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It’s the eighth time it happens when Steve finally says something. He can ignore the occasional shifting from the other side of the couch, but every time he reaches for the popcorn in Eddie’s lap, he readjusts or moves the bowl or angles his body different.
After Eddie crosses his legs then immediately uncrosses them, Steve asks, “You good?”
Popcorn goes flying when Eddie nearly catapults off the couch at the sound of his voice. He swears under his breath, scooping handfuls of kernels, and mumbles, “What? Why? I’m fine.”
Steve squints. He can’t have been that engrossed in the movie because it’s Steve’s pick tonight, and for his trouble, he endured Eddie ranting to and from Family Video about why baseball films are a waste of money. Cocking an eyebrow, Steve nods at the sling trapping Eddie’s arm against his front. “You keep fidgeting. Does your arm hurt?”
“N-no. No, it’s not that.”
“But there is something?”
“Jesus, no, I’m fine. Relax.” Eddie stands and shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth, words muffled as he retreats to the kitchen. “You don’ have to mover hen me like da twerps.”
Movie paused, Steve hangs over the sofa backrest to glare at him. Once everything settled after Vecna’s defeat, the Munsons didn’t have a place to stay, so Steve offered his own cavernously spacious home, vacant except for himself since the ‘earthquakes’ gave his parents even more excuse to travel. Wayne graciously declined; his new job at the Motel 6 on Cornwallis provides onsite housing, but he’d insisted Eddie take the offer. At least until his arm heals.
So, Steve gained a roommate and has learned quite a lot about him over the past several months. Like how when he lies, he moves as physically far as possible from the person he’s lying to as if running from the soundwaves will make them not his.
“Dude,” Steve admonishes. “Seriously, what’s up? It’s not just tonight. You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Weirder than normal.”
Eddie’s disembodied voice floats from the kitchen. “You’re out of beer. I’ll make a run to the gas station.”
“Eddie.”
“Want some Red Vines?”
“Eddie.”
A mess of frizzy curls pops around the doorframe. “Yes, dear?”
“Come on, I thought we were cool. We can talk about whatever. I told you all that crap with my parents, you told me the demobat nightmare. I know something is bothering you, and—look, if you really don’t want to talk about it, fine, but I just want to help.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay, really.”
“Don’t lie to me again, you dick.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, and he straightens, shoulders squared. “Seriously, you’re guilt-tripping me? About the time I almost died?”
“You mean the time I carried your ass out of that shithole and saved your life after you promised you wouldn’t be a hero? That’s got to count for something in the trust department, man.”
Eddie sighs, leans against the doorframe, and rubs his brow. “It does. I do. Trust you, I mean. But this isn’t something you can help with. Trust me, this isn’t something you’d want to help with.”
“Well, just that sounds like you’re running away from the problem. Making decisions for me when you don’t even know what I—”
“Running away?” Eddie’s jaw drops, then he tosses his working hand in the air. “Fine. If you’re gonna throw that in my face… You really wanna know, Steve? I’m horny. Okay? I’m horny and righthanded, and—oh, look at that! Can’t use my right hand, and it doesn’t work with my left. Believe me, I tried.”
Wide-eyed, Steve blinks then barks a laugh. “Jesus, that’s all? I thought it was something serious.”
Eddie flips him off before plopping back down and pressing play on the remote.
“Aw, don’t be like that.” Steve hits pause again. “You have to admit it’s funny.”
“It’s really not.”
“You could like—” Hand over his crotch, Steve rolls his hips, “with a pillow?”
Eddie side-eyes the motion then glances away, swallowing hard. “I end up feeling too much like a dog humping some defenseless stuffed animal.”
“Hm. Guess your pickle is in a pickle.” Eddie looks unamused, but Steve can’t help snickering; it’s usually the other way around with the picking and teasing, Steve ending up flustered under Eddie’s charming grin and sly words. “Was it the baseball uniforms getting you riled up?” Steve jokes.
Face red, eyes fixed on the frozen screen, Eddie clenches his jaw.
Steve’s smile slips. “I’m just joking. And hey, I mean—it’s okay. If it was. Y’know.”
Eddie snorts. “Sound a little less sincere, Harrington, I’m in danger of believing you.”
“Hey, you know I’m cool with it. Hello—remember Robin?”
“Okay, you’re cool with me being gay. Can we shut up about it and finish the movie?”
The sound resumes, but Steve can’t tear his gaze from Eddie even as he staunchly refuses to return it. Flickering light from the TV outlines Eddie’s features. Mouth tense, jaw clenched, closed off and cold. Steve doesn’t like that.
He’s grown accustomed to Eddie’s presence. Someone warm to sit beside while eating dinner on the couch and watching M*A*S*H reruns with their feet up. Listening to rants about books or D&D or music. Hearing that music played so loud neighbors bang on their door and Steve has to apologize only to tell Eddie to crank up the volume once they’re gone. The smell of Irish Spring that wafts from the bathroom, trailing Eddie as he saunters out after a shower, nothing but a towel around his waist. Wet hair dangling in tendrils down his shoulders. Silver scars crisscrossing pale skin. Steve can see one creeping up Eddie’s neck where the demobats bit chunks out of him. Nearly killed him. But Steve carried him home, kept him alive because no way was he letting that be the end of Eddie Munson’s story. Steve wants to fix it, rewrite what’s carved into flesh, replace those scars with something softer, warmer.
He wants…
“I could help.”
Eddie almost doesn’t hear over the roaring blood in his ears, but when he glances at Steve, Steve stares back with an odd, puzzled expression as if slowly comprehending what he just said. What Steve just said. There’s no way, right? He can’t mean what Eddie thinks he means. What some desperate, traitorously hopeful, delusional part of him thinks he means.
“What?” Eddie mutters.
Swallowing, Steve angles toward him, knee bent on the couch, so close to Eddie’s thigh he can feel his body heat. “I-I could help,” Steve says. “With—” The gesture to Eddie’s crotch is like a summoning spell, his dick swelling with every pent-up drop of arousal he’s been denied the past few months.
He can’t move. If he moves or speaks or fucking breathes, the dream ends. Because that’s what this is. He’s asleep, dreaming about Steve offering to get him off while, in the real world, Steve is on the opposite end of the sofa, watching the movie and having a perfectly normal night. It has to be a dream.
Right?
“I mean—if you’re okay with guys, it-it would work, right? I just want to help,” Steve splutters.
“Help?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got KY upstairs, and I can use my hand or… Or whatever.”
“Whatever?”
Licking his lips, Steve leans across the cushions. “Only if you want to.”
Finally, Eddie moves, glancing away then back to break the dream, to reset Steve back in his original position, watching the movie, but he’s still there, earnest hazel eyes boring into Eddie’s.
“Want to,” Eddie hears himself parrot mindlessly.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, uh.” Steve’s hand inches across the cushions, and Eddie doesn’t mean to flinch, but he does, exhale stuttering out in a parody of a laugh. “I mean, yeah, I want to, but—you’re not gay.”
“How do you know?”
“You dated half the girls in your year. In my year. Including the super senior ones.”
“So?”
“Steve.”
“It’s just a handjob.”
“Just a—” Eddie laughs, shaking his head at the ceiling and battling the urge to cry because what is happening? “Christ, Steve.”
“Think of it like me cutting your waffles for you. I do it every morning.”
Eddie scoffs. “Stop fucking around, okay? Poor, pathetic Eddie can’t jerk off, it’s funny, you had your chuckles, now drop it.” He moves to stand but—
“Eddie.”
A hand on his thigh, his inner thigh, halts him. Brow creased, eyes big and round, Steve holds his gaze as that hand edges higher in question. When Eddie doesn’t stop him, Steve eases the tongue of his belt loose, fingers pausing on the button underneath. Their eyes meet. Afraid to speak, to risk dispelling this turn of fate, Eddie nods minutely.
It's at once an eternity and the blink of an eye before the zipper is down, Steve’s hand delving between layers of fabric to grope him through his briefs. Already shamefully hard, Eddie can’t help bucking into the touch, grunting.
Steve smirks. “You are pent-up, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Aw, is that any way to treat someone doing you a favor?” As if in punishment, Steve strokes him too lightly, tauntingly.
Eddie groans, clawing at the cushions. “Don’t be a dick. This was your idea.”
“Give me a break. I’m nervous too.”
“Sorry.”
“Plus, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Harrington, I swear—"
The hand tucks into his underwear, cupping his length, his balls, exploring through touch, skin on bare, hot skin, and Eddie’s body draws taut like a wire.
“Shit,” Steve breathes. His eyes are low, watching his own motions as if hypnotized. When he looks up, Eddie inhales sharply. Steve’s voice sounds so much closer now. “What do you—how do you want it?”
Eddie can’t speak through the buzzing in his blood, the knowledge that it’s Steve Harrington causing it. Steve Harrington whose face is inches from Eddie’s. Whose lower lip gleams where he keeps licking it. Whose eyes flicker to Eddie’s mouth, which he can’t help mirroring, glancing down where Steve’s mouth hovers a breath away.
That mouth, with full, pink lips and a plush tongue that says such maddening things like, “Tell me how you touch yourself.”
Eddie reaches to demonstrate, but Steve blocks him.
“Tell me. Out loud.”
“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie croaks, clutching his forearm, feeling the muscles ripple as his hand works up and down, up and down. “I, uh, start low. Roll my balls in my hand.” And like he’s narrating reality, it comes to pass, thick fingers gently squeezing, stoking heat in his core. “Then I-I stroke with my other hand. But loose at first.” Warmth envelops his cock. “I go slow for a bit, press on-on the slit once in a whi—hah!” Maybe it’s because he’s pent-up or because Steve is a guy. Maybe it’s because it’s Steve. The boy Eddie could never have, the man he’s wanted since before he saved Eddie’s life, the man he’s known could never be more than a fantasy. Yet no fantasy could match this reality. And somehow, miraculously, it is reality. Somehow, Eddie’s brow is pressed against Steve’s, their breaths hot and damp between them, sweat gluing hair to Eddie’s forehead. He inhales shakily, grip tightening on Steve’s arm, eyelids fluttering closed. “S-Steve.”
“Keep going.” Steve’s voice is rough, and—
Oh.
This is affecting him too. That revelation shunts Eddie to the edge, body quaking with the effort to meet Steve’s touch.
“I, um, speed up a little,” Eddie warbles, knowing he sounds pathetic, too far gone to care. “Tighten my grip, and—mm—shorten m-my pulls. Keep it shallow. At-at the tip. Fast, faster, fast—!”
Thrusting up, arching off the couch, Eddie scrabbles at Steve’s shirt, choking back the animal cry fighting its way through his orgasm. Eyes rolled back. Breath trapped. It’s unlike any before as Steve pumps him through it slow, slower, slower…surfing him along the aftershocks.
When Eddie finally descends, he gets a single breath before it’s stolen again. Into Steve’s lungs.
Steve’s lips are on his.
Orgasm-clumsy, Eddie hums and leans into it, little kisses to every millimeter of Steve’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, tasting Steve Harrington—
Eddie wrenches back. “Wha-what’re you doing?”
“Kissing you,” Steve answers as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He ducks toward Eddie’s neck. Plush lips trace the ragged remains of his scars. He doesn’t remember them being extra sensitive, but a shiver skips down his spine at the gentle touch, the nuzzle of a nose. It almost feels unfair. That something so ugly and traumatic could make him feel good. It’s too much.
Eddie pushes him back. “Waitwaitwait.”
Steve looks unholy: lips swollen, pupils swallowing his irises, color dusting his cheeks. He might as well be the one who just came for how lewd he looks.
Eddie forgets why he pushed him away.
Like a wave helpless against the shore, he falls into Steve, into the kiss, their chests pressed together, heartbeats meeting. Eddie can’t tell whose is hammering fastest or if they’re matching beat for frantic beat. It’s hypnotic, threatens to overwhelm him more than any drug ever could. His hand shakes as it tangles in Steve’s hair. It’s soft. He’s touched it before, casual, teasing, careful not to reveal the longing underneath, but now it’s permissive. He can touch Steve’s hair all he wants, cradle his skull as if to undo all the concussions he’s suffered, trace the shell of his ear with a thumb to mirror where Steve touches him, hand in Eddie’s hair, caressing his neck, his face, murmuring Eddie’s name into his mouth as if reminding himself this is real, reminding himself who he’s kissing.
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…”
That’s what breaks him.
Not Steve grabbing his thigh to draw him into his lap. Not Steve’s hands kneading his ass. Not the kisses on his jaw or teeth tugging his ear or nails digging into his hips, coaxing them to rock against him.
It’s his name on Steve’s lips.
The cathartic refrain of what’s gone unspoken between them.
A sound Eddie has never heard himself make eeks from his throat as Steve grips his length again. Mouth falling open, Eddie fights to speak past the kisses. “S-Steve—”
“Eddie.”
“Wai—Steve, wait.” The kisses pause, but the hand around his cock remains. Steve searches his face. Dazed and kiss-drunk looks good on him. Of course it does. Everything looks good on him. Doing his damnedest to ignore the situation below, Eddie swallows. “Not that I’m complaining, but again?”
“You’re pent-up, right?”
Eddie laughs, knocking their foreheads together. “So, what? You’re gonna wring me dry?”
“You don’t want it?”
“Didn’t say that. Just don’t know if I can take it.”
Steve’s laugh tickles Eddie’s cheek. “You don’t want this then?” The fingers around Eddie’s dick squeeze, sliding up, slicking through his mess, and he groans.
“It feels like you’re the one who wants it. Like making me come that much, Stevie?”
Grinning, Steve kisses him and sets a slow, steady pace. “Maybe I just like watching you get worked up.”
It’s pointless to resist, so Eddie rocks into the touch, but he’s never liked giving in easily. He grinds down on Steve’s erection trapped between them, eliciting a huff. Eddie smirks. “You like that, big boy?”
Steve chuckles. “Seriously?”
“Hey, you made me narrate my hand job.”
“Because it was hot.”
“And this isn’t?” A swirl of his hips makes Steve stiffen with a gasp.
Hiding his grin in Eddie’s neck, Steve teases a breath along the ragged scars before sealing his lips over them. Eddie shivers but groans and pulls away, whispering, “Not there.”
“Why?”
“Just not there, okay?” Sensing Steve wants to press the issue, Eddie dives for another kiss. He wriggles his ass and squeezes Steve’s fingers around himself until they’re both panting. Sweat sticks clothes to skin. A bead trickles down the cord of Steve’s neck, and Eddie chases it with his tongue, tasting the heat and salt of his arousal. He wants to taste more.
The thought of ripping off Steve’s clothes, mouthing across every inch of golden skin, taking that cock into his mouth, the one pressing insistently against his ass, it’s enough to make Eddie toss back his head, fucking Steve’s fist while his own knots in Steve’s hair. “Fuck, Steve, I wanna blow you. I wanna swallow you down to the root and—make you come down my throat. Wanna gag on it. Want you to make me cry.” Steve whines, hand flying over Eddie’s length. “Fucking fuck, Steve, I’m so close. You?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Oh God, oh fuck, come with me. Come with me, Steve.”
There’s a broken whimper, and Eddie isn’t sure whose it is. He doesn’t care.
Steve bucks up into him too. Would he thrust into Eddie like this? Rhythm sloppy with need? Powerful enough to unseat him if not for the arm clutching him, steadying him like it always has? Would Steve’s cock split him open, leave him with that secret, intimate ache for days?
Eddie doesn’t even get a chance to warn Steve.
His voice chokes out of him, needy and thin, and tremors quake through him all the way to his fingers, clenching Steve’s hair. Maybe that’s what pushes Steve over the edge. Eddie feels him bridge off the sofa, hears a breathy cry, and when he drags his eyes down from the ceiling, he catches a sight that nearly makes him come again. Steve, lips parted, eyes fluttering, throat bobbing. The waves of his pleasure are visible, tangible, and Eddie rides them with him, matches him thrust for thrust, moan for waning moan, until they slump together.
Eddie is still catching his breath when movement underneath stirs him. He frowns. Laughter. Steve is laughing. And it’s contagious apparently, a deliriousness bubbling in Eddie as he giggles into Steve’s neck because that just happened.
“Holy shit,” Steve rumbles, voice sex-rough.
Still grinning, Eddie sighs, “Please tell me you’re not about to freak out on me.”
The hand petting his curls is answer enough, but it warms Eddie even more when Steve says, “Not freaking out. Just—holy shit.”
“An appropriate response to sex with me.”
Steve huffs, nuzzling his hair, and it’s so comforting Eddie aches. They linger like that long enough for the high of sex to yield to soreness and strain, but if he sits up, they’re going to talk. He wants to bask. He never gets to bask.
“I want to cuddle, trust me,” Steve murmurs, “but I can feel your jizz soaking through my shirt, and I really don’t want to end up ripping out hair with dried come when I peel off my underwear.”
“Can’t believe I made Steve Harrington come in his pants.”
“Yeah, well, you came in my hand first.”
Snickering, Eddie straightens and gathers the courage to look him in the eye. He finds softness there, warmth, and combs a hand through Steve’s hair. “So, big man on campus King Steve is a cuddler? Who’d have thunk?”
“I’m a surprise softy under all this hair and muscle.”
“Really? Felt pretty hard to me.”
Steve rolls his eyes and swats Eddie’s thigh. As Eddie totters to his feet, buttoning his pants, Steve steadies him, and there’s a moment of tension when they’re that close again, eyes meeting, heat intertwining. Then Steve heads for the stairs. Eddie can’t help smirking at his wet-pants waddle.
The distance between them feels wrong, but what’s the script for this? What is a guy supposed to do after his friend offers to jerk him off which turns into a dry humping session? It would be awkward to follow him, right?
Super awkward.
Eddie clambers upstairs and peers around the doorway of Steve’s bedroom. Only the desk lamp is on, a soft amber glow illuminating Steve emerging from his closet, clean clothes in hand. He doesn’t comment on Eddie’s presence, just winks as he breezes past.
It’s definitely more awkward to follow him to the bathroom, but the open door feels like an invitation. Eddie doesn’t peek in this time, shoulders resting against the wall as water runs and fabric rustles. He worries his lip. “You’re really not freaking out?”
“No.” The water cuts off, then Steve’s head pops out the door. “Are you?”
“I—” Eddie squints at the floor, “don’t know.”
Steve searches his expression before blinking rapidly and straightening. He’s shirtless in only a pair of green Hawkins High sweats, dark thatch of hair reminding Eddie what he missed out on not stripping Steve earlier. Steve had done the touching. Perhaps not literally stripping Eddie, but exposing him regardless with those earnest words and deft hands. Those hands that handled Eddie so gently, so expertly, now fold and refold a damp cloth.
Without looking up, Steve asks, “Do you—do you regret…?”
“No. Jesus, no, sorry.” Eddie reaches for him but stops himself. Steve closes the distance. It’s permission enough for Eddie to cup Steve’s hand, thumb over his pulse. “It’s not like that. I just don’t know where we go from here.”
A chuckle, barely an exhale, then Steve grips Eddie’s wrist and lifts his palm to his lips, kissing gently. “I’ve gotten used to that feeling lately. I think we go where we want.”
“Where are you thinking?”
Steve shrugs, noncommittal, casual. Forced. There’s tension in his shoulders, and he stares at their joined hands rather than at Eddie. “Where are you thinking?”
As if that isn’t the most vulnerable, precious thing Eddie has ever heard. Precious in the way he wants to cradle those words in his hands like cupping water, careful to not let any trickle through the cracks.
Smiling at the ceiling, Eddie sidles closer, slips his hand around Steve’s waist, pulls him closer. The bare skin of his hip is warm and smooth, and Eddie traces patterns with his fingertips. “Here?” he murmurs.
The corners of Steve’s mouth twitch upward.
“And here.” Eddie kisses his forehead, right where the little line always forms between his eyebrows. “Here.” A kiss on his cheek. “Here.” His other cheek. “Here.” His mouth.
Steve’s lips are soft, and they smile against Eddie’s. Barely breaking away, Steve breathes, “Going places, aren’t you?”
“If you’ll go with me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are you?”
Steve huffs. “We can’t keep doing that.”
Grinning, Eddie sighs. “Maybe we take it one step at a time. We like the road we’re on. Let’s see where it takes us.” It’s a dangerous, curvy road with more potholes than pavement, especially in Hawkins, and Eddie knows it. Steve does too. It’s in his eyes, all the unsaid worries and uncertainties, but there’s curiosity and hope there too, outshining the fear. And the lust probably helps too. Eddie waggles his eyebrows. “Besides, I’m hoping for a chance to return the favor.”
Steve smirks. “Oh?”
“Mm-hm. Maybe up the ante too.”
“How?”
“Well, my arm may be broken, but my mouth isn’t. I meant what I said about blowing you.”
Snorting, Steve tries to pull away, but Eddie holds him tight and they laugh and sway in a graceless dance until they reach Steve’s bedroom doorway. Steve backs into it, drawing Eddie along, cradling his face. “Too bad. If your mouth were broken, I would kiss it and make it all better.”
“Actually,” Eddie nearly trips over his own feet, captivated by Steve’s mouth, “it’s a little bruised. Could use a pick-me-up.”
“Aw, bruised? You better stick with me tonight so I can be your nurse in case you need emergency smooches.”
Eddie cackles as Steve kisses his cheek and pulls him down, bouncing on the bed. They take their time, a slow, purposeful exploration of lips and mouths, hands revealing skin, tracing scars old and new. Time loses all meaning with Steve’s skin against his.
Eventually, they wind up under the covers, Eddie on his back and Steve tucked into his side, naked besides their underwear. Steve traces lazy circles slower and slower on Eddie’s chest until his fingertip finally halts, breath deep. There’s intimacy in watching someone sleep. It takes trust. Vulnerability. It’s a little terrifying. For them, like this, it’s dangerous. As unlikely as tonight was, it happened, and if Eddie has learned anything from the last several months battling otherworldly monsters with god-like powers, it’s that sometimes danger is part of life. He’s not running away. Not anymore.