna puke if I carry you?" he asks.

Turning around, Mary crosses her arms in front of her. "No, but I might scream."

Awesome, Steve thinks with another sigh. Just his fucking luck. He should have just stayed with Eddie and Billy, except— No, he shouldn't have. He wouldn't have.

Even though Mary is one of the worst people he knows, he cares for her. He knows what it's like to have a bad day —a bad life, really— and need someone to care. Just one hour can change a life. Robin cared for him, back then, and if he can repay the favor in some twisted way, he's not letting the opportunity slip through his fingers.

He crouches to wind and arm around her thighs and holds on tight as he throws her over his shoulder. It's a move he's done countless times before, though none of which are very recent. He's pleased to learn he still has the strength and dexterity needed. Something he'd used back in the day to throw Carol in his pool or carry Tommy to bed when he'd been passed out drunk.

The downside is, she definitely makes good on her promise and starts screaming the moment she's upside down. "Oh my God, Steve!" She wails, slamming a fist on his lower back. He has to clench his teeth not to throw her on the floor right then and there. Talk about being ungrateful. "Put me down!"

It draws some unwanted attention from onlookers —Steve does not want to go down in Harrington history as the guy that kidnapped his cousin— which is all the more reason for him to make his way outside as quickly as he can. The venue is familiar by now and it takes no time to find his way outside.

Mary only stops screaming once he puts her down on the soft grass, making sure she doesn't fall and hurt herself. "You're the worst cousin ever," she grumbles. Her hair is a tangled mess, she still looks like a raccoon, but that familiar fire is back in her gaze. For that brief moment, all she thinks about is the fact that she hates his guts. Good.

"Right back at you. Sit down." Steve motions towards the patch of grass he'd placed her on and she does as he tells her without complaint.

Mary hugs her legs to her chest as Steve sits down next to her. There are a few stars decorating the sky. The moon looks down at them as they look up at it.

"Why do you insist on pretending you give a fuck about me?" She asks, tearing a handful of grass from the earth and sprinkling it on his pants. He doesn't bother to wipe it away. "It's fucking… Fucking stupid."

It's a question Steve wishes he'd have an acceptable answer to. The truth is, he doesn't know why he cares. He has no idea why he didn't leave her at the bar to drink herself into an early grave. But she's family. And Steve hasn't been that mean for a long time.

"Want to tell me why you're getting wasted on an empty stomach?" Steve asks, nudging her with his knee. He knows from personal experience that it is not a pleasant experience.

"You're gonna think I'm lame," she whispers, not looking at him. The lights outside of the venue cast eerie shadows over her face. She looks like a ghost.

"I already do," Steve answers, hoping some familiarity might make her feel better.

It's silent for a while. A loaded kind of silence. Steve looks away from her, staring back up at the sky. She'll talk when she's ready to talk. Or she won't, and that's alright too. He's doing all he can by sitting here and keeping her company.

A sniffle interrupts the quiet and Steve doesn't have to look at her to know she's crying. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her against his side. Her head falls onto his shoulder. They almost feel like real family now.

"I'm not going back to Oxford in the fall," she says, her voice trembling through the tears. "My parents— I—"

"Shh." Steve's thumb rubs circles into her bare shoulder. She's so small when she's not commanding the room with her sharp gaze alone. Steve had almost forgotten she's capable of having emotions, too. "Hey, it's okay," Steve mumbles when she tries to talk again, only to be interrupted by her own crying. "Take your time."

Mary wipes at her nose with her arm. Steve can't even be disgusted with how bad he feels for her. "I don't know what more I can do," she says, after her cries have quieted down a little. "They said they want me closer to home, but I don't— I hate home. I hate it, I want to be there, with my friends, but they said I'm getting distracted and sloppy and I don't—"

The realization sinks straight into his stomach. They're doing the exact same thing to her as they tried doing to him. He was never enough. There was always more he could do. And Steve agreed because, well, he had never been the smartest kid around, but Mary? She's practically a genius. She works so hard. Harder than anyone he's ever known.

It's still not enough.

"Oh, Mary…" Steve pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her small frame and letting her sob into his shoulder. He feels the tears soaking his suit jacket and couldn't care less. "I'm so sorry."

If there's anyone he didn't expect to face this, it would be her. That inevitable choice that comes gnawing at nearly every Harrington kid. Do as their parents say, follow their every wish, and continue doing so for the rest of their lives or break off and create their own path. Steve chose the latter. And he guesses Mary thought she'd be safe —happy, one way or another— choosing the former, only to realize the one ultimate truth about their family. Even more so than that whole 'honesty, loyalty and perseverance' crap.

Harringtons are never satisfied.

"I don't know what to do," she cries. Steve doesn't reply for a long time, running a hand through her hair and staring up at the sky.

What is there to do but choose? Happiness or riches. Family or friends. Autonomy or prestige.

"Sober up. Get some sleep," he ends up replying. This isn't the time to choose. She needs to be level headed about this, and even though Steve wishes he could grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her, tell her to leave this stupid family behind, it's her choice. "Everything will still suck tomorrow —especially because of the incoming hangover— but we'll find a solution, alright?"

Mary pulls back to look at him with watery eyes. "You'll help me?" Mary asks.

Her voice is so soft, so unlike the one she usually uses. Steve almost wants to cry himself. Like he could leave her to deal with this shit on her own, after everything.

Steve nods, giving her a soft smile. "That's what real family does."

More than anyone, Steve knows what it's like to feel like the disappointment of the family —the butt of the joke— and he won't let that happen to her. He won't let her parents bully her into believing she's any less incredible than she really is.

He calls her an Uber and watches over her as she finishes the entire bottle of water. They wait in silence until the Uber arrives, letting the occasional breeze run over their faces.

She doesn't say anything until he's helped her into the Uber, though she has this thoughtful look on her face. Right as he's about to close the door and send her off, she calls his name.

Her eyes are a little clearer than they were when he'd first found her, though they're still watery and she can't hold back the occasional tear from falling over her cheek. Steve hums.

"Do they hate me?" she asks. Steve feels the urge to climb into the Uber with her. To forget about Billy and Eddie to sit by her bedside all night. To comfort her when she wakes up in the morning. He doesn't.

"No," Steve replies, reaching over to brush a strand of hair that has gotten stuck against her cheek —a result from all the crying, he supposes. "They want to control you, but you can't be controlled that easily, can you?"

She shakes her head before leaning back against the seat and closing her eyes. Once again, Steve can't help but notice how small she looks. He only closes the door after she's mumbled a soft 'thanks' and stays outside for a long time after the car has already driven off.

His phone buzzes in his pocket a while later.

Mary Harrington: back safe, thanks again

"Hey, there he is!" Eddie greets him when Steve walks up to them. It hadn't been a difficult task, finding them. Eddie is perched on a bar stool, nursing a beer, while Billy is leaning against the bar next to him.

It still feels a bit like a punch, coming back inside. There's no more fresh air, only the hot stench of sweat and beer. The dance floor is alive and drunk voices pierce his eardrums over the loud music. "We thought you'd left!"

Eddie must not have been too worried, though, because he's grinning as he pats the stool next to him. Steve sits down with a sigh, waving over the bartender and asking for a shot. He needs it now more than ever.

Time is a difficult concept when his mind is running wild. He has no idea whether he spent minutes or hours outside, staring up at the sky and wondering whether things could have been different in another lifetime. He finds comfort in the fact that his family might be better in other universes, like knowing some otherworldly Steve has it better improves whatever shitshow is going on here.

It hurts to imagine it all the same. Thanksgiving dinners with smiling relatives as they talk about how proud they are of their children. He wonders if Mary and him would be like siblings, in that other universe. Whether they spoke more often, and with less venom laced in their words.

"Where would I have gone?" Steve mutters, half to himself, as he lets his head fall into his arms. The bar smells like some big mix of all the liquor sold, along with a woodsy undertone. He looks at Eddie with tired eyes.

Within a moment, Eddie's expression changes. Like Steve is some poor dog he'd hit with his car, or something equally stupid. "Hey," he says, soft and slightly clumsy as he puts a hand on the small of Steve's back. The touch would make him shiver, if he had any life left inside that tired body of his.

He can't spend the rest of his night slumped over the bar and drinking himself to death, he knows this. Mary will still be there in the morning, and he'd promised to help her. He's not about to break that because he has been caught off guard by how crappy his family can get yet again.

"Steve?" he asks. Steve hums. "We can go back to the hotel if you want. We don't have to stay here if you're not feeling it."

For a long moment, Steve debates it. Running with his tail tucked between his legs. Probably ending up in the same bed as Billy and Eddie once more, because he's given up on pretending like he can fight his heart on this. Poor Robin will have to put him back together again and so be it. She's dealt with worse.

If he were to do that, though, it would mean giving in and being weak once again. This is the last family event he goes to. And he doesn't want his memories to be tinged with sadness and longing alone. If he can make one good memory, he should.

He sits up, brushing the hair from his face. He doubts it's up to his expectations, but there's nothing to be done about that now. "No, it's alright. I wanna forget about it, try to have some fun." He gives the bartender a grateful smile as he places the overflowing shot glass in front of him before downing it.

Billy steps away from the bar, placing a hand on Eddie's shoulder as if on instinct. "Hold up for one moment. What happened? You were gone for a long time, we were worried."

Despite the fact that he'd rather do anything but talk about it, he thinks he owes them an explanation for leaving them stranded for God knows how long. He shrugs, dragging over Eddie's beer and picking at the label. "The same thing that's been happening all weekend —all my life, really. A shitty family."

He takes a long swig from Eddie's beer before slamming the bottle down on the bar with too much force. "I don't think she was prepared. Mary, I mean."

Eddie's hand twitches on the bar, like he wants to reach out but thinks better of it. Steve doesn't know why something like that would matter to him now. He's been touchy all fucking weekend. "Will she be okay?"

"I hope so," Steve says, finding that he means every last bit of it. He stands. "I doubt any of us are, really. Not while they still have a say." He holds out a hand, waiting for Eddie to take it before pulling him from his chair. He doesn't know where the sudden bravery came from —whether it's the drinks or a desperate attempt to feel a sliver of normalcy— but he does know he'd rather die than sit here and talk about his fucked up family any longer.

The music is loud and inviting. All he wants is one good memory, even if everything this weekend has done is show him how fucked he is. How he can never keep his heart out of the equation. "So," he continues, "let's forget about that for a moment. May I have this dance?"

Eddie places his free hand over his mouth and bats his lashes. A sense of gratefulness washes over Steve at Eddie's willingness to play along. It had been a gamble, after all. "I thought you'd never ask," he sighs, before turning to Billy and holding out a hand in a similar way Steve did earlier. "Coming, handsome?"

"You two have fun." Billy squeezes Eddie's hand with a soft smile and Steve takes that as his sign to pull Eddie away and onto the dance floor.

It's surprisingly easy falling into a rhythm the moment Eddie's hands are on his hips. Steve has never been much of a dancer —not unless he's blackout drunk— but it feels nice now. His arms wind around Eddie's neck like they've been doing this for ages. It might look that way, from the outside. He's glad for it.

The music feels louder where it pulses around them. It pushes them together, like a living, breathing organism. Or maybe it's just because of Eddie's proximity. It makes everything feel more. Much more.

Eddie's fingers dig into his hips, hot to the touch, even through his dress pants. The way he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip as his eyes drag over Steve in a lazy manner reminds him of Billy. Steve's breath is stuck somewhere halfway down his throat. Eddie's cheeks are flushed.

"You're blushing," Steve leans forward to say. It seems incredibly important at the moment, even more than their bodies which are only inches apart and radiating heat through their clothes. Steve can't be bothered to remember why they shouldn't be this close in the first place. All he wants to do is hold on tighter and press their bodies together until he can feel Eddie's heartbeat against his own chest.

Eddie licks his lips again, his eyes darting over Steve's face. "Oh, yeah?" he asks.

It's dangerous. Somewhere in the depths of his mind —the same place he shoves embarrassing childhood memories and all his thoughts about his family and how miserable he feels when he's around them— there's alarms ringing. Dangerous territory. Retreat in a quick, orderly manner.

Instead of listening, Steve nudges his nose along Eddie's cheek before pulling back enough to look him in the eye again. "Blushing," he says, as if he's only proving a point. Like he couldn't have simply ignored it, or unwrapped his arms from Eddie's neck.

Touching him is like a drug. The moment he got a taste all he wanted was more. And now that he's gotten more, it sets him aflame.

"You are too," Eddie says. Or, Steve thinks he says it. He watches his lips form the words with rapt attention, though the hoarse whisper could just be his own imagination. He isn't sure of a single thing anymore.

Steve frowns. "I'm what?"

The laugh that bubbles from Eddie's lips is real. Carefree. His teeth are crooked, just slightly, but it brings a certain charm to him that Steve can't look away from. He probably should. "How drunk are you?" Eddie asks.

How drunk is he? Not as much on drinks as he is on Eddie's presence. He stopped feeling those few glasses of wine the moment he started worrying about Mary, and a shot and some beer are not enough to get him drunk. There's something about Eddie, though, that makes him lose his mind entirely. That makes him want to do countless stupid things —things he would have done if he didn't have a boyfriend that's probably watching them right now.

Steve wonders if he's just watching to keep an eye on them. To make sure Steve doesn't cross any lines like he's thinking of doing. To make sure it stays at dancing, instead of evolving into something more heated.

Stupidly, he wonders whether there's something else about it. Like watching them dance makes him feel a certain way. Like… Maybe watching it grow into something more, wouldn't make him punch Steve's teeth in.

"I'm not," Steve replies, just a tad too late. He isn't sure if Eddie believes him. Or if he cares. He could always blame his boldness on the drinks, if it comes to that. Even though he knows it would make him feel sick with the guilt of crossing a boundary.

What is he even doing?

They don't talk after that. Eddie just throws his head back, letting his hair fall over his shoulders with closed eyes. It exposes the pale lines of his throat and Steve would give anything to be allowed to brush his lips over it. All the money to his name for a single kiss to a birthmark near his pulse. He barely keeps himself from doing so, if only because he can still feel Billy's hot gaze on his back, metaphorical or not.

Part of him knows that inviting Eddie to dance with him was a bad choice. Steve's hands itch to slide underneath the collar of Eddie's shirt and touch his hot skin. To let his fingers glide across the smoothness, to dig in his nails, like he has any right to. He doesn't, he knows he doesn't, but that can't stop him from longing.

Eddie moves with the music in a way he's never seen —or felt— before. It's like it possesses him, makes him move along the rhythm in ways that feel like the flowing of a river, yet are as erratic as the ocean. He drags Steve right along with him, over the waves and the curves like he's been doing it his whole life.

Steve only realizes his eyes have fallen closed when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He's roughly turned around, torn from Eddie's hold of him, broken from the trance of the music. Arms wrap around his waist before he stumbles and makes a complete fool of himself.

There's no time to appreciate the way Eddie's warm chest presses against his back because Billy closes in on him. He's too close, really. It's something Steve never thought he'd say, but the pure rage in his expression does not bode well for him. For a moment Steve is terrified he's about to get his teeth punched in for real, but all Billy does is grab the sides of his face and lean so close there's only a breath of space between them.

The breath caught in his throat turns into a whine. Steve does everything to keep it contained.

"Can I kiss you?" Billy asks with a hushed whisper. Steve doubts he would have been able to hear him over the music if it weren't for the fact there's barely an inch between them. He isn't sure he'd be better off, because his voice is as rough as the look in his eyes. Eyes that are pointed downward, to his lips. "Steve?"

"What?" Steve swallows. Surely he hadn't heard that right.

Billy presses their foreheads together. Puffs of hot air land on Steve's lips. He has no way to tell, but he knows for certain that he's blushing now. "Can I kiss you?" Billy asks again. Steve can't even be glad about the fact he's not losing his mind because what the fuck? "Please," Billy breathes.

"Say yes," Eddie whispers from behind him. His lips brush against the shell of Steve's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. It sounds like a desperate plea, but Steve lets it move him all the same.

"Yes," Steve sighs.

The word is punched from his lungs not a second before Billy's lips are on his.

Billy kisses like he's hungry. Like he's spent centuries locked away in an inter-dimensional prison and he's been deprived of pure, undiluted, human pleasure all that time. He's rough and for a second Steve thinks he might have fainted if it weren't for Eddie's arms around his waist and Billy's lips pressed to his —kissing him almost feverishly, aggressively, like he's trying to prove a point Steve isn't aware of.

Steve's hands fist in the front of Billy's shirt as he kisses him back with the same kind of helpless anger. He hasn't known pleasure, real pleasure, until now. Their lips are slick with spit, hot and careless where they move over each other, trying to memorize the other person —the way they respond, the exact shape of their mouth— with one bruising kiss.

Kissing has always been something Steve enjoyed, though kissing feels like a strange way to describe whatever they're doing. It's kind of like Billy is trying to eat him alive and Steve is on the verge of letting him. He's never felt so good. So much.

Billy's fingers dig into his jaw as he pries Steve's lips apart with his tongue. Steve can't hold back the sound that escapes him —something akin to a whine— as his tongue slips into his mouth, hot and wet as it turns the kiss from powerful to dirty.

One of Billy's hands winds into his hair, tugging him even closer and making their teeth clash where they're still trying so desperately to become one. They're both responding to it, pushing when the other pulls. Billy nicks his lip, introducing the iron-y taste of blood into the mix of spit and sweat and drinks.

It's everything Steve had dreamt of and more. Billy tastes exactly like he thought he would, kisses exactly like Steve assumed he might. It's deep. Powerful. Angry. Steve has never known something so fucking pure as this.

Faintly, he feels a pair of lips working at his neck, sucking marks into skin that has been unblemished for far too long. One of his hands parts from Billy's shirt as he grasps the back of Eddie's head, tangling his fingers in his hair. To do what, he has no clue. He wants him closer, wants him gone. Wants this moment to never end.

They're not as much dancing anymore as they are working together in one dirty, frantic movement. He would have been embarrassed if he still had a single fuck left to give about what his family thinks of him. Let them watch. Let them judge. It's not like they wouldn't have done the same if he showed up alone —or not at all.

Eddie bites his neck, making Steve arch as he tightens his hand in Eddie's hair. "Fuck," he gasps. The only word that comes to mind, the only one that feels appropriate to use. Billy grins against his mouth, kisses him harder while Eddie smooths his tongue over the mark he'd left.

The heat is all Steve registers. Of Billy's mouth on his —sucking at his tongue with too much skill for Steve to be entirely comfortable with— and Eddie's arms wrapped around his waist as he pulls him closer.

It's then that he feels a hard line press against his butt. It snaps him back into his body, back into the reality that is making out like teenagers on the dance floor where his whole family can see. His cousin's wedding. His parents who have been nagging him since the rehearsal dinner. "Fuck," he breathes again, pushing weakly at Billy's chest. He wants a space to gather his thoughts, not make him think Steve wants to do anything but continue this. "What is— What're you—"

Eddie's dick nudges against the seam of his pants while his lips work their way up to his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth and making Steve's own dick kick in his boxers. He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. Licks at his lips to taste blood and salt.

Billy, on the other hand, looks awfully composed despite his red lips and Steve's hand twisted in the fabric of his button-up. He's holding on so tightly a part of him is afraid of tearing right through the expensive fabric, but there's not a single pink blotch on his cheeks. It's unfair.

"I'm proving," Billy starts, voice rough and deep. He's slightly out of breath and even though it's not much, it makes Steve's heart thump against his chest in an irregular rhythm. His hand cups Steve's jaw more gently now, running a thumb over his bottom lip. Steve shivers. "That I don't play favorites."

The words don't make an ounce of sense to Steve's kiss-addled brain. He can't be bothered to think too hard about it either, because Eddie's lips are on the shell of his ear again, a hot breath fanning across his skin when he says, "Please say you're ready to come back to the room with us now."

There's no way to deny him. Not when he sounds so fucking wrecked already. All Steve can do is wonder what kind of sounds he'll make when he's truly gone.

"Yes," Steve croaks.

The words get stuck in his throat for just a moment, like they were just waiting to be punched from his lungs. That's right, he supposes. Because agreeing to this means agreeing to more than just a few kisses that can be chalked up to simple pretense. It means agreeing to whatever follows and Steve can't bother pretending he has any restraint left.

He's been waiting for this for… Well, since he met them. He doubts Billy and Eddie are still —or ever were— clueless for his affections towards them. The moment Billy asked for a kiss, it would have been clear as day. All those thoughts Steve pretended he could keep behind lock and key flooded his mind.

There's a reason he'd buckled so easily when Eddie nudged him, feeding him a word that was on the tip of his tongue to begin with. He hadn't been able to help himself from imagining the way they'd kiss him —fuck him— if the situation wasn't so complicated.

Except maybe it doesn't have to be. A dangerous, selfish thought, though Steve can't help himself. Plenty of people make mistakes. Plenty of people do things they probably shouldn't for lust. Steve's allowed to make a mistake every once in a while.

Even if he won't ever see it as one.

Eddie and Billy might. They might see it as a rushed one night stand with the weird guy that hired them to chaperone him to a cousin's wedding. They might shake their heads in a few months' time, wondering however they could be as stupid to sleep with him —if that's truly where the night's headed.

In a certain amount of time they may start to see Steve the way he sees himself, now. Cheap and easy for agreeing to go with them so easily. Impulsive in ways he hasn't allowed himself to be since before Nancy, because he couldn't allow himself to be.

If he had a pen and paper he could make a list about why the two of them are different. He'd write about Billy's grins and Eddie's eyes. He'd write about the way they never left him stranded, even when his family had been so cruel to them. Maybe he'd even write about the way they let him sleep in bed with them, though that had been the start of many lines crossed and Steve doesn't know if he's biased.

But, fuck. He only just met them yesterday. A little over thirty six hours and Steve is agreeing to go sleep with them? They're practically strangers, he barely knows a thing about them. Not more than they'd told him and who knows what parts of that are true.

Robin would have talked him out of this, if he called. She would have told him all the things he already knows himself and he'd agree and maybe get the hell out of there before any of this ever happened.

None of that matters now, though. He hadn't called her. For the first time in a long time he wants something —two someones— so bad he's throbbing in more ways than one. He can't back out now. There's no reason to. Let Robin chew him out when all of this is over, he just wants to have this now.

He aches when Eddie's hand slides down his arm. It's too sensual of a touch for the situation they're in —at the dance floor of his cousin's wedding, fuck— and Steve just barely remembers to hold in his moan at the contact.

His vision swims as he raises his eyes to Billy's again. He's wearing a grin that's grown more crooked than the one's Steve's used to, like he's not really here as much as in the hotel room. Already undressing Steve with his eyes.

Eddie gives his hand a firm tug. "Well? What are we waiting for?"

The room blurs when Eddie pulls him away from the dance floor. There's flashing lights dancing in his vision, open-mouthed stares of his family where they've been watching him for God knows how long. Steve tries not to think about it, honestly can't think about it with the way the kiss has left him drunk and craving more.

Distantly, he hopes Billy is following behind them. Steve certainly is in no shape to drive —though he doubts Billy would even let him at his car to begin with— and, well, he doesn't want to do whatever it is that they're going to do without him.

The outside air hits him like a slap in the face. He can't tell whether things had been so hot —he can think of some things hot, though— inside or if it's gotten colder. He still revels in being able to gulp down heaps of fresh air, cooling off his burning cheeks.

It also means that there's some space for doubt to creep back into his mind. A one night stand. With two guys that have been dating since they got out of high school. Steve is in way over his head, he hasn't even had a one night stand in ages —longer than Billy and Eddie have been dating, but who's counting— and sex? Being intimately familiar with his right hand does not translate when there's other, incredibly attractive, factors in play

At least there's the added comfort knowing that he won't have to see them anymore after this weekend. If he fucks up majorly or if they decide to shun him after this, there's no reason to beat himself up over it. Just because that kiss made Steve crave more for lifetimes to come doesn't mean Billy and Eddie agree with the sentiment.

His back meets the side of the care before he realizes what's happening. Warm hands run over his torso as Eddie slots their mouths together. Almost hotter than the first kiss had been, now that his lips had time to cool off in the fresh air.

Eddie's first touches are slow, teasing. A brush of his tongue, a peck against the corner of Steve's mouth. One of his hands comes up underneath his shirt and scratches over the skin of his stomach where his abs had disappeared a few years ago. Steve's hand finds Eddie's hip, if only because he needs someplace to hold on to.

If Billy's kiss was a thing of passion and rage, Eddie's is careful touches and almost like a narrative, in a way. He takes his time building up to it, keeping things sweet and gentle despite the fact Steve's aching in his pants and shaking from those warm hands sliding over his body.

When he kissed Billy —he can't help but compare the two, even though he's not trying to find a winner, of sorts— they'd shared control. Billy pushed and Steve pushed back. But with Eddie? There's not a sliver of control in Steve's hands. With Eddie's tongue in his mouth, Steve can't think to do anything but allow him to move Steve however he likes.

It's a gentle type of control. Eddie kisses with feeling and Steve is weak in the fucking knees. When Eddie traces his tongue over Steve's, he shivers, almost flinching back from the touch. Not because he's scared, but because he knows he couldn't take over even if he'd wanted to.

Kissing Billy had been easier, in that regard. Less confronting.

A hand comes down on the car's roof, breaking Steve and Eddie apart with a jump. Steve turns to see Billy waving his keys impatiently. "I'm not getting arrested for public indecency."

"Again," Eddie whispers, winking at Steve before giving him enough space to open the door and scramble into the backseat. His mind is still reeling from all the revelations the night has brought him. That, and being kissed within an inch of his life. Twice.

He's surprised to see another body follow him into the backseat of the car, pulling the door closed a little too harshly before pushing Steve onto his back against the leather. He allows —he has no choice, really— Eddie to attack his mouth with a renewed kind of energy,

He'd accuse Eddie of trying to imitate Billy with his ministrations if it weren't for the fact it felt so undoubtedly Eddie-like. Where Billy had been thorough, Eddie is nothing but a pleasurable mess. He doesn't tease or care to be gentle any longer, grabbing a hold of Steve's jaw as he works his mouth over Steve's, spit easing the way their lips slide together.

The familiar sound of music blasting from the car's radio makes way for silence, only to be interrupted by Steve's gasps and the way Eddie hums when finally licking into Steve's mouth. Steve is racing to catch up with him, unable to do anything but let Eddie kiss him while curling his hands into the back of Eddie's suit jacket.

It should be confronting, hearing himself make out with Eddie. All it does is make him run hotter, make him want it more. Eddie pulls gently at his bottom lip and Steve makes a sound he's never heard himself make before —he used to be more of the quiet type, but he assumes years and years of sharing a bed with only himself have made him desperate.

"God, are you gonna—" Billy cuts himself off before Steve can figure out what he's trying to say. It's like he's underwater, Billy's voice is just a soft rumble above the surface. He'd much rather stay down here, kissing Eddie until he runs out of breath and then some. Coming up for air is the last thing on his mind. He might drown, but he's okay with that, as long as Eddie's lips continue caressing his.

Eddie kisses the corner of his mouth before working his way down to Steve's neck. His nose presses against the underside of his jaw as he worries Steve's skin between his teeth. Everything about him is warm, his hands, his mouth. "What?" Eddie breathes against Steve's neck. Steve can't help but shiver again and he feels Eddie's lips pulling into a smile. "You jealous, sweetheart?

"Fuck off," Billy grumbles. He doesn't sound particularly put off, but the words still make Steve push at Eddie's chest before he can continue making him feel good enough to forget his morals.

"Wait, please," he breathes, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut until he feels a warm hand cup the side of his face. When he looks, Eddie's head is suspended above his, cheeks flushed red. A detail Steve can't help but file away for later.

More importantly, he looks worried. There's a crease between his eyebrows and though his lips look so delicious painted red, his mouth is pulled into a frown. "I don't— Is this—"

Steve groans, squeezing his eyes shut again. He can't focus when Eddie is looking at him like that, with his dark rimmed eyes and spit slick lips. Eddie gives him time, though, patting his hand down his cheek as the car rocks beneath them. He hadn't even realized they'd started driving.

"You're dating," Steve ends up saying, when he finds that he's been quiet for much too long without any real start to expressing all the worries floating through his mind. It seems as good a place as any.

"What? Really?" Steve opens his eyes to see Eddie wear an expression of fake-surprise. "Oh my God, Billy, are we dating?"

"Stop messing with him," Billy replies. "Let him talk."

Swallowing, Steve takes that as a sign to continue. "You're drunk and I don't— I don't want to cause trouble because I know it was all just pretend and—"

"Pretend?" Billy interrupts him with a short laugh. Steve tilts his head to look at the rear view mirror, only to find Billy is already watching him. It's tilted so that Billy can see every little thing Steve and Eddie get up to in the backseat. Steve's breath gets stuck in his throat as those icy blue eyes settle on him again. He doesn't think he'll ever get enough of that. "Was it pretend when Eds was moaning your name into my mouth yesterday?

That… That can't be right. Steve's throat goes dry and he blinks, desperate to see through the illusion he's sure is there. "What?"

"Or was it all pretend when Billy just couldn't keep his fucking hands to himself before the wedding after seeing you all sleepy and fuck this morning?" Eddie continues. He hasn't stopped stroking the side of Steve's face and if Steve were any more delusional, he'd think the way Eddie looks at him borders on affection.

"What?" he asks, once more. This morning. When Steve had fallen on his ass, when he'd been a mess without his hair done and stammering on about crossing lines because Eddie and him had been all wrapped up when he awoke. There's nothing attractive about that. Nothing.

Eddie leans down and kisses him. It's short and sweet and his breath ghosts across Steve's lips when he whispers, "We've talked about it, Stevie."

"You have?"

The entire situation screams too good to be true. How or why would either of them want anything to do with him —plain old Steve Harrington, who's losing any claim on his father's money because he insists on daring him time and time again, who didn't go to college because he didn't get in anywhere, who would rather spend his entire life brewing coffee than actually make something of himself— when they have each other. Both of them are incredibly hot, kind, loving— Steve could go on for days.

"Stop overthinking it, pretty boy," Billy says. It's quite the difficult task for a person who hasn't really stopped thinking since he started. Sometime after Nancy broke up with him he'd realized the world in which he's King was all just make belief. The real world was much less pretty —though Steve can't help but breathe more easily now he's no longer in the spotlight.

"You want me?" Steve can't help but ask. He can't quiet those last straying thoughts, not until he's got all the confirmation he needs. And if they grow bored of his insecurities, they can leave and Steve might be better off.

But if they don't… Steve supposes it's not too strange of a thought for them to want him. For the night, at least. Threesomes have become all the rage, if he is to believe those weird girly magazines Robin keeps bringing into their break room for kicks. It's just sex. He'd told Eddie before, he's not a prude.

Steve can deal with the aftermath, with being left if he's not good enough to be kept around for their pleasure. Hell, maybe even if he is good enough. There's no reason for them to want to keep him around after their little escapade. Steve has had casual sex before, he can do it one more time. His self control has been crumbling for hours, there's no reason for him to pretend he has any dignity left.

Eddie's eyes seem to darken as he looks down at him. There's something possessive in the gaze, something that decidedly should not belong to a person like Steve. He presses a long, close-mouthed —but no less intense— kiss against Steve's lips. He doesn't bother pulling back when he speaks next, whispering harsh words against Steve's mouth like he intends for him to swallow them whole.

"And we'll show you how much we do, if you'll let us."

A flush runs down his body at the determination in Eddie's voice and all he can do in response is surge up and kiss him again. Sloppy and wet and as he pours all the want he feels for them into the kiss, letting Eddie taste just how gone he is for them.

This time around, Eddie lets Steve take control. Whether it's because of pity or curiosity, Steve doesn't care. He twists them around in the backseat —an impressive feat for the lack of space they share— reveling in the way Eddie flops onto his back beneath him, hair spread out.

He wants to tell them how pretty it is, but he's still walking on thin ice. The wrong word, the wrong move and they'll leave him stranded, broken, alone. He can't risk that.

Instead, he leans over and licks into Eddie's mouth. Actions are good. Actions don't betray how he really feels for them. He pulls Eddie's shirt from his pants and slides an impatient hand over the hot skin of his stomach, scratching at his happy trail, trying to find all the spots that make him shiver and moan.

Eddie arches off the seats with a pretty little whine and Steve hears Billy mumble something he can't quite make out. Eddie —who has already become attuned to him from countless years spent together— smiles against Steve's lips, though.

Before Steve can ask, one of Eddie's hands slides into the back of his hair, pulling. "I've got you all figured out, big boy," Eddie hums. It's a clear display of control, even with the pretense of giving it up earlier. They both know it, Steve is only following Eddie's silent demands.

Steve narrows in on the smooth skin of Eddie's neck now that he finally can. He licks at his pulse point, tasting salt where his lips had tasted more like beer and chocolate. His smell is what really gets him, though. It's dark and so distinctly Eddie that it can't help but remind him of all those times Eddie had wrapped an arm around his waist and held him close.

'We've talked about it.' When? When had they talked about it, about him? All those touches Steve chalked up to acting, had they been more real than he'd dared to assume? Did they mean something after all?

He wants them to. Even if all it meant was the fact Eddie and Billy want to sleep with him. He'll take anything he can get.

Steve can't help but suck a mark into the side of Eddie's neck. He's never been one for leaving marks, but he's always been possessive. It would look so pretty on him. And more importantly, it would remind Steve of just what they'd done. When the morning comes and he looks at it, he won't be able to fool himself into thinking it had all been some vivid dream.

Eddie had been his, even if it was just for a brief moment.

It's stupid, he knows it is. Eddie doesn't belong to him. Eddie isn't his boyfriend, nowhere near it. But tonight? Steve's allowed. He's allowed to be selfish and to want all those things that he'd pushed to the back of his mind earlier. He's allowed to worry the skin of Eddie's neck between his teeth before smoothing his tongue over the mark. He's allowed to suck and lick and be fucking possessive, because for tonight Eddie is as much his as he is Billy's.

Eddie's hand tightens in his hair, pulling him closer as he lets out a breathy moan. It goes straight to Steve's cock. "Fuck, Stevie," he sighs, "where've you been all my life, huh?"

It doesn't feel right to reply, not with Billy in the front seat. Surely, he's enough for Eddie. He's just blabbering to make Steve feel better. To make him fuck Eddie, maybe. But there is no way in hell Steve is doing something Billy can't, all he really is doing is sucking marks into his neck like a middle school kid that just learned what a hickey is.

Eddie keens when Steve sinks his teeth into the juncture of his neck. "Kiss me, Stevie. Kiss me again."

A sharp pull on his hair makes him obey. Their lips slam together like they've been doing this for fucking centuries. His lip splits again and Eddie moans as the taste hits his tongue, acting like it's the best thing he's tasted since the creation of coffee.

Steve thinks Eddie's moans might be the prettiest sound he's ever heard. Where Billy had been more on the composed side, Eddie seems to be losing his head entirely. Steve knows how talkative he is on a daily basis, he's fucking elated to learn that it translates into him not being able to stop himself from making all sorts of lovely noises in bed. Maybe not caring enough to stop himself.

"Fuck," Steve gasps as he feels one of Eddie's hands grope for his ass. He knows there isn't enough room to actually do anything, but the promise is there and Steve cannot wait until they get to the hotel room and, more importantly, that huge bed with the soft sheets. He just wants to slot their hips together and grind into Eddie to find some sliver of relief.

His dick is throbbing. Hard enough to hurt, probably leaking into his underwear at this very moment. He can't really blame himself either, he's been waiting for this for… Well, it feels like years. Maybe he really should've gotten laid every once in a while, because getting this kind of a reaction from a little making out is embarrassing to say the least.

It's all those sounds —the wet slide of his lips against Eddie's, a harsh intake of breath that might have belonged to him, his own moans— combined with the way Eddie has taken control yet again makes him want to turn into putty. Eddie sucks on his tongue and all it does is make Steve's dick kick in his pants, wanting more. His heartbeat is somewhere in his eardrums and his throat at the same time. When Eddie reaches up and roughly thumbs against one of Steve's nipples through his shirt, Steve thinks he might come.

"Stevie," Eddie moans. He pulls him forward, like he's trying to find some way they can comfortably fuck on the backseats of a moving car, only to huff in annoyance when it doesn't work. He sucks at Steve's bottom lip, sliding the hand that was in his hair to the back of his neck to tilt his head just the way he wants it.

The car abruptly pulls to a stop not a second later and Steve feels another hand in his hair, pulling him away from Eddie and half over the front seats of the Camaro before his lips connect with Billy's.

Although the kiss is shorter than the one on the dance floor, it is no less passionate. Steve is still reeling by the time Billy pulls back, his mind filled with all kinds of sensations bound to Billy and Eddie —their hands, their mouths, the sounds of their voices.

He blinks as Billy's hand pulls away from him. There's a hand on his chest, Eddie's, pushing him toward the door. Right, the hotel room. The big bed that's in there, waiting for them.

They scramble out of the car and Steve is already halfway to the hotel when he realizes the only footsteps he hears are his own. He turns around to see Eddie leaned against the side of the car, Billy's hands on his waist as he presses their lips together. Eddie's fingers tangle in Billy's hair, pulling and—

"Hey!" Steve calls. He's not sure where the confidence came from, because an hour ago he would have simply shut the fuck up and went to the hotel room with the knowledge they forgot about him. That they changed their minds and don't want to fuck him after all.

Now, though, all he can think about is the fact that they made a promise. He intends for them to keep it. He didn't just ruin his life with a few good kisses for nothing.

Their kiss breaks and Eddie sags back against the car, gulping in breaths as he blinks at Steve. Billy looks over his shoulder, not bothering to take his hands off of Eddie's body. He doubts he can. If it were Steve, he wouldn't want to stop touching them, ever.

"You jealous, pretty boy?"

The words sting, if only just a little bit. There's no denying that there's some truth in the claim. It's hard not to be jealous when the guys he's about to sleep with have been in a committed relationship for ages, while he only just met them.

They already know all the things that drive the other wild. How to kiss them, how to place their hands. All those little spots that can draw those sweet noises out of them. Steve is playing catch-up and he doesn't know if he'll ever truly know them as well as they know each other.

He has to remind himself that it doesn't matter. It's not like they're dating. He doesn't need to know their entire life's stories to fuck them good.

Maybe he's just a little more horny than he is jealous.

The fact that they're making him wait is almost as hot as it is infuriating. They're very much aware that he'll stand here for however long it takes until they can pull away from each other. They know, without a doubt, that Steve will wait for them.

That doesn't mean that he wants to, though. If it were up to him, they'd already be locked inside the hotel room, stripped down to their socks and working together in one frantic heap. Or, at the very least, they could wait until they're inside the room to start making out, so that Steve could jerk off while he watches.

Bunch of inconsiderate assholes is what they are. Steve grins.

"Maybe," he replies. He's sure to keep his tone of voice vague, because he isn't sure how they'd react if he told them all the things he'd be thinking about. Surely, they'd find him too possessive. Hell, he finds himself too possessive.

They're not his boyfriends.

There's only one thing he needs to do —besides fucking them so good they won't be able to forget about him if they tried— and that's remember that. They're not his. They're just his maybe-friends that want to fuck. He can do that.

"Thought you promised to show me how much you want me."

Billy takes a big step towards him, leaving Eddie to gather himself. Steve watches him for a moment, running a hand through his hair and straightening his jacket, before he looks back to Billy. His eyes seem darker than they were a moment ago, though Steve assumes it might just be a play of light. Or lack thereof. "And I fully intend to keep that promise."

Tilting his head, Steve lets his eyes go lidded. It's almost fun pretending like this isn't affecting him as much as it truly is. Because, God, is it affecting him. "Oh, yeah?" he asks. "Gonna do that from over there or d'you wanna touch me too?"

He turns his back, setting a lazy pace as he makes his way towards the glass doors of the hotel. There's no doorman this time of night —which might be for the best— so Steve pushes the doors open himself.

It isn't hard luring Billy and Eddie inside like this. It feels a little like a game. With Billy and Eddie being the hunters and Steve being the prey, and all that. It makes a shiver run up his spine, something excited tingling in his lower belly. There's nothing more he wants than to get caught, but he's not against making them work for it.

The light of the elevator blinks in invitation. Steve looks over his shoulder before getting in, Eddie and Billy have followed the pace he set. They're making their way towards the hotel as he presses the button to their floor and the doors slide closed.

Adrenaline rushes through his body as he leans against the wall. That and the anticipation for the rest of the night.

The mirror in front of him shows him how much of a mess he looks. His hair is mused from the hands that have been running through it, falling over his forehead and sticking up at odd angles. His suit jacket is crooked, hanging off one shoulder where Eddie might have attempted to pull it off of him at some point. Some of the buttons of his shirt —both at the collar and the bottom— have popped open to make space for greedy, wandering hands.

There's a smear of blood on his chin and he licks his thumb before wiping it away. His lip is still split but running his tongue over it tells him it's closed up sometime between Billy kissing him and getting in the elevator. Despite that, his lips remain red and swollen.

His eyes glide down his neck, where Eddie has decorated his neck with various marks. Bites and hickeys that are a deep purple beneath the harsh elevator lights. He has no idea how Eddie managed to make him look so fucked out in the short ride from the venue to the hotel, but he can't really be mad about it either. He presses his thumb to one of the marks on his throat and bites his lip through the sting.

The most telling sign, though, is the tent at the front of his pants.

His cock strains against the fabric, hard and aching. The night has only just started, but he's so hard it's nearly painful. So ready for release, even though all they did was make out.

It's fair, though, he supposes. He's been pretending not to watch the way the two of them move through the room, the way Billy's tongue darts out to wet his lips or the way Eddie runs a hand through his hair while staring at him so openly. The two of them have had no problem touching him where everyone can see, acting like spending time away from him is a punishment more cruel than death.

And then there's that long slope of Eddie's neck. The V of Billy's shirt where it shows his necklace nestled between those juicy pecks. If anything, Steve's showed a great deal of restraint by not jumping them the moment he met them.

Besides, a simple make out session does not feel like that. It had been little less than foreplay.

Though, thinking about it, everything has felt like foreplay up until this point. Eddie's arm wrapped around his waist. The way Billy would look at him through the rear view mirror. All those times Steve thought they were acting just a little too much like actual boyfriends.

He wonders whether they'd been thinking of fucking him all along.

Staring at himself in the mirror, he palms himself through his pants. There's a flush high on his cheeks and his mouth can't help but drop open as he finally gets a sliver of the relief he's been craving for God knows how long. Ever since Billy kissed him. Or when he'd caught the two of them making out last night.

Maybe since he first saw Eddie's picture pop up on his phone a few days ago.

It all seems so surreal, that he's only known them for a few days. Even less if you don't count the few messages exchanged between him and Billy before they met. The knowledge falls away for grander things when he works a hand over himself. It stops mattering, because despite looking fucked out already, he's almost infatuated with his own mirrored reflection.

Part of him has the mind to wonder whether there's camera's in the elevator. Whether there's some person on the other end, hotel security or someone else, staring at him as he stares at himself. Let them, he thinks, he looks fucking hot like this. He hopes they're enjoying the show, whoever they are.

The elevator dings as the doors slide open on their floor. It's almost difficult to leave himself behind, but he finds his way outside and lets the doors slide closed behind him.

He's shivering by the time he reaches the door, hands shaking as he fumbles for the keycard he must have put in his pocket before he left. The air in the hotel is decidedly cooler than the air outside had been and he finds that he craves the heat of hands on him more than ever.

Like he summoned them, a pair of hands find his hips. He doesn't have to turn around to know they belong to Billy. They're just a bit broader than Eddie's, without the long fingers Steve can imagine reaching inside him so well. They're warmer. Sturdier.

A hard cock grinds against his ass and hot breaths caress his ear. Steve has to brace himself against the door not to stumble. "You tryin' to escape, Harrington?"

"Don't call me Harrington when you're humping me like a bitch in heat," Steve breathes, pushing back into his touch. He's a simple man with simple wishes. All that relief he'd found earlier disappeared the moment Billy put his hands on him again.

"What? It doesn't get you hot reclaiming the name your family ruined for you?" Billy sucks at his neck, making Steve arch. He's going to look like he lost a fight with a particularly aggressive mosquito after tonight, but it feels too good to tell him to stop. Especially with that huge… promise pressed against his ass.

Steve slides the keycard through the reader and throws open the door. It's quite the regret, stepping away from Billy's touch, but they've got all night. He can't give in too easily or he'd have let him fuck him in the hallway.

Throwing the keycard on the nearest surface, he shrugs out of his jacket. When he turns, Eddie is already kicking off his shoes while Billy leans against the doorway, a cocky grin on his face.

"You gonna close the door or d'you wanna give the entire hotel a show?" Steve asks, crouching down to untie his own shoes.

Billy huffs a laugh, pulling the door closed. He steps into the room. "A show? You're that confident of yourself?"

Falling back into his old King Steve persona is easier than he'd have thought. The banter, the sex appeal. All aspects are familiar to him, but it still doesn't feel quite the same as it had back in high school. There's no one to keep his mask on for, and the nerves that had been thrumming through his body in his teenage years have made space for the hot sting of arousal.

"I don't have any reason not to be." Steve straightens. He keeps his chin held high even though he knows it's been ages since he's actually had sex with another person. It shouldn't be a big deal, but years of abstinence have made him shaky and uncertain.

Billy walks up to him, grabbing a hold of his chin and pulling him close. The fingers of his other hand curl in the neck of his shirt. "For some reason," he starts, voice low and husky in ways that will haunt Steve until the end of time, "that sounds like a load of crap."

And then he kisses him.

It's rougher than it was before, like the fact that there's nobody staring at them —nobody but Eddie, if Steve's lucky— is egging Billy on to kiss him harder and without as much care. The room spins as Billy walks him backwards without ever breaking the kiss before pushing Steve onto the bed. The mattress is as soft as he remembers it being. Steve barely gets the chance to situate himself before Billy's on him again.

"You're eager," Steve mumbles between bruising hot kisses. He doesn't know what possesses him, but something about Billy is tugging at the need to prove himself. That familiar competitiveness he'd felt being on the basketball team in high school with darker undertones.

Billy grinds their hips together, making Steve's breath stutter into his mouth. It's like his entire body is tingling, ears ringing as he drags Billy closer by the hair. "Pot, kettle," Billy huffs a moment later.

Before he knows what he's doing, Steve flips Billy onto his back— it might be that same need to prove himself that makes him do it. Honestly, he doesn't care what makes him do it, all he cares about is that feeling he gets when Billy is finally underneath him, looking up as Steve straddles his hips.

Billy's eyes are wide and Steve moves his hips in a slow rocking motion, just to see Billy's eyebrows pull to the center of his face. His cock is hard, possibly painfully so, where it presses into Steve's ass. Billy's hair is fanned out over the pillow, making him look more serene than Steve ever thought of him being. He wastes no time before diving in and kissing him again. Billy meets him in the middle.

From this vantage point, Steve has much more control than he did before. It feels like it, at least. Billy makes it clear that it's only an illusion by licking into his mouth and bucking his hips to grind into Steve at a dirty pace. He should have expected as much, with everything he knows about Billy. He doubts he ever truly lets go, lets someone else take care of him for once.

Within no time the two of them have worked up a steady rhythm. Their kiss turned into more of a slow, dirty slide with too much tongue and lips that are well on their way to bruising if Billy has any say in it.

Steve can't help but miss Eddie like a half-formed thought. There, but gone before he can truly grasp it. No doubt the consequence of Billy's harsh grip on his hips, grinding him down against his hard cock like they're animals. Steve can only think about a grand total of three things.

The way his lips press to Billy's, now moving in a frantic manner like they're making up for lost time. Steve knows this isn't the case. They're just desperate, but his mind is a foggy place right now and he can't help but take what he can get. He's been doing it since he's been allowed, maybe even before then.

If he really felt nothing towards Billy and Eddie, he'd have fought them on the matter of sharing a bed. If he wanted to keep himself restrained —safe from what else would turn into an inevitable heartbreak— he would have pulled away from their touches, instead of indulging them time and time again.

Then there's those familiar hands, sliding all over his body until they settle at his hips. Billy's fingers have slipped underneath the waistband of his pants and they burn on his fragile skin. Exactly how he wants them to feel. If he gets anything out of this interaction —besides the fact he's fucking the two hottest guys he knows— he wants it to be the imprints. He wants to carry this moment with him for days to come, wants to be able to show off the marks to Robin when he asks if it was worth it.

What really gets him is Billy's scent. He'd always been faintly aware of the fact the man smelled really nice —if only because his grandmother commented on it, something he doesn't want to think about in this compromising situation— but being close to him like this makes him realize it all the more.

There's a certain darkness about his scent, something that he can't help but associate with the ocean at night. It mixes with the harsh tang of his sweat —Steve would have never thought he'd appreciate the smell of someone's sweat, but here he is— and something lighter, like a flower Steve can't name. The undercurrent of smoke is familiar and soothing.

One of Steve's hands pulls away from Billy's jaw to slide down his neck. It follows the chain of his necklace until he feels the soft expanse of what he refers to as cleavage in his mind underneath his palm.

The tag on his necklace has been warmed by his skin and all Steve can think about is the fact that he wishes it were him that could spend his entire life being crushed against Billy's chest. He might be losing it a little.

It reminds him of something he'd been wanting since he first saw him. Steve pushes at Billy's chest, pulling himself away from his lips and stopping the rhythm they'd been building up. "Wait," he says, out of breath. He rests their foreheads together for a brief moment, willing his lightheadedness to go away, before opening his eyes.

Billy is already looking up at him. A combination of annoyance and concern on his features. Steve sits back, taking a deep breath to center himself. He slides his hand down until he can hook a finger into Billy's shirt. "Can I?"

A flicker of control fades from Billy's expression. His pupils are dark and dilated, his mouth dropped open in a soft pant. His hands twitch on Steve's hips, like he's considering his options.

Steve is just about to take back his offer when Billy nods. He must know it's about more than just taking off his shirt and Steve hates to imagine he's been caught staring. Can't really blame himself either, though.

Slowly, Steve starts unbuttoning his shirt. A body settles behind him, warm arms winding around his waist. "I was feeling a little left out over there," Eddie teases, brushing his lips against Steve's neck. It makes him shiver, tilting his head sideways for Eddie to have more room should he want it.

He does.

Eddie presses fleeting kisses into Steve's neck as Steve reaches back to pet a hand over Eddie's hair. "Don't worry, we haven't forgotten about you," he says, slightly horrified at the realization he sounds pretty fucked out already.

Pulling him closer, Eddie rocks against the small of Steve's back. Soft, almost mindless motions, like something primal has overtaken him, like he really can't help himself. Steve has to blink a few times to refocus on the task at hand, or he would have bent over for him right there.

It doesn't take long before all of the buttons on Billy's shirt have been undone and Steve opens his shirt with a certain amount of care. Billy deserves it, every last bit of it. If he's allowing Steve a sliver of control right now, he will prove that he deserves to be taken care of as much as any one of them.

From all the tits he's seen in his lifetime, Billy's are the prettiest. Combined with the fact he's laying there —unmoving and blinking up at Steve— makes him want to sink his teeth into the flesh until he leaves a scar. Something that's definitely going into bad territory and would probably land them in the ER.

Instead, he slides his hands over that tight stomach before gathering his pecks in either hand and giving them a small squeeze. The muscle is firm, but it isn't hard to push them together, to knead them in his hands like he's been dreaming of doing since— yesterday.

"Fuck," he sighs. His eyes flick up towards Billy's face, expecting indifference —or worse, a barely held back laugh— only to find something else entirely. His eyes are a little hazy, darker than they were before, his pupils almost overtaking those light blue irises entirely. There's no blush on his cheeks, but the way Billy pulls his bottom lip into his mouth as he tries to subtly puff out his chest tells Steve enough.

"You like this," Steve states, like it wasn't fucking obvious with the way he's gone all pliant and quiet beneath him. The only reply Billy thinks to give —or maybe the only reply he's capable of at the moment, isn't that a thought— is an unfocused glare.

Swallowing all the profanities willing to spill over Steve's lips, he drags his thumbs over the peaks of Billy's nipples. It's almost hypnotizing, pushing and prodding and rubbing until a soft breath stutters from Billy. Slowly but surely, Billy is falling apart with his touch. Despite the fact he's been aching since Billy first kissed him, he doesn't think he's been quite as hard as he is now.

"Jesus Christ, look at you."

One of Eddie's hands joins his own, guiding him until Steve's grabbing one of Billy's nipples and twisting it gently. A moan punches from Billy's chest as he arches into the touch, eyes squeezed shut and brows furrowed.

Steve can't help but lean forward, then, wrapping his lips around a nipple and sucking. Eddie doesn't seem to mind the change in position because it gives him the opportunity to grind his cock against Steve's ass. Steve would have definitely been interested if it weren't for the huffs of breath —bordering on whines, really— Billy is letting out.

A hand twists in his hair, pulling him closer. Steve groans at the sensation, only for it to end in a chuckle as Billy moans up at the ceiling. With a newfound sort of confidence, Steve runs his teeth over Billy's nipple as he twists the other one between his thumb and forefinger.

He doesn't quite expect Billy to scream, but he's not disappointed either.

"Damn, Stevie," Eddie mumbles. "Going right for the prize."

Steve continues worrying the bud between his teeth for a few moments before he sits up again. Billy is shaking —either from the fact Steve's relenting or the air cooling the spit Steve left on his chest, maybe something else entirely. Steve doesn't know, and he doesn't quite care. He brushes a thumb through the mess, digging his nail into the center of his nipple where it's gone all red and puffy.

A choked whine echoes around the room. Billy turns his face like he feels the need to hide. Like Steve isn't having the fucking time of his life right now.

"You ever thought about getting them pierced?" Steve asks. He can just imagine him at the beach or in the shower with two silver bars through those pretty nipples. "Bet it would feel good to… pull them." As he says it, he gives the less abused nipple a firm tug. Billy cries out.

"Can't." Eddie settles down behind him, hands sliding under the front of Steve's shirt. "He's too sensitive, would probably come on the spot. I'm not too keen on sharing."

But you're sharing with me.

Steve bites back the words, unsure of how much good they'd do. It doesn't matter. Eddie wants this, otherwise it wouldn't be happening. That's all he needs to know. "He can come like this?"

Eddie hums, pulling one hand away from Steve to poke at Billy's cheek. A faint, barely-there splash of pink decorates the apples of his cheeks. Steve thinks that it would look like a sunburn if it got any darker. He kind of wants to find out. "Look," Eddie mumbles. "Won't take much now, but he gets super lazy after, so…"

"So?"

Eddie's nose drags up the side of his throat, nudging at the underside of his jaw. "So."

Steve watches, transfixed as Eddie pushes his thumb between Billy's plush lips. He takes it easily, even as Eddie presses down against his tongue. With his other hand, Eddie grasps the tent in Steve's pants, making his hips stutter forward like they have a mind of his own. "I'd say cut the teasing if you still wanna get fucked by him later."

To say he hadn't been brave enough to consider the possibility would be half a lie. Despite his better judgment, he'd thought about it. What it would be like if Billy fucked him. Both of them. "Besides," Eddie continues, pulling his thumb away from Billy's mouth and smearing his lips with spit. "I wanna suck you off."

Steve's no stranger to blowjobs, but it's been a long time since he's actually been in the position to receive one. All the memories from high school have slowly but surely begun fading to the back of his mind. He hadn't thought about that possibility. "What?" he croaks.

Licking along his neck, Eddie hums. "It's big, right? I bet it is." He nudges his own hips against Steve's to make him grind forward into his palm. A hot flash shoots through his body. Embarrassment, arousal. "Want it in my mouth."

The reason is so plain, it almost feels like a trap. All the girls that had ever given him blowjobs had acted like it was some kind of exchange, not something they enjoyed in the slightest. Even when he'd found himself wondering about it in the depths of the night, craving a heavier taste on his tongue, he hadn't ever thought someone would want to— With him.

"Yeah, yes. Okay," he agrees, already stumbling out of Billy's lap and Eddie's grasp. He reaches for the top button of his shirt, staring at the two of them in their perfect suits when he realizes he's forgotten one important detail.

"Could you— We—" Steve swallows, clenching his jaw. Eddie raises his eyebrows where he's still sitting on Billy's lap, tracing idle shapes on his face with his thumb. "Undress?" Steve breathes.

It sounds like a bad transition, but their suits had been expensive as fuck. He's not about to let them get ruined because they're too horny to think straight. And maybe he wants them naked, so what? Two birds, one stone.

Eddie huffs a laugh, slinging his legs over Billy's body until he's sitting at the edge of the bed. "All you had to do was ask, big boy." He winks.

Steve turns around, feeling his face heat. He can hear the soft rustling of clothes behind him, but his own hands are shaking when he tries unbuttoning his shirt and he grows frustrated. They'd been so steady when it had been Billy's shirt, why are they giving him trouble now?

After shuffling out of his pants, a warm hand on his elbow makes him turn to face Eddie. He's already stripped down to his underwear and Steve can't help his eyes from roaming over the pale skin on display, tattoos dotted all over his body. No matter how good Eddie had looked in the suit, he looks better without it.

"Hey," Eddie hums. His hands find the buttons of Steve's shirt, making quick work of it. Steve lets him, though it makes him feel a little like an inexperienced child. "Just calm down, alright? 's just us."

Steve wishes he could cross his arms over his chest, but he doesn't want to disrupt Eddie, so he just balls his hands into fists. "Am I not allowed to be excited?"

Eddie levels him with a flat look. "We're just here to have fun. No expectations." Steve would be surprised by how mature he sounds, if he didn't know Eddie as well as he does. Though, does he really?

More importantly, is it so clear that Steve hasn't done jack shit in these past few years? Do they feel like they're doing him a favor or something? Are they getting off on the fact he's a fumbling mess? Will they make fun of him for it later?

Eddie finishes unbuttoning his shirt, leaving it to hang open. He leans forward to press a soft kiss against Steve's lips. "Now can you please sit down so I can put your dick in my mouth?"

All the heat that left his body to make space for the embarrassment returns. He pulls Eddie into another kiss before taking a seat on the bed. Billy still hasn't moved from his spot, laying there with an arm slung over his face while taking deep breaths. Steve would ask if he's okay if he wasn't a little preoccupied.

Eddie sinks to his knees, staring up at Steve. It's an entirely new view of him and Steve likes it a lot more than he's comfortable admitting. The wet patch at the front of his boxers suddenly becomes more evident as he looks down at Eddie with his dark hair falling over his shoulders and the tent in his own underwear.

One of his hands falls to the top of Steve's thigh as he brings another to cup his own crotch. Not to hide it —that would be a ridiculous act— but to press his palm against his cock, a shuddering breath falling from his lips as he presses his cheek against Steve's knee.

Part of Steve had expected him to jump right into it, with how willing he'd been. And the fact that most of his experiences consist of rushed little things in the back of the Hawkins movie theater. For a while, Eddie just toys with the hem on Steve's boxers while staring up at him.

His breath is hot against Steve's thigh and he finds anticipation building in his gut when Eddie hasn't even touched him yet. Not really. Not in the way he wants to.

The flush on Eddie's cheeks is much too gorgeous to look away from. The darkness in his eyes tells him all the things those pretty pink lips are keeping locked away. How much he wants this. Wants Steve.

In full control, even though he's the one on his knees.

"Are you gonna…" Steve starts, even though he feels no rush and it's clear Eddie doesn't either. He'd sit here all night if he wanted to. Maybe he could even come from just Eddie's gaze alone.

Pinching Steve's thigh, Eddie smiles. "Eager," he hums, finally moving closer to wrap his lips around the bulge in Steve's boxers.

Steve's breath stutters as Eddie soaks the fabric with his saliva. His tongue darts out to lick at the patch of pre, and, evidently, the head of Steve's cock. It must taste good, because Eddie moans, the sound reverberating through Steve's entire body until he mirrors the sound.

His hands find their way into Eddie's hair. Not quite pushing or pulling, just holding on. Eddie has barely done anything and it feels like he's ready to float away. He faintly registers some movement on the bed behind him, but it's overshadowed when Eddie pulls away from his crotch to stare up at him with those big brown eyes.

A mess. That's what he looks like. He hasn't even put Steve's dick in his mouth and he looks like he's already fucked out. The haze in his eyes is similar to the way Billy had looked earlier, though there's something darker. Maybe it's because whereas Billy had lost control, Eddie has found it. His chin is slick with spit and Eddie makes no move to wipe it away.

Within that single moment Steve knows for certain, he is not going to last.

"You smell good," Eddie mumbles. He nuzzles right into Steve's crotch —into the sticky wetness to his boxers— and breathes in. Steve can't imagine it smelling like anything but sweat and musk, but Eddie moans like it's his new favorite thing. Steve's breath stutters in his throat, hands tightening their hold on Eddie's hair as he resists the overwhelming urge to grind against Eddie's face.

There's some things that should live in his imagination alone and this is one of them. No matter how hot he thinks it would be.

"Eddie," he sighs. His dark hair pools over pale shoulders like never ending waves. Eddie lets his lips catch against the bulge, nails digging into Steve's thigh as he sucks in another greedy breath. Steve just barely catches his arm twitching where he's pressing the palm of his hand against his own cock.

And then, just moments later, he's looking up at Steve again —blinking, like he's trying to reassess the situation at hand, like he's trying to calm down. Isn't that a thought?

He trails kisses over the soft skin above Steve's waistband. They tingle and Steve revels in it, the softness, the slight tickle. Eddie takes his time hooking his fingers into the waistband of Steve's boxers. Steve would say he looks innocent —or something adjacent— with the way he looks at him, if it weren't for the pure, desperate and dirty devotion in his eyes.

"Please?" he breathes, like Steve would have any mind to deny him now. He's still asking for Steve's permission like Steve has any control over his own mind. He's been telling himself not to want, not to crave, but now that he's given in? His mind speaks to him in a garbled mess of more-more-more.

His heartbeat races as he nods, licking his too-dry lips. Eddie mirrors him before slowly pulling back the waistband of his boxers, placing it almost carefully beneath his balls. Steve can only be grateful he doesn't have to be fully naked just yet. The thought of being the only one of them who's completely bare is enough to make him want to lock himself into the bathroom and furiously jerk off and then maybe cry a little after.

That's not the case, though.

Steve watches as his cock springs free from its confines. He's well familiar with his own dick, but it's been a while since he's seen it an angry red as pre-cum drips down the sides. He can almost see it throbbing, though he knows that must just be a trick of the mind.

It will be a miracle if he doesn't come the moment Eddie puts his mouth on him.

"Fuck," Eddie sighs. A hot breath strokes his cock just right, making it kick against his stomach. Eddie doesn't make any move to touch it, just staring in a way that makes Steve's nerves riot. A bead of sweat runs down his back. "It's really as big as I'd hoped."

The wording is strange. Hoped. He's heard plenty about his dick before. How big it is, how… big it is. He's never heard anyone put it quite like that, though. He can't help but wonder when Eddie had the time to hope and —as another soft breath hits his dick— he's briefly overcome with a horrible scenario.

With the way Eddie is looking at him now —eyes glued to his dick like he wants to ingrain it into his memory, like it's the most beautiful dick he's ever seen— and the proximity of his lips. Where they're so close, yet never close enough.

He might come without Eddie ever laying a hand on him. Or a mouth,

Just a puff of Eddie's hot breath against the underside of his cock —or maybe the head, where it's already wet and leaking—, stroking him just right. It would feel so good and, despite it not being enough, Steve's cock would jump before spurting cum all over Eddie's face. Effectively painting him with his release.

Fuck, it would look so good on him too. Eddie is just made to wear cum, he would make it look good in an everyday situation. He wouldn't even question it, seeing him on the street as the milky white substance drips down his eyelashes and onto his plush lips.

Steve wouldn't be able to keep himself away. In this scenario, that exists only in his mind, he wouldn't be embarrassed about anything. He'd slip off the bed without any shame and lick it off of Eddie's face. Clean him with his tongue until all that's left is the shiny sheen of Steve's spit.

A warm mouth closes around the head of his cock and Steve moans at the sudden sensation. With how caught up he'd been in his own imagination, he hadn't seen Eddie move. He'd feel bad for it, if he didn't have other things to worry about. Namely, not coming.

It's not like he doesn't want relief. Hell, he's been craving it since the moment Billy kissed him. He wants to come so badly, but he doesn't want this not to last. One brush of Eddie's tongue and he wishes he could spend hours on the edge of an orgasm with Eddie teasing him —bringing him so very close only to pull away at the last moment— over and over again.

They don't have time for that, though. And Steve would rather not waste the short amount of time they do have on something like that when he could have so much more to remember them by.

The hand that had been on Steve's thigh softly grasps the base of his cock, jerking it in time with the movements of his mouth. It's all too slow, too careful and, despite it feeling so fucking good Steve wonders if Eddie is even human, Steve feels like Eddie is taking his time to get familiar with it. Finding out what gets Steve the hottest before he's giving it his all.

Steve is not prepared.

It isn't long before Eddie has found a steady rhythm. He's bobbing his head faster now, swirling his tongue around the head of Steve's cock like he's fucking made for it. Soft, continuous moans spill from Steve's lips as he lets Eddie have his way with him.

Eddie runs his tongue over the underside of his cock, pausing to suck at the tip while squeezing the base in a tight fist, like he can feel Steve is getting closer and closer and he wants to —for whatever reason that may be— drag this out even longer.

"Eddie, fuck—" Steve gasps, digging his teeth into his bottom lip as Eddie tongues at the underside of his head for a moment. He resists the urge to close his eyes, because looking at Eddie is making him lose his mind, but he'd rather die than miss a second.

His knees are spread as he works over Steve's cock. Briefly, Steve can't help but wonder whether bruises will form. A memory, where the others will fade. His hand presses against his cock and Steve isn't sure he's chasing after an orgasm or trying to keep it at bay. Drool drips down his chin —as it does Steve's dick— as he slides deeper.

"You're so—" Steve doesn't know what he means to say next, the words get lost to a moan as his cock hits the back of Eddie's throat and Eddie lets out a soft moan, eyes fluttering closed. Pretty, maybe. Or something more appropriate like hot.

The hand on the base of Steve's dick is no longer needed as he swallows down nearly every inch. The expression on his face can only be described as blissful. If this is what sucking cock is all about, Steve ought to try it sometime. Eddie grabs a hold of Steve's hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

Somewhere in the distance, Steve is aware he's making all sorts of noises. Moans and whines and garbled versions of Eddie's name spilling over his lips because none of the blowjobs he's ever gotten have made him feel like this. He loses all his composure —all his control— when Eddie scrapes his teeth over the side of his dick, making him hiss.

Fuck control. Control is entirely overrated if this is the alternative.

His abdominal muscles clench. It's a difficult task holding himself back from fucking into the wet heat of Eddie's mouth, where it wraps around him like it's built with him in mind. "Fuck," he gasps as Eddie tongues at his slit. "Fuck, Eds— 'm gonna come, baby."

All the control he felt at being able to keep his orgasm at bay shatters along with the knowledge he's never had any control to begin with. He'd been gone from the moment he met them, unable to keep himself at a safe distance.

His voice shakes around his warming. It doesn't seem to deter Eddie, though, and Steve feels him hum around his cock —maybe in confirmation, maybe to spur it on— as he takes him to the base.

The moment those pretty eyes are on him again —looking up at him through his lashes and still holding on to that innocent demeanor despite the fact Eddie's nose is pressing into Steve's stomach and he can almost see the outline of his dick in his throat— Steve loses it.

He spills into Eddie's throat, a single choking sound enough to make him pull back slightly. He moans like this is the first time someone has put their mouth on him in years, because it is. His orgasm sends shock waves through his body and he bends over Eddie while keeping his head in place with the hands in his hair —not that Eddie looks like he wants to be anywhere else right now.

It's a violent thing. He knows it's a cliche, but he hasn't come that hard in years.

It takes a while for him to regain enough consciousness to open his eyes again. He does so just in time to see Eddie slip his softening cock from his mouth.

Steve is heaving, but smiles at Eddie as he slides a hand through his hair. He wishes he could tell him everything he's thinking —how good of a job he did, how he hasn't felt this way in years, how much he'll miss it when the night ends— but he can't, so he doesn't.

Eddie sits back on his heels, placing his hands on his knees and allowing Steve to pet him for a long moment. It's a little surreal, with the way Eddie's dick is still hard and straining against the fabric of his underwear, but Steve's mind is somewhere a thousand galaxies away and he has no idea how to proceed.

After a while, Eddie opens his mouth to show Steve his own spent. He swallows it down in one greedy gulp.

"Fuck," Steve sighs, feeling his dick give one weak spurt against his leg. Eddie's flush runs from his cheeks up to the tips of his ears. His lips —which were already red and swollen from the kissing— have adopted the added shine of spit and cum. If Steve hadn't petted his hair down, it would be sticking up from him tugging at it.

"You're so pretty," Steve breathes, unable to stop the words from escaping.

He burns, knowing that he has to be crossing some sort of boundary now. Eddie shivers where he's still sitting on the floor, eyes sliding closed for a short moment before he's pulling Steve down and connecting their lips again.

In his haze, Steve doesn't even bother pretending he's disgusted by the fact he can taste himself on Eddie's tongue. It makes him groan, licking into his mouth and chasing after the saltiness of his own cum until it's all he knows.

"Want you to fuck me, Stevie," Eddie mumbles against his lips. Steve gasps, trying to lean closer —so much so that he almost slides off the bed. "Bet you'd fuck me so good, wouldn't you?"

It's a tease. A taunt, maybe. All Steve can do is hum and tangle his hand in the hair at the back of Eddie's neck. "So good," he echoes.

Eddie allows Steve to kiss him for a little while longer —he must feel Steve's neediness like it's his own— before pushing him away with a hand to his bare chest. "Alright, then." Eddie smiles when Steve gravitates forward again, trying to capture his lips once more. A cruel prank, that's what this is. Steve just wants to kiss him again.

Steve notes that Eddie's eyes are clearer than they were moments ago and he can't feel anything but bitterness. He wants Eddie to lose himself completely, no more control. Wants him to cry out in pleasure as Steve fucks him so, so good.

"Hey, pretty boy?"

Steve turns to see Billy standing on the other side of the bed. His suit is folded neatly on one of the kitchen chairs and he's donning nothing but a small pair of boxer shorts that do nothing to hide what he's packing. Steve nearly drools at the sight, wondering if Billy would still fuck him if he's fucked Eddie.

He really hopes so.

The only visible reminder of what just happened is the puffiness of Billy's nipples. Other than that, he looks annoyingly composed again. His cock is still hard in his boxers —and huge, if Steve's eyes aren't deceiving him— but he crosses his arms over his chest like he can command the entire room with a single look.

And he can, so.

Billy directs Steve to take off the rest of his clothes —"Including those panties, pretty boy, wanna see all of you"— and Steve does so without complaint, laying on the bed when Eddie pushes him towards it.

His cock is still soft and spent as he lets his head hit the pillow. It smells like Billy —dark and somewhat feminine. Steve can't stop himself from breathing in, letting the scent fill his lungs.

Just as he's wondering whether this is it —because no matter how disappointed he'd be, this is much more action than he's seen in years and he's sleepy enough to fall asleep right now— Eddie's face pops into view. His hair hangs past his face, like a curtain that shields them away from the world. He's braced on his hands and knees over Steve's body.

He doesn't have to wait long to find out why.

Eddie's face screws up, mouth dropping open as a wet squelch rings around the room. His cheeks flush red instantly —a warm color Steve never wants to forget— and he feels Eddie's cock spurt some pre-cum onto his hip.

Although Eddie's face is the prettiest view Steve could wish for, he almost feels bad for the fact he can't look at his naked form the same way Eddie had been able to look at him earlier. It hadn't felt like scrutiny as much as it did curiosity, but it was still awkward.

He gets it now, though. If he could watch the way Billy's fingers work in and out of Eddie's hole at a gentle pace, or the way his dick hangs heavy between his legs, he'd be mesmerized. For better or for worse.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" Eddie's voice cracks. Steve's eyes widen, thinking Eddie is calling him 'sweetheart', before realizing he must be talking to Billy. "Ah— Faster—"

"Shh," Billy says. Steve can't see him with Eddie's hair hiding him from view, but he can just imagine the kind of smile he's wearing. Cocky, slightly condescending, but all in good nature. "Wanna be all nice and prepped for your Stevie, don't you?"

Your Stevie.

Eddie makes a high pitched kind of sound. A hum, maybe. Steve wouldn't know because the only thing he hears is Billy's voice repeating those two words.

Your Stevie, like he belongs to them. Your Stevie, like this is something more than a simple one night stand.

"Fuck," Eddie squeaks, pulling Steve back into the present. Into the real world, where people sometimes say things they don't quite mean during sex. That's all that was. "Fuck, not there, not—" He lets out a loud moan, so close to Steve's ear that he thinks it might have been ingrained into his long term memory.

The fact that he's just laying there while Billy is busy stretching Eddie's hole open feels supremely unfair. But then again… His limbs feel a little like jelly and Eddie's huffy hot air against his lips so he can't really complain, either.

And he supposes if he'll be the one to fuck Eddie later…

One of his hands reaches up to brush a strand of hair behind Eddie's ear. His arms are shaking where he's holding himself up above Steve, eyes squeezed shut. "Eds," he mumbles.

The nickname is far too intimate for what they are. He's heard Billy call him that a couple of times and he needed to taste the word on his own tongue. It tastes like coffee and honey and breakfast in bed. It tastes like something he can never have. "Eds, look at me."

When Eddie's eyes blink open he almost wishes he hadn't made the request. They're a shade darker than his normal light brown and hazy enough for Steve to think he might get him to cry if he fucks him well enough. He really wants to find out.

"Hi," Eddie breathes, the single word sounding strained coming from his lips.

"Hi," Steve replies. He isn't sure what to do now that he's finally got his attention. He wants to say so many things, pull Eddie closer so he can rut into his leg like an animal. Kiss him.

None of it seems like enough, though. Either that or it feels like too much. Steve can't break this before the night is over, he has no choice but to tread with care.

Before he can find something, Eddie's mouth drops open. He lets out a long drawn moan, half buried in Steve's throat when he slumps forward to hide his face into Steve's neck. Steve brushes Eddie's hair from his face, blinking up at the ceiling and placing a hand on Eddie's back.

The new position seems to be even more ruthless than the last. Eddie lets out an uninterrupted string of sounds when Billy —who isn't hidden behind Eddie anymore— ruthlessly thrusts his fingers into Eddie's hole.

"Such a whore for it, isn't he?" Billy asks, almost conversationally. Like they're talking about the fucking weather instead of a person who's right there. Billy's eyes slide to Steve and it feels like a shock to his bones. "Makes the loveliest sounds when he's fucking begging for it."

Steve swallows, unable to tear his eyes away from Billy. His arm twists and Eddie is shaking in Steve's arms. "Yeah, yes."

"Say it, then. Tell him."

"You—" Steve blinks up at Billy before finally tearing his eyes away. His nose gets buried in Eddie's hair as he talks. "You make such pretty sounds like this."

His heart races and he looks back towards Billy, almost like he's asking 'am I doing this right?'. Which is stupid, because he used to be the king of dirty talk. Something happened between then and now, though. He can't quite find the confidence he'd had back then.

Billy grins, slamming his fingers into Eddie and making him cry out, a moan muffled into the skin of Steve's neck. "That's right," he mumbles. His second hand comes up to pinch Eddie's butt and another sound falls from his lips.

It's no wonder that after all those years Billy knows just what to do to elicit the right reactions. It still amazes Steve. He's never had a relationship —or a situation-ship— long enough to find out those kinds of things.

Billy leans forward until he can whisper into Eddie's ear. "Who are you making all those dirty little sounds for, baby?"

He's already sat up again when Eddie mumbles something. It's too quiet and it easily gets lost in Steve's skin, despite being so close. Billy huffs, gripping Eddie's hair and ripping his face away from its hiding place.

His eyes roll to the back of his head as he lets out a whine. There's sweat beading on his forehead and drool spills from the corner of his mouth. His throat works in a continuous sort of stutter, like he's trying to swallow and moan at the same time. If this is where a couple fingers get him, Steve can't help but wonder what he'll look like when he's fucked.

"What was that? Couldn't hear you."

Billy must do something —twist his fingers just right or slam them into Eddie's prostate, Steve doesn't know, but it makes Eddie scream, "Steve— Steve, Stevie. It's for— For Stevie."

The sound of his own name being ripped from Eddie's throat makes him throb. He hadn't even realized he'd gotten hard again, but he also can't really be surprised. Who wouldn't, after a display like this?

"Alright," Billy says, letting Eddie's head drop forward again. His forehead slams hard against Steve's collarbone, but the sting is nothing compared to what Eddie must feel when Billy pulls his fingers from his hole. "All ready for you, pretty boy."

With shaking hands, Steve grasps Eddie's hips. His skin burns under Steve's touch and a part of him expects there to be burn marks on his palms after this. Eddie gasps in a breath, shivering the second Steve makes contact like that alone is enough to make him long and crave and—

One of Eddie's hands reached back to hold himself open, revealing his hole where it's clenching down on thin air and leaking lube down to his balls. The sight alone is enough to make Steve's cock twitch. That and the fact Eddie's generous enough to bare himself for Steve, because he's not quite sure he would have managed himself.

Even though he's fucked dozens of people in his prime —though it feels kind of weird to think of that time as his prime— and he wants nothing more than to fuck Eddie so good he starts making all those noises that drive Steve positively insane, he can't get himself to move. His eyes are glued to Eddie's ass. Not as plump as Billy's, yet still firm underneath his own touch. There's a small tattoo right above his left butt cheek. Some scrawly writing Steve can't make out with the way his eyes keep unfocussing.

He needs to get his shit together, but his breaths are coming in useless pants and he's so fucking hard despite having come not even thirty minutes ago. Just one move and he'd slide into Eddie with the least amount of resistance —Billy had done a great job preparing him— but he just… can't.

"Steve," Eddie mumbles. His face is pressed to the pillow that now wears all their scents like a mark. The reminder of leaving anything behind —even something as small as their scents mingled on a single pillowcase— makes his heart clench. They're not lovers. They're not anything. This shouldn't mean anything but Steve is frozen.

A hand strokes down his side. Warm and too gentle. It's a little ticklish, but it feels too nice to pull away from. A touch he's gotten all too comfortable with these past… Two days? "Don't you want it, pretty boy?" Billy asks. The nickname comes out less taunting than it ever has. It makes it seem like Billy is actually calling him pretty instead of simply making fun of him.

Steve feels himself nodding. He does want this. He can already feel himself sinking into Eddie's warm and waiting hole even as he remains unmoving. He can't think of anything he wants more right now, up to the point he's shaking with it. That and the nerves. Details.

The only thing that is keeping him tethered to this moment is the fact that Eddie is still there. Solid beneath the palms of his hands. When his fingers dig into his hips he lets out a soft sound. Real.

"You can—" Steve starts, before biting his lip. He can't tear his eyes away from Eddie's ass, no matter how vulgar that might be. He's there and he's real and waiting for Steve. The last thing Steve wants is for him to think he doesn't want this as much as he actually does, because fuck, a part of him thinks that if he'd get ripped away from this moment he will just cease to be. If he walks away from this weekend without knowing the clench of Eddie around his cock, milking him dry for all he's worth. "I've never…"

Steve trails off. The truth that hides beneath all the current insecurity. He hasn't done as much as kiss a guy before Billy kissed him earlier. He thinks he's allowed to be a little nervous about sticking his dick up someone's ass.

It's not like he wished things would have been different. He's having a great first everything right now. Billy and Eddie have been taking great care of him. Steve's just— Is overwhelmed the right word? It's just so different from watching porn or fantasizing about what it would be like. It's so real. Painfully so.

And the fact that he wants it this much scares him a little. He decides not to address that.

"Fuck," Billy's voice is dark and his breath strokes over Steve's ear. Steve hears it. All that realization. The fact that Steve is much less experienced than he'd hoped. That maybe he shouldn't let him fuck his boyfriend if he doesn't know what he's doing. Maybe he's right. The last thing Steve wants is to hurt either of them. "You're a—"

"No!" Steve interrupts, before he can hear that fucking label fall from his lips. The entire situation is embarrassing as it is, he doesn't want them to think he has no experience at all. Not that there'd be anything wrong with that, just… "No, just… Just no guys," he continues, hands squeezing Eddie's hips involuntarily. He has no idea if Eddie's even aware the situation is happening if the way his hips keep twitching backwards is any indication.

"Oh, Steve," Billy drawls. The way he says his name —like he's someone worth wanting— makes his hips twitch forward. The tip of his dick catches Eddie's rim, pulling a gasp from him. It motivates Eddie to try to push himself onto Steve's cock and Steve has to restrain himself from allowing him. It just looks fucking dirty. Eddie's back is arched and there's this addictive red flush on his butt that's making Steve want to push his face into the pillows and squeeze it.

Billy reaches in front of Steve, grasping the base of his dick. "We're gonna ruin you for any other guy. You're never gonna wanna look at anyone ever again, no one but us."

"Steve, please," Eddie begs. That, combined with the way he's still struggling against Steve's grip and Billy guiding his dick back to Eddie's wet hole—

Steve's heart is slamming against his chest. He can hear it in his ear, the rattling of his ribcage. The way Billy's and Eddie's words swirl in his mind until it sounds something like 'Steve, please, don't look at anyone but us'. That, and the soft breaths Eddie takes against the pillow.

"Go on, Steve," Billy mumbles, nudging his own hips against Steve's so the head of his cock pops into Eddie's entrance.

The moan Steve lets out at the sensation of being inside Eddie is borderline pornographic. Well, if the whole coffee shop thing doesn't work out, he's always got a plan to fall back on.

Eddie is tight. Tighter than any girls Steve's ever fucked, despite the fact Billy worked him open thoroughly and well. He's not even inside all the way yet and Eddie is mewling like he's getting split open on a fucking tree trunk or some shit. It's a boost to Steve's ego, at the very least.

When Eddie clenches around him, Steve starts slowly pushing into him. "Steve, Steve—" Eddie gasps, along with other very encouraging sounds. The breaths he takes are wet and Steve can't help but wonder if he's drooling onto the pillow. If he feels as good as he sounds.

Because every next inch Steve thinks he might die. Eddie's heat is swallowing whole. A part of him is afraid he won't ever be able to pull his dick out again, but another part is completely fine with living inside him for all of eternity, no matter how awkward.

Eddie's free hand winds into his own hair. Whether that's to hold on, to ground himself, or to work himself up even more, Steve has no idea. He doesn't care either. Eddie's mouth had been great, but this is another league entirely. His walls clench down around him, with just enough give to let him push inside until he's fully seated.

His chest is moving up and down where he gulps in rapid breaths. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and dig his nails into Eddie's skin —completely ignoring the moan Eddie lets slip— so he doesn't blow his load immediately.

"So good, pretty boy," Billy whispers. He licks along Steve's ear and his dick is still pressed firmly against his ass. All things to ignore because if he lets himself think about it for a single moment, he's going to lose his shit.

"Shut up, shut up." Steve's jaw clenches when Eddie tries to grind back against him. He has an iron grip on his hips, though. He's not going anywhere. And he's doing it for him, too! He just wants it to be good for Eddie. To not blow his load the moment he moves.

The hand on his side resumes its path, stroking his skin. "Breathe, Steve."

Sucking in a greedy breath, Steve looks down to where his dick is buried in Eddie's ass. Looks at where that ring of muscles stretches to accommodate him. It's so perfect, one of the most perfect things he's ever seen. He can feel Eddie in his fucking throat, the way he clenches around him keeps him in a constant loop of wanting release and wanting it to last. Eddie is silently begging, most of the words hidden in the pillow.

Briefly, Steve wonders if it's strange for Billy to see him like this. To see his boyfriend with his face pressed into a pillow and the guy they met a few days ago about to fuck him —if he can get his act together. His touch remains soft and comforting, though. The muscles of his arms are relaxed where they wrap around him, even if his cock is hard and pressing into Steve from behind.

A promise for later.

"Just— Just give me a moment," he breathes. He tries his best to loosen the grip he has on Eddie's hips. It must be painful by now and Steve's not even fucking him yet. He should've been more careful.

"So desperate for it, isn't he?" Billy asks. His chin is pressed against Steve's shoulder, no doubt looking over it at the point where Steve and Eddie are joined. "Already a drooling mess. Hope he'll be able to gather enough stamina to fuck you later. If you want, that is…"

His voice lowers on that last part, like he's giving Steve an easy out.

None of this has been easy. Not since the moment they first laid a hand on him. It hasn't been about losing his gay-virginity or whatever, though. He's long beyond caring about labels —that's not even mentioning the wide array of dildos tucked under his bed at home— and he thinks they know that. They also know that, for some reason, Steve is hesitant. His mind has been going a mile a minute, because…

Steve is almost horrified to find out he can't remember. They've got him under some kind of spell and he could not care less. The implication of getting fucked later makes him shiver. Fucked by both of them. Two real dicks, belonging to real people with real hands that could roam all over his body should they want to.

They'll make him feel good. So good. And he wouldn't even be able to predict any of it, because —for the first time— he'll be touched by two real guys with their own minds. They won't be simple extensions of his own body. His own thoughts.

"Fuck," Steve breathes. A bead of sweat runs over Eddie's back, disappearing at the hair gathered in his neck. When Steve swipes at it to see the muscles of his back work without the curtain of hair hiding them, he whines. "Yeah, want it."

Billy's lips brush the back of his ear. "Knew it," he mumbles, breathing hot and so addictive. Steve twitches back against his dick, slightly jostling Eddie. "Bet you're just as desperate for it as he is, aren't you, baby?"

Moaning, Steve nods. His hips shove back forward, driving his dick into Eddie's hole an inch or so, making him shake and groan. "Want it," Steve gasps. He licks his lips as Eddie starts softly fucking himself on Steve's cock. Every slide makes his breath hitch. "Want it so bad…"

Billy hums. "Fuck my boyfriend like you mean it, then. I know you've got it in you." His hand slides down to where Steve's dick disappears into Eddie, rubbing his thumb over Eddie's stretched rim. A loud moan punches out of him, almost like he knows it's his boyfriend doing it and not Steve.

"Please," Eddie moans. "Steve, please. Y'feel so good, please. Please, Stevie—"

Tightening his hold on Eddie's hips once more, he slowly pulls out until only the head of his dick remains in Eddie's ass. It's coated in second hand lube, throbbing as he waits. He waits until Eddie starts begging, until he's starting to wonder why Steve isn't moving, twisting his neck in a pitiful attempt to catch a glimpse of Steve and then—

"Ste— Ah!"

He fucks back into Eddie, all his control finally snapping. Making Eddie feel good, that's all he wants. That's all he's good for. He sets a ruthless pace that leaves no room for conversation, because he's panting by the time he's found a consistent rhythm. Something rough and deep that makes Eddie moan, loud and unabashed.

None of that stops Eddie from talking —or trying to.

"Steve," he gasps. His knuckles are turning white with how hard his fingers dig into his own ass cheek. His voice has taken on a near constant whining quality that makes Steve fuck into him even harder. He doesn't know how long he can keep up this pace for, but he hopes it will be long enough. He'd rather die than disappoint Eddie.

"Steve, please. God, so good, Stevie. Been —Ahh, ohh— been waiting for this for ages, you're so fu-uhh-cking pretty. Harder, harder, Stevie—"

It all goes straight to his head. Or his dick, Steve has no clue. He doesn't really care, either. Eddie's words fill some void inside of him. One he hadn't noticed until the praise —because that's what this is, praise— starts pouring in. Filling him up.

"Couldn't keep his eyes off of you," Billy whispers, like it's some sort of secret. It might be. His hands have been ghosting over Steve's abdomen, feeling the way it clenches with every thrust and scratching his nails through the rough patch of hair leading down to his cock. "Or his hands, for that matter. So fucking desperate for your cock. Isn't that true, baby?"

"Yes," Eddie gasps, though Steve is relatively certain he has no idea what he's agreeing to. His back shakes with the effort it takes to hold himself up and Steve hates that he can't see his face. There's a glimpse of a blush on his sweat covered neck, but his face. It's something else entirely. Steve wants to see it, as it screws up in pure pleasure. "So good, Stevie. Fuck— Want you so fucking much, please—"

Steve pulls out before he can even think about it. The air in the hotel room feels wrong as it touches his erection, leaking and an angry red. He'd been so close to coming, he realizes now.

A loud whine pulls him from his thoughts. Eddie has sufficiently twisted around so he can look at Steve over his shoulder. His hand is still holding himself open for Steve, like he's just begging him to get back in there. To finish what he started.

Steve's planning to do just that, but first…

He twists Eddie around, letting him fall to his back on the bed. Wasting not a single second, he bends over him and captures his mouth in a messy kiss with too much teeth and too much control. Eddie tastes like sweat and cigarettes. He reaches up to tangle his hands in Steve's hair as their tongues twist around each other. "Wanted to see you," Steve murmurs, not bothering to pull away from the kiss. Eddie pants into his mouth.

"Fuck me," Eddie begs. His breath is hot against Steve's lips. A plain invitation as he kisses him again, grabbing the backs of his thighs and opening his legs. "Fuck me," Eddie pushes the words into his mouth, wet and messy. "Fuck me, Stevie, fuck me. Please—"

His mouth drops open as Steve sinks in all the way, leaving them to steal breaths from each other's lungs. The change in position has Steve driving his cock in deeper than before and the loud moan Eddie lets out seconds later tells Steve he must be nailing his prostate with every weak thrust.

Eddie's head falls back to the pillow as he whines, clenching down around Steve he thinks he might just come from that sensation alone. "So pretty," he mumbles, even though his eyes are lidded and unfocused. "Always— Ah, mm. Always thought you were so pretty, Stevie."

A moan works its way from Steve's throat. It's been a long time since anyone has complimented his physique. He can't remember anyone ever calling him pretty. It surprises him how much he likes it and he fucks into Eddie hard and fast, desperately chasing his orgasm. "You too," Steve gasps.

It's true, now more so than ever. The black lines around Eddie's eyes are smudged and there's a deep flush over his face. Eddie pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes rolling back with pleasure. Pleasure Steve's giving him.

When a pair of lips press against his shoulder blade, it opens up a world of sensations besides the slapping of his own hips against Eddie's. Billy's arms are loosely wound around his waist as he trails kisses over his back. All while Eddie claws at his shoulders, back arching off the bed as he calls out, "Steve, Steve, Stevie—"

"I'm gonna come," Steve gasps, feeling that all too familiar feeling build in his gut once more. It's not the first time he's gone multiple rounds, but it is the first time that it all feels so explosive. So much.

He can tell Eddie isn't far behind. The way he keeps clenching down on him, like he's trying to keep Steve inside and grinding against his prostate while all Steve wants is faster and harder and more, more more. Steve clenches his jaw as he ignores the sweat dripping in his eye.

He'll feel bad about fucking Eddie so rough later. About not treating him with the care he deserves, though it looks like he doesn't mind it much. It's not that Steve can't come from a more caring type of intercourse, it's just that… He really doesn't need his brain to get confused. This isn't love. This is just a one night stand.

"Stevie," Eddie gasps. His nails dig into Steve's shoulder as he pulls him down. "Kiss me, kiss—"

Their lips connect with a careless smash before Eddie's even finished his request. It quickly divulges into a messy slide of tongues and lips covered in spit. Steve can't remember a better kiss. Not a single kiss in his pathetic little life has compared to this one. He's so fucking close.

There's hands on his hips and he's unbelievably grateful for the way they keep him moving forward where his own pace is faltering, slamming into Eddie at a rough tempo Billy decides. He's fucking Eddie through Steve's body. He's using Steve as a toy and Steve is tangling his hands in Eddie's hair muttering soft warnings into his mouth. Billy brings back all the power he's started to lack and he's—

"Inside," Eddie gasps against his lips. "Want you inside, wanna feel you, Stevie, want—"

Steve chokes on a gasp when he comes, teeth knocking against Eddie's as his dick kicks inside him. He can feel himself filling Eddie up from the inside, spilling against his soft walls. His body shakes where he's trying to keep himself from falling over —or maybe it's Billy holding him, he isn't sure— and then Eddie is arching. He throws his head back against the pillows, exposing those lovely lines of his throat as he moans loud enough for his voice to crack. White paints both of their stomachs, spurting from his cock in messy stripes.

"Fuck, Steve," Eddie mumbles once he's blinked himself back into existence. His eyes are wide and filled with wonder when he looks at him. "So good to me, Stevie." He licks his lips, reaching out a hand to pet through Steve's sweaty mop of hair. "So good, sweetheart. Thank you."

Falling forward, Steve lets their lips slide together once more. It's less rushed than it had been in the moment, but it still makes him tingle on the inside. Eddie runs his tongue over Steve's bottom lip before Steve's pulling away —and carefully sliding out of Eddie's hole until it's clenching down. Steve wonders whether he's doing that on purpose or not.

Steve sits back on his heels, lowering Eddie's legs to the bed as he sags against Billy. If that's what one night stands are like, he really should be getting out more. It feels like he went to heaven for a second there.

Billy laughs, reaching out to drag a few fingers through the mess on Eddie's stomach before presenting them to Steve. It's no grosser than tasting his own cum on Eddie's tongue was and Steve is so fucked out he allows Billy to press them through his lips. A familiar taste, in a way, though it's so much better knowing it's Eddie's cum. He cleans Billy's fingers carefully, running his tongue along the digits until all that remains is his spit.

"So good to us, aren't you?" Billy asks. Steve's relatively sure he isn't fishing for a real reply, but he still hums. That's all he wants, after all. To make them feel good. To be good. "You don't think you're done yet, do you?"

Logically, Steve knows. The thought of doing anything but laying here —or staying pressed against Billy's chest— seems daunting, though. His dick aches from the two orgasms that they've pulled from him so far. There's a cotton-y feeling in his mouth, telling him it's been too long since the last time he had some water and he's still shaking. Whether from the orgasm, the nerves, or the anticipation, he doesn't know.

But then there's his mind that's telling him to bend over right then and there. To present himself to Billy. To coat his fingers in his own spit and work them into his waiting hole, to prepare himself the best he can when Billy's waiting behind him. Impatient and ready to fuck him into next week.

That had been the promise. They'd fuck him right, to show him how much they meant it. And Steve just wants to make the best out of this one night. It's the only thing he'll get and even if they decide they regret every part of it in the morning, he'll have the memory. He can deal with the consequences, but he can't deal with them leaving him now.

Steve hums, running a hand through his own hair before carefully climbing off the bed. He just needs to drink some water and then he can let them fuck him. He'll be a good toy. Quiet and kind. They will have to want to keep him until the morning. There's no other choice.

The moment his feet meet the cold floor he stumbles. His legs have gone numb, shaking where they're trying to hold up his weight. He hasn't fallen over just yet, though, so he blinks the spots from his vision as he takes a careful step forward.

An arm wraps around his waist, lifting him from the floor and carrying him back to the bed. He's deposited next to Eddie, who seems to take his sudden presence as a sign to cuddle up and throws an arm over his waist. "What do you think you're doing, big boy?" he asks, sleepy and voice raw from the screaming. From moaning Steve's name over and over until it was the only thing he recalled.

"Getting water?" Steve replies. He wasn't leaving or anything. He wouldn't have done that. He's not even wearing any clothes!

"Nuh-uh." Eddie kisses his neck, slotting his body against Steve. It's too similar to the way they'd woken up in the morning and Steve can't help but wonder whether he's used to cuddling up to Billy this way. If he, for some reason, decided to cuddle up to Steve last night. "Billy's got it."

"I can get my own water, Eds," Steve mutters, wrapping an arm around him. He's warm. Steve's tired. He doesn't get a reply, other than a soft sigh as Eddie cuddles even closer.

A cold water bottle presses against his forehead just as he's about to let his eyes slip closed. It feels so good against his overheated skin. A completely different type of relief, but relief nonetheless. Steve takes the bottle with a small thanks.

He shuffles up to sit against the headboard and Eddie grumbles. He doesn't move from his position, placing his head on Steve's thigh the moment he's settled. "He just wants to take care of you," Eddie mumbles, tracing shapes on the skin of Steve's knee. "Let him."

Take care of him? Steve's fine. He can handle himself.

He looks over to where Billy is standing next to the bed. There's a small frown on his face and he has his arms crossed in front of his chest. The only clothing he wears are his tented boxers, sending a pang of guilt through Steve's body. "I'll get ready in a minute, I swear, I just need some water."

Billy sits on the bed, placing his hand on Steve's other knee. It jerks underneath his touch. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Uhm." Steve laughs. He's still a little floaty from having just fucked Eddie, but he tries to organize his thoughts to his best ability, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. "We've been kind of ignoring you, man. I can get ready quickly so you can fuck me, if— If you still want that."

His eyes move to his lap, where his limp cock lay spent against the crease of his hip. Eddie's hair at the edge of his vision. His pointer finger taps the side of the water bottle.

Steve busies himself with taking a sip of water so he doesn't have to look at Billy. Eddie merely continues drawing shapes into Steve's skin, not wanting to involve himself or still coming down from his orgasm. He's soft in the same way he is when he just wakes up in the morning and Steve kicks himself for making that connection.

The last thing he needs is for Billy to think he's making some play on his boyfriend. And the way he's looking at him— Steve can't place it. He can't place it at all.

When Steve puts the bottle on the nightstand —half empty, though his mouth still feels too dry—, Billy is staring at him. His hands are shaking, so he buries them in Eddie's hair. He hopes Billy doesn't notice. He knows it's futile.

He knows he should have been more careful. He should have indulged Billy instead of fucking his boyfriend right in front of him. Having Eddie suck him off— It's all too much. He's so stupid.

"Steve." Steve's eyes snap to Billy's. "This isn't about me. Or Eds. We want to make you feel good, that's what this is about, alright? We told you we'd show you. Just how fucking much we want you."

Billy's eyes drag over Steve's body. Over the flush on his chest. Over his stomach that used to be all abs but recently has gotten softer. Over his cock where it's still wet with lube and cum. Steve swallows, feeling his face heat under Billy's watchful gaze.

"I want to fuck you," he continues. "But if you're not gonna let me appreciate you the way you deserve to be appreciated, I'd rather just go to bed. So." He squeezes Steve's knee. "Here's how things are gonna go: you're gonna take your time recovering, you're gonna ask for whatever you want and I will give it to you. And when you're ready, you're gonna bend over and I'm gonna take my time working you open before I fuck you so good you won't be able to think all those stupid fucking thoughts anymore. Am I clear?"

His eyes are dark where they're still settled on Steve's, stern and clear in their intention. That look alone is enough for arousal to start prickling in his gut again, though he knows it's much too early for him to get hard again. He just wants it. He wants— fuck, he wants Billy to take care of him. To appreciate him. To make him feel better than anyone ever has. To fuck him until all he can think about is those primal needs.

"Yes," he breathes.

Sweat drips down Steve's forehead onto the pillow below him. His arms are shaking, muscles aching from where he's holding himself up. His knees are pressed into the soft sheets, legs spread so Billy has all the space to fuck him from behind.

He doesn't know how much time has passed since they first started, living in a constant haze of artificial light and warm hands roaming the expanses of his body. His dick hangs heavy between his legs and Steve has lost track of the amount of times his body clenched up as another orgasm shot through him. He doesn't have much cum left and a watery consistency paints the insides of his thighs, dribbling onto the sheets. Something else they'll live to regret in the morning, or maybe when they head to bed later.

If Billy ever plans on letting up, that is.

His fingers burn where they're clutching Steve's hip, dragging him back onto his cock while slamming into him time and time again. Steve's letting out all types of sounds, not that he can help it. Billy rams into his prostate over and over again and— "It hurts, it hurts, fuck— fuck."

"You're doing so good, baby, so good," Billy whispers into his ear. The words burn even hotter than his touch —than the cock currently filling him up so nicely. It's been a near constant, Billy's praises. The taunts. It gets Steve going more than any touch ever could. "You feel so good, pretty boy. You were just built for it, can't believe this is the first time— First time you've ever let someone ruin you like this."

All Steve can do is whine and moan and nod his head, because Billy's right. He has to be, even if Steve only hears half of his murmured words. There's no way he's wrong when he's making Steve lose his mind with his cock alone.

It's thicker than he'd expected it to be. He almost feels bad for not having caught a glimpse of it before Billy was pushing his way inside. Despite the fact his hole must have been dripping with lube and he'd been nice and relaxed from his previous orgasms, it burned. It burned so good. Every inch entering him at a tantalizing pace until Billy was seated and filling him so nicely. Like he was built for it, Billy said. Steve agrees.

Every once in a while Billy would check in, ask if Steve's alright all while keeping up that filthy rhythm, grinding into Steve's prostate for a short few moments before letting up again. And Steve will mindlessly agree, even though he feels on the verge of passing out every other thrust because he does not want it to stop. Not until Billy spills inside him.

"Billy." Steve almost believes the name came from his own mouth, but all he's capable of is gasps and heaves. He's putting Eddie to shame. Or maybe Eddie is putting him to shame, because there's no way he sounds as good as Eddie did. He would probably be embarrassed if he was capable of any feelings other than arousal at the moment. Billy just fucks all those sounds from him, it's not like he can help it. He's so fucking sensitive. "Billy, sweetheart. Can I get a turn? Please? Wanna feel Stevie."

The words don't mean a thing to Steve. At least not more than the fact it's Eddie's voice and he's begging so nicely Steve almost forgets he's not in control anymore. It's pathetic.

Steve lets out a long whine when Billy pulls out of him. He's not done yet, and he's so empty. Hadn't they said they'd take care of him? Something along those lines, at least. He needs it, needs Billy's cock to fuck into him until he can't feel a thing anymore, he needs it more than he needs air—

He's pulled onto his side, head falling onto the pillow as an arm wraps around his waist. Before he can open his mouth to ask what's going on, another dick rocks into him.

Gasping, Steve immediately pushes his hips back. Full —though not in the same way he'd been before. Eddie's cock is long, reaching places inside him Billy's can't. It's less thick, but no less delicious. He wishes he had it in his mouth as well. He wishes a lot of things.

"Hi, Stevie." Eddie is rocking into Steve at a gentle pace that's a welcome break from Billy's relentless fucking. Steve's eyes flutter closed as he revels in the feeling of being full, of being taken care of this way. His breath punches from his lungs on every thrust in. "Feel so good. Fuck."

Steve's mouth drops open on a low moan. Being fucked so deeply, so thoroughly, is an entirely different experience. It makes him forget where he is entirely, the way Eddie's hand scratches through the hair on his chest as he whispers praises against the back of Steve's neck. "So sexy," he mutters. His lips are wet and his cock is pumping into Steve at a steady pace. Eddie could easily find and hit his prostate, but in a way it feels nice to have his cock brushing past it instead. It's relief from the relentless amount of orgasms. Steve's dick aches, throbbing against the mattress.

Being used is something he'd known he enjoyed. He's never come harder than back in high school with girls riding his face or being commanded to fuck them just so and making them come with shaky moans, clenching down around his cock and making them feel better than they ever have. He just likes making people feel good, gets off on it more than he does anything else.

"So tight, Stevie. So pretty for us," Eddie whispers. "S'this nice, Stevie?"

"Yeah," Steve whines. His throat hurts, though he doesn't recall what from. He hopes his voice won't be entirely gone in the morning, though a part of him can't help but imagine the way Billy and Eddie would look at him if that turned out to be the case.

His body is slick with sweat. He can taste it on his upper lip, feel it where he brushes a hand over his forehead. Logically, he knows it's disgusting. He can't seem to open his mouth to apologize, though. "So nice, Eds. So good."

"You are," Eddie confirms, even though Steve is pretty sure he hadn't meant it like that. It doesn't change the way it sends a rush through his body, the praise. Being called good. "You're so pretty, Stevie. Makes me lose my mind." Eddie groans as he fucks into Steve. "Our pretty boy, aren't you?"

His thrusts become less calculated. Steve feels his cock drag along his walls at a clumsy pace, like he's just chasing after his own orgasm more than he's trying to make it last. His lips press against the back of Steve's neck, hot breaths puff against his skin. "Yours," he whines. "Your—"

"Say it, Stevie. I'll— Fuck. I'll give you a reward."

Whatever the reward is, Steve doesn't know. He does know Eddie has been taking care of him so nicely the entire evening. And if he's saying he's got some kind of reward for Steve? He just has to believe him.

"Your pretty boy." Steve's voice shakes even though it's just a whisper. The words don't sound nearly as true coming from his own mouth, but they fall into the open air before he can stop them. It's all just pretend, anyway. He doesn't have to believe any of it. He can pretend. He's been doing it all weekend when he pretended not to look at them. Not to want them. "Yours, Eds."

Eddie groans, teeth sinking into Steve's shoulder as he buries deep inside him. His cum spills, hot and addicting and filling him up from the inside. Steve hears himself whining as it's happening. How could he not? Those dildos are not going to be enough for him ever again. He needs this. Needs Eddie. Needs his cock.

His own dick kicks weakly against the bed and Steve arches as his eyes roll to the back of his head. A moan stutters from his chest, something between pain and pleasure rushing through his body, a line that's been long crossed. It all feels the same to him now. Pain, pleasure. They're both just peaks he chases as long as they'll let him.

Faintly, he can hear himself mutter things he doesn't recall once he comes to, laying on his back with an empty hole and Eddie's hand stroking his face. "Thank you," Eddie whispers, pressing soft kisses against his jaw. The light of the overhead lamp shines in Steve's eyes —too much, too bright— so he closes them with a weak little sound Eddie smiles at.

Hands slide over his legs, thumbs digging into the insides of his thighs. It's too sensitive —he's too sensitive— and he gasps at the simple touch. "Can you take one more, baby? You're so fucking gorgeous when you're a mess. Just need to fuck you through it."

Billy's voice is rough as he pushes Steve's legs up to his chest like Steve remembers doing to Eddie earlier. He goes easily, squeezing his hole so none of Eddie's cum spills. He wants to keep it inside for as long as he can, wants Billy to feel it when he's fucking into him. A mess. Specifically built for them.

Humming, Steve leans into Eddie's touch. A hand sliding through his sweaty hair. He definitely needs to take a shower early tomorrow morning, because he doesn't want them to not want him anymore when they wake up. He needs to be pretty, be perfect. And there's no way he'll have the energy to shower later. "Please," he sighs.

He gasps when Billy slides home. Built for him. He fits so perfectly, dick pressing against that bundle of nerves Steve imagines should be all puffy and red now. He stays there, hands petting Steve's side as Steve tries to relax around him. "I'm gonna fuck you now, that alright?" Billy asks.

Yes, Steve thinks. He whines as he tries to push himself back on Billy's cock only to fail miserably. He just wants to be full, be fucked. Wants Billy's cum to mix with Eddie's. Wants to keep them even after all of this is over, in any way he can.

Slowly, Billy starts fucking into Steve. It's absolute torture as much as it is heaven. Steve's mouth has fallen open in a near constant whine, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth and making him look even more disgusting than he already does, probably. His hand grips one of Eddie's, void of any rings, as the other fists tightly in the sheets next to his body.

The bed must be thumping against the wall. Steve barely hears the sound over the slapping of skin and the near constant pour of praises falling from Billy's lips. "You're perfect. Fuck. So fucking perfect, baby. So tight for me, so wet."

"I can't—" Steve gasps. Eddie's hand cards through his hair, a pair of lips pressing against the skin of his throat. "I can't take it, I can't— Please— Don't stop, ah-ah—, don't stop! Harder, please, harder!"

It gets both worse and better when Billy starts fucking him in earnest. His hole is abused and pain shoots up his spine with every thrust, but he wants to cum so much. He craves the rush of pain as much as he craves the inevitable pleasure. He doesn't even know if he still can come.

Curse Billy and his never ending stamina.

He screams when a hand wraps around his cock and it dribbles weakly as he strokes him. His throat is raw and painful, though that doesn't stop wayward whines from making their way out of his mouth. "Please, please, please—"

"You're the best thing I've ever felt, baby," Billy grunts. Steve feels tears spilling from the corners of his eyes as the hand on his dick speeds up.

"Hey!" There's a sound of a hand coming down against skin. Not Steve, because all he can do is cry and moan as Billy hits his prostate dead on. Billy laughs, his pace faltering for one brief moment. Steve doesn't want to think about what might be funny, but he can't help the thought from shooting through his mind. They're making fun of me.

He bites his bottom lip to stifle his whine. They must think he's too weak. So fucking desperate. Too desperate, as he begs and pleads. As his abused hole continues to clench and squeeze around Billy's dick because he wants it so bad. He can't help it.

"One of the best things, baby." Lips press against his own, breathing in each other's air more than they're kissing him. The soft slide of their lips —aided by too much spit and the fast pace at which Billy fucks into him— sends sparks down his spine. "We're gonna— keep you," Billy grunts into his mouth. "Gonna stuff you full of dick every night. Make you—"

Billy cuts himself off, hands tightening on Steve's hips. "Keep me," Steve begs, unable to hold himself back any longer. "Please, please—"

The kicking of Billy's cock inside his hole makes Steve clamp up. He feels the way Billy spills into him, adding to the mess inside him, like he's somewhere floating in his own body. His orgasm rakes through him, pained as it sends sparks through every single nerve ending he knows of.

And then… Nothing.

Sunday

Steve wakes slowly, registering the stinging pain in his lower back first. Then comes the heady scent of sweat and sex where it still lingers on the sheets and his body. His arm tingles, gone numb a long while ago as it's wrapped around Eddie's body.

Last night comes back in flashes. Both the embarrassing, truly humiliating, and the waves of pleasure. His face flushes and he's glad neither of them are awake to watch it happen. Because, fuck. He'd done that, hadn't he? He'd taken a comically large hammer and broken all those walls he'd put up. All those rules, all the boundaries and lines that shouldn't be crossed. Not unless the world is, like, ending or something.

Though he doubts sex would be on his mind when the end is looming. He digresses.

Half of his face is covered with Eddie's hair, smelling like cigarettes and whatever oil Billy had put in it yesterday morning. Steve breathes it in, because as long as they're still asleep and unaware of what's happening, he's allowed.

On Eddie's other side is Billy, arms wrapped around his waist and fingers brushing the bare skin of Steve's side. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips move in a murmur Steve can't make out —either because of the fact his brain is still taking a while to boot up or because it's just too quiet of a sound.

His glasses are perched on the nightstand where he'd left them before heading out for the wedding the day before. It's a miracle they're still there with how much tumbling around they'd done last night. It wouldn't have been entirely out of the question for them to have been knocked to the ground with everything that happened.

He slides them onto his nose —he must have taken his contacts out sometime last night, even if he doesn't remember doing so— before glancing down at his body. The sheets had been shoved off the bed and neglected. The heat or… Other reasons, making them unwanted. He's surprised to find himself clean.

Not like it never happened. There's still the marks. Hickeys on his chest, scratches of nails and bruises in the shape of fingers on his hips and thighs. It's just that the gross, sticky, part-sweat part-release mess he'd been expecting is nowhere to be found.

They must have cleaned him. Wiped him off the best they could while he was too tired to move. He feels the phantom brush of a wet washcloth, running over his now-clean skin. Hands skim over his body, turning him around and making him grumble. He hears soft words filtered through a rush of blood in his ears.

And after they'd done all of that, they tucked themselves into bed next to him. Eddie cuddled up to him, just as he'd done the night before. Like they belong together.

Letting out a soft sigh, Eddie's hand squeezes Steve's hip. It's soft and unconscious —Steve doubts his dream-addled mind even remembers the fact that it's Steve he's holding and not Billy— and Steve… Steve wants to keep them.

He wants them night and day. Wants their kisses and teasing words and anything he can get. He wants to learn how to do Eddie's hair and he wants to learn their routines until they become automatic. Fuck. He wants to meet Billy's sister and her boyfriend and he wants to play D&D and listen to Eddie's band until he can hear his singing in his sleep.

For some reason, Steve finds it near impossible to fight the thoughts. Would it be so bad? Keeping them? He can imagine it. What it would be like to spend the rest of their lives together.

Throat closing up, Steve stumbles out of bed. He can't keep them. He can't. Because they're… They're together, they're in love. Maybe they'll get married one day. Maybe they'll spend the rest of their lives being in love like they're still teens. Whatever it is, it doesn't include him. It never has.

Steve scrambles around the room, tugging on his sweatpants and the shirt he slept in the night before. His eyes are glued on his fake —fake, Steve, it's not real— boyfriends while he stuffs his arms through the holes of his sleeves, glasses clattering to the floor as he tugs the shirt over his head.

He pauses to grab them, holding his breath as Eddie lets out a soft grumble. He shifts, but quiets down again when Billy tightens his arms around his waist.

It's all the proof Steve needs. They just work. Together, the two of them. They spent seven fucking years loving the hell out of each other, why is his brain foolish enough to think he could be included in that? He's nothing.

Steve falls to his knees in front of his dress pants, still in a heap on the floor. His phone should be in here somewhere and he needs his phone because he— He can't deal with this. He thought he could. He thought it would be fine, no matter what happened, but he can't. He never could.

Phone in hand, he rushes out of the hotel room. He's dialed Robin's number before the door has even closed behind him.

"Steve?" Her voice is groggy through the phone. Part of him feels bad for calling her —it's probably around time to open the coffee shop back in Hawkins and Steve aches to be with her, doing mundane tasks like buttering sandwiches and making sure the coffee beans are topped off— but another part of him can't breathe. That part of him needs her, even more than the air he can't suck into his lungs. She's his other half. His best friend. "What's wrong?"

A rush of love for her surges through his body. She knows something is wrong without him even having to say a word. Not even pausing to berate him for calling this early in the morning. She knows him better than he knows himself and he's so grateful for it. He doesn't think he could pretend to be alright for another moment. And despite the lump in his throat and the stinging behind his eyes, he breaks.

"I fucked up. I fucked—" A humorless laugh falls from his lips. "Them. I fucked them."

Sagging against the wall opposite to their hotel room, Steve puts his forehead in his hands. All he can do to keep his shit together is pray the walls are thick enough to keep this conversation between the two of them. The last thing he needs is for his family to hear about his joke of a life. The entire act has been embarrassing enough as is.

Maybe he should've just left. Taken the plane back home and not said a word about any of it. Hell, he could have tried his luck by knocking on Mary's door. Or his parents's. They would jump at the chance to talk some sense into him. Attempt to, at least.

But Robin? She told him not to do this exact thing. She's been warning him from the beginning and if he'd have listened to her —if he'd have called last night instead of jumping into bed with them— he wouldn't be in the situation he is right now.

Though, he's aware the whole mess started long before they fucked. Something had to give.

A door closes on her end of the phone. It's almost like he's there with her, sitting on the patch of grass behind the coffee shop, eating popsicles to beat the heat. She'd argued that if some of their co-workers are allowed to take a smoke break, they're allowed to take ice cream breaks —it's just as much of an addiction.

"Tell me, Steve," she says, voice gentle. "Not about the threesome part, just… Tell me what's going on in that pea-sized brain of yours. I won't even gloat about being proven right yet again."

Steve takes a deep breath, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thump. "I know I shouldn't have done it. I just— Eddie asked me to dance and Billy asked to kiss me and I agreed, which I know is stupid and I know I never should have done it, but I thought I could handle it. Or maybe I wasn't thinking at all."

Chewing his lip, he looks at the door to their room. No sound. He imagines Billy and Eddie are still sleeping soundly while tears are now spilling over Steve's cheeks and fogging up his glasses. How long would it take for them to notice he's gone?

"We went back to the hotel room, and we… Fuck, Robs, I don't think one night stands are supposed to feel like that. I woke up this morning and all I could think about was what it would be like to wake up with them every morning from now. I'm fucked. I think I'm—"

"Falling for them?" Robin finishes. The judgment he'd expected to detect in her voice is nowhere to be found. Though he doesn't know whether he should be happy she settled for pity instead. "I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry they used you like that. You shouldn't have let it happen, but— I understand. Or I'm trying to, at the very least. Were you drunk? They didn't force you, did they?"

"No, Robs, fuck. Nothing like that. I wanted it as much as they did. Maybe more." Definitely more. Because whereas it had just been a single night for them, for Steve it had been the start of what could have been. It took him over five years to get over Nancy. How long will it take for him to get over them? With their gentle hands and teasing smiles and— He's so fucked.

Steve should've run the very first moment he saw them. The sun blazing down on him, unknowing of what their simple arrangement would snowball into. Something that can't be turned back. Something Steve will have to live with for the rest of his life. "I wasn't drunk," he mumbles, like an afterthought.

So many moments. He could have left after walking in on them making out, when he'd felt his heart kick in his chest in a way it hasn't in years. Or maybe when he'd caught glimpses of their relationship, sleeping in the same bed and taking care of each other in the morning. He should have run the first moment he felt some unexplainable —an argument he'd made at the time, though he feels like he could explain it rather clearly now— tug in their direction.

At the very least, he could have left when he woke up this morning. Nothing he brought had so much value he wouldn't miss it, just himself and his phone and his glasses. The clothes on his back. People might look at him strangely when he makes his way to the plane, but he's used to being looked at. Being judged.

He hadn't wanted to leave them, though. After all they'd done, they deserve some kind of goodbye. They deserve not to be abandoned. They're not the ones that made a fatal mistake. He is.

"I don't know what to do," Steve croaks. He sniffles, wiping his nose on the back of his hands. Tears stream over his lips, tasting like salt in a different way than the sweat of last night did. "I thought it would be fine, I thought I could deal with it if they didn't want me anymore. It's just a one night stand, right? I don't know why I'm making such a big deal out of this."

It didn't mean a thing. They might have allowed him to sleep in the same bed, allowed him to catch a glimpse of their love. Hell, they might have wanted him for one single night, but that doesn't mean a damn thing. In the normal world, people can just move on from casual sex —pretend it never happened, go to work, to school, forget all about it— but Steve's never been normal.

The fact he'd allowed himself to think they wanted him for longer than a single night is idiotic. They're beautiful and perfect and so fucking lovely and he's just little Steve Harrington, who's fall from grace made him even less likable than he already was. He wouldn't want him either.

"Steve, hey," Robin says. He's never wanted her company more than he does now. He longs for her arms wrapped around his body, allowed to cry and be small as long as she's near. But she isn't. She's so far away and her voice isn't enough to stop his world from crumbling around him. "We're gonna figure this out, alright? We will. Where are they now?"

"Still asleep, I think. I'm in the hallway, they just—" He squeezes his eyes closed like that would make the tears stop. It's almost as dumb of a move as sleeping with the guys he's longed for since he met them, though a little less destructive. "They looked so soft, Robin. It's— Fuck, I've been slipping since I met them. One touch had been enough. And then we shared a bed and we kissed and we…" He trails off, wiping his cheeks. "I didn't stand a fucking chance, did I? I'm so fucking stupid."

Steve pulls at his hair where the strands have twisted into knots from sweat and leftover hairspray. Nothing can save him from the stupid damnation he'd put upon himself. Nothing, not his father, not Robin. Nobody.

If he truly knows himself —has gotten to know himself— as well as he claims to his parents, none of this would have happened. Maybe a part of him always knew. The part that kept repeating over and over how bad of an idea it was. The part that only wanted to protect him, but Steve— Steve hadn't wanted to be protected. That's who he is, isn't he? Someone that bites off more than they can chew, running into trouble head on without any sort of plan.

Someone that falls in love with guys who he's only just met. Guys that are dating. Guys that touched him like they cared for him, because he'd asked them to. Not explicitly, but with the whole pretense they needed to keep up.

He'd reveled in it, even. That pretense. He'd thought that as long as it stuck to faking, he'd be alright. He could —even if just for a moment— pretend all of it was real. He'd deal with the consequences, with the heartbreak, once it all comes crumbling down.

He just wished he could pretend a little longer.

"Don't say that, Steve." Robin sighs. "You're not stupid you just… You love really hard." She falls silent, maybe realizing she's not making sense. What's loving carelessly if not ultimate stupidity? "Do you—"

Before she can finish her sentence, the door to their hotel room swings open. Billy looks about as surprised to see Steve as Steve is to see him. He's wearing a loose tank top and red shorts, earbud halfway to his ear and phone in hand. "Steve?" he asks.

Steve whips off his glasses before he makes to wipe at his face again —hiding more than anything else— and drops his phone to the ground in the process. It lands face up, the call still going. "Steve?" he hears Robin question. He ignores her.

There's nothing he wants more than to take off right now, but he knows Billy would catch up with him in an instant. What has he got to run for, anyway? Falling so easily is not a crime, no matter how much it feels like one. He has all the right to feel the way he feels.

Especially with how good they'd been to him. Not just last night, but throughout the entire weekend.

They'd treated him with kindness, like he'd been a part of what they have for longer than they can remember. Even with his family, they'd been civil, despite the fact that Steve's family consists of assholes and homophobes. They'd touched him with a sort of soft reverence and they hadn't bothered him —nor had they judged him— when his father was being a dick after the rehearsal dinner.

He'll never find something like that again, because no matter how kind and sweet and loving they'd been… None of it was real. The only way a relationship like that exists is without baggage and without future. Playing pretend, that's the only way things like these work out.

Steve refuses to look up at Billy, even as he waits for the telltale sounds of someone walking off. The fact that Billy is just standing there, staring at him, is embarrassing enough. He lasts about three minutes before he's sliding his glasses back on his nose. There's nothing to do but give Billy the pleasure of actually looking Steve in the face while he's all red eyes and sniffles. 

The expression on Billy's face shows pity, no doubt. Maybe even disbelief. He gets it. What kind of weirdo spends the night with someone only to escape the room and cry in the hallway? He should be riding the high of leftover pleasure, not trying to find himself a hole big enough to die in.

"Have you been crying?" Billy's words don't surprise him. The way he says them is, as expected, filled with pity. Maybe that's all this was. Some sort of pity-fuck because Steve has such a horrible family or something. Let's give him something nice to remember the weekend by, he imagines them saying, poor guy wouldn't get any otherwise.

It sounds nothing like them, though. The voice is twisted and mangled until it resembles both Tommy Hagan and a blend of all his family members. He needs to get a grip.

"It's nothing," Steve mumbles. And truly, it isn't. He's crying over something that could have been, if it weren't for the fact it did not mean a single thing. Not to Billy and Eddie. Not to the people that matter.

At least he can get the fuck out after this stilted interaction. Billy has seen him. Billy knows he didn't leave before the sunrise, and he can report as much to his boyfriend when he comes back from his run. When Steve's already on his way to the airport with only the clothes on his back and a pair of red rimmed eyes.

He'll need to block Billy's number in case they get the crazy idea to try and reach out to him. Not that he thinks they will. Steve's already concluded that they want nothing to do with him anymore. They will be grateful for the fact he's left on his own, instead of having to break the impact of the inevitable words. Something along the lines of 'We had a great time, but I think it would be best if you left.'

It's a shame he can't take a shower before he leaves, though.

Billy's sneakers shuffle as he takes a step closer. Tears prickle behind his eyes once more. Why can't this guy just take the hint and leave? It's not like he actually cares for Steve. All this was is a convenience fuck. He likes that option a lot more than the whole pity thing.

There is no way he's crying again. Not in front of him.

"Can I sit?" Billy asks.

Steve shrugs. Billy can do whatever the fuck he wants, even though Steve has no clue why he'd be bothered to pretend to care now. He's gotten what he wanted, hasn't he? Either way, there's little left for Steve to lose after his dignity and self respect have flown out of the window when he opened his legs for them.

Maybe this is the part where he asks Steve for a tip. He gave him more than asked for, after all. Gave him pleasure that lasted hours until it all came crashing down. Gave him marks and lingering touches and a voice that's still raw from screaming. The real boyfriend experience. The thought seems laughable.

There's nothing to laugh about, though. Steve hired them. They're not doing this from the goodness of their hearts, he didn't even know them before they made their deal. A business deal. He's their boss.

The clear power imbalance makes him shift in his place. He hadn't even thought of that. He really is no better than his father fucking his secretaries on business trips. A real Harrington, through and through.

Billy takes a seat next to him, sighing as he sinks back against the wall. His knee presses against Steve's, bare skin against the soft fabric of his sweats. Steve clenches his jaw, keeping his eyes locked on the place where the wall in front of him meets the floor. Maybe if he's antisocial enough Billy will take a hint and fuck off.

"Did something happen with your family?" Billy asks. His hand falls to Steve's thigh, fingers settling over the inseam of his sweats. It's as warm as it always is. Maybe even warmer, because Steve now knows of the bruises dotting the insides of his thighs. Knows they're his.

Another few tears spill across his cheeks.

"Pretty boy," Billy sighs. "Look at me. Please?"

Steve's eyes snap to Billy's. The blue is filled with concern and Steve's bottom lip trembles. His hands are shaking as he tries to gather the courage to push Billy's hand off of him. "No," he croaks. The word slips from his mouth before he can stop it. A hand and a gentle voice. That's all it takes for Steve to break. Isn't that how it's been all weekend?

For a long while, there's nothing but silence. Steve looks at the wall once more, squeezing his hands into fists as Billy rubs his thumb into Steve's leg. Small circles that should feel comforting. They burn him. "Do you regret it, then? Last night?"

Steve huffs a laugh, wet and pathetic. "I don't know what else to do," he admits. He regrets it and he doesn't at the very same time. It's not like he'd change anything if he went back in the past, but it hurts him all the same. He should have known better, but he'd gotten something.

Maybe that's his problem. Greed.

The lingering hands, the soft smiles. That should've been enough. He should have been fine with a little longing and a new friendship. But he wasn't so he let Billy kiss him, even though he knew it didn't mean a thing. And when that wasn't enough, he let them fuck him.

Except as greed often does, it consumed him. Sex hadn't been enough. He needed love.

"I'm sorry," Billy says. "We should've—"

"No," Steve interrupts. He can't let Billy believe any of this was their fault, even though Steve can't help but resent them. If only just a little.

It's all misplaced, he knows that much. He's the only one that fell for the foolish tricks of his mind. Not once did Billy and Eddie allude to things meaning something more. All they did is what Steve paid them to do. All they did was long for a fun night.

It's Steve that messed it all up. "No," he repeats. "None of this is your fault. You can't have known I'd fool myself into believing you might still want me after this is all done."

"Want— Steve, what are you talking about?"

"It's okay," Steve says. He pulls together all the courage it takes to look into Billy's eyes once more. Where once resided pity, there's only confusion. "You can leave. You can go on to live your life, I'll be fine. It's— I know it didn't mean anything, okay? Please don't treat me like I'm some sort of mental case."

Billy's mouth drops open, realization dawning on his features. "You didn't know."

It feels like they've been sitting here, talking about Steve's incompetence for hours. How long is something like this supposed to take? He'd assumed it would have been over in a heartbeat, though he guesses he should've known better.

Billy and Eddie care about him, to some extent. They're good people, Steve's realized as much from hanging out with them for two days straight. It's not like them to just leave the moment Steve tells them to, especially when he's clearly —embarrassingly so— crying and having a tough time with all of it.

That still doesn't mean he wants to get caught up on details. He doesn't care about what Billy and Eddie were thinking when they decided he's cute enough to sleep with, but not spend the rest of their lives with. Steve's fine with not knowing. Hell, he prefers not to know, and yet—

"What?" he asks. His voice croaks straight from his chest, still raw and pained from last night. It never should have happened, he knows as much. He can't help but wonder if things could've been different if it hadn't.

Maybe they'd go on to stay friends. Something Steve thinks would hurt more than it'd do him any good. Or maybe he would have never realized how serious his feelings for the two of them run, he could go back to Hawkins with a slight nagging in his chest. He'd probably blame it on the weather, or eating something strange. Now he can only see it for what it truly is. Longing.

Wiping a rough hand over his face, Billy mutters, "I'm not the fucking person for this." He glances at the door in front of them, like Eddie might come bursting through it any moment now, saving him from this miserable conversation.

A part of Steve wishes he will. He doesn't want to sit here and pretend to be okay with getting dumped before their relationship even started. Not that there'd been any sign of them wanting him back, at least not for anything more than casual sex. They were never dating, never together.

That doesn't mean his brain hadn't been fooled. It had been easy, letting his heart lead the interactions that passed between the three of them, no matter how loaded. All his brain had to do was sit back and berate Steve for allowing these silly things to go on. Another pretense, one of control this time.

It might be good, getting dumped. Having Billy say the words, whatever those words may be. It might bring some clarity. To both his brain and his heart. His ego will take a big hit, but Steve has long concluded that it might be for the best. He needs to stop pretending.

"It did mean something, Steve," Billy starts. It's the way he says it, pained to the point of sounding sincere. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. He won't even look at Steve, eyes focused on the door.

Does he disgust Billy so much that he can't look him in the eye? Steve hadn't wanted to look at him earlier, but that was different. He doesn't have a boyfriend waiting for him when he goes back to Hawkins.

They'd barely had anything, and yet they're all he has to lose.

It could also be that Billy is nice enough to try to make it hurt less. To make the pain in Steve's chest dissipate with kind words. It won't work. The truth is the only thing Steve wants, the only thing he can handle right now.

"You don't have to let me down easy," Steve whispers. He's horrified to taste salt spilling across his tongue once more and wipes at his cheeks to make the tears disappear. He's making a complete fool of himself, if only because of how easily he loves.

It's embarrassing.

Billy's hand tightens on Steve's leg. It's a harsh reminder it's still there. Steve thinks that if he were to remove it now, there would be a burn mark on his skin. The exact shape of Billy's hand scarred into his thigh, a constant reminder of what he could never have. He wants it gone. Wants it to mean something.

Billy shakes his head. "I'm not trying to. Fuck, Steve. How hard is it for you to grasp that we don't want to just get rid of you now?"

A breath pauses halfway down his lungs. Steve looks at Billy, at his bright blue eyes where they've finally sought out Steve's once more. At the way his eyebrows pull together. There's a loud ringing in his ears, stopping him from hearing the words that pass over Billy's lips next, despite seeing his mouth form around their shapes. "What?" he asks.

There is no way he heard that right. He can't have. Because the way he says it, it sounds almost like Billy wants to keep him. Wants to wrap his arms around Steve as they sleep, whisper sweet nothings in his ear when they wake up in the morning. Wants Steve.

Or maybe —the more probable option— Billy is not too good with words and merely means to say they can still be friends. Despite the fact they spent the night together. Despite all those lingering touches and stolen glances.

Despite the fact Steve has fallen for them. The way they cared for him, the way they said they wanted him. There's not a chance he'll forget about that, about the short time they've spent together. He'll long for them for… Possibly forever.

He wishes Billy would have just gotten things over with, told him he didn't want Steve any longer. At least it would be done. Steve wouldn't have that sliver of hope slicing open his heart yet again.

"I know, I know, it's not a fucking normal way to meet someone." He takes a deep breath. His hand is clutching Steve's thigh like he's afraid he'll make a run for it. If he wanted to —if he was capable of it— he'd have done it already. "Eds and I talked about it. That first night and while getting food and at the wedding. Every fucking moment you were away, we talked about it. About you. About what it might mean, what it could mean."

Steve tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry. "I don't understand."

"We both agree that the way you make us feel, the fucking effect you have on us, we haven't felt that way since meeting each other." Billy's hand loosens up as he searches Steve's eyes. "We want to try, because even though it's not what we expected in the fucking least, we don't want to let you go. We can start over, go on dates. Get to know each other. All that shit. But only if you're sure—"

Like he even needs to ask. Ever since meeting them Steve has done a lot of irresponsible things. He's pushed aside any rational thought, jumping into the deep without wondering what might be hiding beneath the surface. He's followed his heart, with little care whether it might be leading him astray.

And now… Billy wants him. And though there might still be some little Robin-sounding voice in his brain telling him this could all be a trap —telling him to be careful not to get hurt again— he's always been careless when it comes to them.

"You want me?" Steve interrupts. He's holding his breath like that might make the situation less fragile. "As a— boyfriend?" His voice sticks in his throat, becoming small and worried. Steve knows he'd do just about anything for them, but that doesn't mean he'll let himself be manipulated. Or fooled into thinking they're something more than they actually are.

If anything, this situation has proven that he still needs to learn to take care of himself. To put himself first. He doesn't regret it, not exactly, but he grieves the way he so easily puts aside his self worth the moment his heart beats at a faster pace.

But maybe they can help him with that. If he's not misreading the situation entirely.

"We didn't mean for things to go this fucking fast, I swear. We had a whole plan to talk to you when the wedding is over. Give you time to think about it when you were away, when we weren't fucking pretending anymore. We weren't even planning to take your fucking money! But then—"

"You kissed me," Steve breathes. He pulls his legs up to his chest and Billy moves his hand to Steve's ankle, like he can't stand to part from touching him. His fingers slip under Steve's sweats. A warm, but not quite burning, touch.

Billy nods, turning to face Steve. "You were saying all those things last night. About being ours and I thought—"

"We were having sex!" Steve exclaims. Billy's eyebrows quirk up and Steve slaps a hand over his mouth, glancing around the hallway to make sure no one heard that outburst. The last thing he needs is one of his nosy family members overhearing him.

The corner of Billy's mouth quirks up when Steve looks at him again. He finds that he can breathe much easier now compared to minutes ago. He knows he would have been fine in the long run, if they didn't want him back but this… It's pretty much the perfect ending, isn't it?

"But what about you and Eddie?" he asks, the thought nagging at his brain. They're so good together. Not only are they years ahead of Steve with getting to know each other, they also work so well that Steve's almost afraid of disrupting the balance. "What the two of you have, it's…" Steve bites his lip. "You've been dating for seven years."

"I know." Billy reaches out to cup Steve's face, rubbing a thumb over his jaw. "It's a long time to make up for, and I would love to say I wish we'd met you seven years ago, but I think we both know that's not true." He falls silent for a moment. "Not because you're not fucking perfect, but because we were…"

He shakes his head. Steve doesn't push it. He thinks he'll hear about it when the time comes.

It's the first time Steve's allowed himself to think about a future with them. Something more than an intruding thought or a daydream that blows away with the summer breeze. They have time. Steve doesn't need to learn everything about them right away, he trusts them to tell him when they're both ready.

"We've grown since them," Billy continues. "And then we met you and you're everything. We fucking knew since the moment we saw you, that's not something you fake. I know it's a lot to ask, but I fucking sweat that if you'd just give us a chance we'd make it worth it. We'll take such good care of you, pretty boy. We're not rich and that we don't have a lot to offer you, but—"

Steve leans forward before he gets the chance to finish that sentence.

When their lips meet it sends a shiver down his spine. Even though it's not as heated or as passionate as their previous kisses, it's everything Steve could have hoped for and more. It's a promise. Of the future. Of everything real.

"Is that a yes?" Billy breathes as Steve leans their foreheads together. Steve can't help the smile playing at his lips. His eyes still burn from all the tears shed, but that's not nearly enough to ruin this moment.

"I'll need time. Space." It's the responsible thing to do, even though Steve wishes he could pack up and move to California right away. He won't be surprised if he's on a flight back here before the end of the month. Maybe it's not so bad after all, following his heart.

"Of course," Billy agrees. "Anything you need, you've got it."

Steve hums. "Are you gonna tell Eddie I cried like a baby?" It's mostly a tease. Steve thinks that even if Billy kept it to himself, he would have told him. It's only fair if they're gonna be dating.

The thought alone makes him shiver in anticipation.

"Well," Billy says. He leans forward to peck Steve on the lips, only to lean back in and kiss him all slow and sweet. "I usually tell him everything, but I guess I could keep a few details to myself…"

Just as Billy is about to kiss him again, a voice comes from below them. "Hey, dingus!" Robin yells. Steve pulls back from Billy to look wide-eyed at the phone that's still laying beneath them, numbers counting up to make the minutes of the call. A blush prickles at his cheeks. "I'm not done lecturing you yet, but please hang up the phone if you're gonna have gross gay sex!"

Steve quickly takes the phone, pressing it to his ear and squeezing his eyes shut. "Why do you want to ruin my life?"

"It's just too much fun," Robin replies, a smile clear in her words. Steve peels open his eyes to see Billy watching him carefully. Those blue eyes that have been haunting him these past days settled on him in a way that makes him both feel lighter and slightly too hot. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Hey, Steve?" He doesn't bother looking away from Billy —not now he's finally allowed— before humming in answer. "I'm like super happy for you and he sounds like a great guy who cares a lot about you, but if he so much as—"

"Alright, goodbye Robin!" Steve fumbles to hang up the phone before she can go into some sort of protective spiel. His cheeks burn as he leans his back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. "So why did you kiss me last night?" he asks.

It's one of the things that still doesn't make sense to him. It wasn't an accident. When Billy walked onto the dance floor it was with all the intention of kissing him. Steve just can't believe it to be a spur of the moment thing, not with how much Billy likes to be in control.

Billy shakes his head, taking one of Steve's hands and holding it in his. Their fingers tangle together like they were made to. "Some people were spreading petty fucking gossip. Something about how it's clear I like Eddie more than you. About how we're just using you, and don't care as much about you as we do for each other." His voice is clear, unafraid. "I wanted to show them just how much we care."

"Oh," Steve breathes, feeling that fierce blush take over his cheeks once more. Even before they were dating, Billy had been worried about Steve feeling like he wasn't a part of them —or being accused of something similar. He'd acted without thinking, showing Steve and all those onlookers that it's complete nonsense.

He kisses Billy again before he can think too much about how that makes him feel.

"Why the fuck are you two kissing in the hallway? You gonna run away together or something?" Steve breaks away from the kiss to look at Eddie standing in the doorway. He's wearing only boxers and his hair is pulled into a loose bun. "At least make me coffee first."

Sputtering a laugh, Steve stands from the floor. There's no more anxious thoughts nagging at his brain, even when he grabs Eddie's hip and presses a kiss against his cheek. "Coffee," Eddie mutters. "Now, please."

They catch Eddie up on everything that has happened while having breakfast and drinking coffee. Steve sits at the foot of the bed with a bagel, while Eddie is leaned against the headboard —eyes much clearer than they were when he'd caught the two of them kissing.

Billy had skipped his workout to join them, sitting on top of the dining table with dangling legs and listening intently as Steve recounts the morning's events. When Eddie properly wakes up he holds Steve in his arms and kisses him long and slow until Steve's dizzy with it. "I'm gonna write you so many songs, Stevie. Just you wait."

A few hours later, they head to brunch. The last family event of the weekend. It feels much less daunting than the ones before, maybe because he's found his footing. If only because of the comfort radiating off of his boyfriends. (He isn't sure whether he's allowed to call them that yet, but in the safety of his own mind, he supposes it's alright).

They find a place at the table and Steve makes sure to save a seat for Mary. She shows up about halfway through brunch, greasy hair pulled into a bun and big sunglasses on her face. Steve can't recall ever seeing her when she wasn't put together, but there's something else hiding beneath that messy look.

"You look…"

"Horrible? Thanks, I feel it," she grumbles, leaving the plate in front of her empty.

"Lighter," Steve finishes.

Mary looks up at him and though he can't make out her expression with the glasses she's wearing, he feels like she's seizing him up. "I feel lighter," she says. "You look different too. I suppose you finally worked things out with those… Men."

"Are you trying not to insult them right now?" Steve laughs. Forget about never seeing her put together, he doesn't think she's ever made him laugh. Nothing but a sarcastic huff, at least.

Sighing, Mary leans back in her chair to cross her legs. She doesn't look at him as she says, "I'm happy for you."

Happy. He supposes that's the right way to put it. With Eddie's hand resting on his thigh and the taste of coffee infused kisses lingering on his tongue, he can truly say he's happy.

Later, he'll have to head back home. He's got a shift at the coffee shop waiting for him in the morning, his flight leaving early tonight. It means they've still got a few hours to spend together, though. Hole up in their hotel room and watch TV. Maybe kiss a little more. Maybe hold each other, through the short amount of time they have left.

He knows they'll drive him to the airport, wave him off. Not because he asked, but because that's the kind of people they are. They care about him. Want him. And even though that's still a slightly foreign thought with the lingering memory of all that pretense, he welcomes it with open arms.

It might not have been real at the start. It should have been an easy business exchange, some acting and a few horrible days at his cousin's wedding. But it's real now. The way they look at him, the way they care for him. There's nothing fake about it.