Work Text:
Steve sat in his desk chair, knee jittering frantically as he watched the window. His whole body was braced in anticipation of the crunch of gravel beneath studded combat boots, the clatter of chain on composite as his lover clambered across the short distance between his window and the towering oak beside. The prospect of that all-too-telling noise would have ordinarily made Steve cringe, but tonight he was dizzy at the thought of what came with it. No, Steve wasn’t concerned about the noise that night. The house had been empty for hours, everything silent and primed for Eddie's arrival.
There was, of course, a bit of nervousness at the thought of a late-night rendezvous, a tight feeling in his lungs like he hadn’t done this a hundred times, but it wasn’t really fear . Steve knew what fear was, knew what could cause it, and Eddie Munson would never hurt him like that.
He loved him.
He looked around the room again, taking in the plaid wallpaper and the shelves full of trophies he’d earned but never wanted. He’d lived and breathed in this room for somewhere around 19 years, but there was so little of himself in it. Everything of personal value was stowed away in a bin beneath the bed or lined on the inside up on the inside edge of the bedframe. Everything Steve Harrington cared about in his own home could be fit in a single shoebox at a moment’s notice, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. Steve just couldn’t bring himself to care too much about things , not when he had been surrounded in the equivalent of a rich couple’s least-favorite storage unit since birth. His people were the important things.
Steve had asked Eddie out the first week after Vecna, already halfway in love with him as he stuttered out an invitation to the movies that Friday.
Eddie said yes .
Suddenly, Steve wasn’t so uncomfortable with being terrified.
He went to the movie, held Eddie’s hand through the whole thing, the two of them tucked away in a dark corner where the few other people in the theater wouldn’t be able to tell if they sat a little bit closer than friends would. Eddie held him, too, running the cool metal of his rings over Steve’s knuckles until they were both flushed from more than just the stuffy theater air.
Fuck, Steve wanted him. He wanted him now.
He stared blankly at the white blinds covering the window in front of his desk, watching for a flicker of movement through the slats. It was nearly a quarter ‘til 10, and Eddie always walkied if it was going to be any later than that.
Right on schedule, Steve heard the low growl of Eddies van slowing to a stop. He scrambled to the window, unhooking the latch and heaving it open. He watched Eddie stride quickly across the yard, scrambling up the tree so the sensors by the front door wouldn’t capture his entry.
Finally, finally , Eddie was in his room. Steve immediately kneeled to loosen his partner’s boots.
“Wow. Now that’s five-star service. What’s the occasion?” Eddie grinned, adjusting his stance to make it easier for Steve to get between the laces.
Steve looked up at him, silhouetted in the glow of the window, and smiled. “Just happy you’re here.” Eddie’s eyes softened at that, allowing Steve to slip off his boots and set them aside before offering a hand, pulling him to his feet and then immediately into a hug. Eddie smelled like leather and incense, and Steve could tell that he’d put the oil he’d gotten at last year’s renfaire in his hair before coming over. He knew how much Steve loved it, all vanilla and cedar and spices.
Sometimes, Steve couldn’t believe that he’d gotten so lucky.
Falling for Eddie had been so gradual, he hadn’t even noticed that he’d begun to fall asleep with the shape of his name on his lips. It just happened, sweeping into his life like a downpour on a sunny day— the kind you couldn’t help but run out and dance in. It was like he’d woken up one day and realized that he’d been half-asleep all his life, that meaning was pressed into the shape of Eddie’s hand clutching his own, that the thought of being without him stung and bit and burned .
He’d been terrified.
Despite what his highschool reputation would have had anyone believe, Steve wasn’t a bad person. Or, he was trying not to be. He’d said some stupid shit, done things he wished he could take back to people who were completely undeserving, but he didn’t mean any of it. There was an image he had to keep up, a certain personality that kept him in teachers’ good graces and held off the force of his father’s overwhelming disapproval, and he’d been willing to maintain it at any cost. Then, the whole thing with Nancy had happened, and the Upside Down became so much more real and powerful than the pinprick of his mother’s nails or his father’s drunken blows. They were gone for half the year, anyway, leaving behind a trail of refrigerator magnets as they swept into his life for a day or two, took out their aggression, then jetted off to the next conference or sponsored trip.
The Upside Down was always there, in action or in memory.
The prospect of Steve’s Death was always there, and he realized that he didn’t care about that person who he thought he had to be.
That no one would.
Steve was terrified, of course, of the prospect of being himself, but wasn’t everyone? Steve was done playing by other people’s rules. He was going to seize his happiness, take advantage of every moment he could get. He tugged Eddie back toward the bed, slipped his own shirt over his head while Eddie shrugged off the ever-present leather jacket. Steve took a moment to appreciate the loose drape of Eddie’s tee, admired the expanse of ribs exposed by wide cuts from the tops of the shoulders down either side, knowing that Eddie was well aware of what that particular shirt did to him, before stripping that off, too.
“Eager, are we?” Eddie asked.
Steve rocked on his heels a bit, reaching for Eddie’s hands and holding them gently. “Maybe a little.”
Eddie ran his thumbs over Steve’s knuckles, tracing gentle patterns across his skin. “Well, I can’t leave my sweetheart hanging, now, can I? Especially not after receiving such a warm welcome.” Then he was urging Steve backward, tugging him into place on the bed before climbing up after him. Steve’s mind went quiet when Eddie slid on top of him, denim-covered legs slotting between his as he rested himself on one elbow, face a whisper away from Steve’s own. Steve wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure how to think with Eddie's leg pressing between his own, grinding the zip of his jeans against him in a painful blend of discomfort and pleasure.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Stevie.” Eddie murmured, the tips of his canine teeth peeking out from under his upper lip as he grinned. It was one of Steve’s favorite things about him, despite Eddie’s own insecurity about the way they had grown in wrong, right next to his front teeth instead of having the usual one-tooth gap on either side. Steve understood why— when people were already calling you the spawn of the devil, being born with the illusion of fangs wouldn’t help to quiet the rumors down. He reached up, drew his thumb across Eddie’s lower lip, pressed his thigh upward to grind against him.
“Been waiting for you.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Yeah.” Steve squirmed, fumbling with Eddie’s zipper. “I got more lube yesterday. Drove up to Indy with Robin and stopped by that shop you like. Thought you might…”
Eddie’s nose twitched, eyelids slipping down over his eyes just a bit further. Heavy. Hungry. “Stevie, you are a treasure . All that work for little old me? Or did you want to get fucked that bad, huh? Couldn’t wait for me to get my hands on you? Do you want to tell me what you were thinking about while you were driving all that way, hm? Did you think about me when you saw it on the shelf? Did you stand there, reading labels with those glasses of yours on? What were you thinking about, baby?”
“Was thinking about that one time.” He panted, kicking off his socks. “With the chair and the raspberries? I had those marks for days… was thinking about the way it felt, and your hands—”
“That was a good one. You, my love, have excellent taste. ‘Tell you what. How about we just use those hands you like so much today, huh? How’s that sound, Baby? Take it back to how we started, all those clumsy handies in the back of Shadowfax?”
Steve laughed a little, breathless from Eddie’s weight against him, but couldn’t resist teasing. “Still can’t believe you named your van after a horse.”
Eddie drew his hand back, rocked back onto his knees. “And I can’t believe that you’re pretending that you don’t like him. After all the time we’ve had! The nights we’ve shared! The torrid exchanges his lofty rear shielded from the public eye—”
“Lofty rear? Eds. Be serious.”
“Darest thou accuse me of unseriousness, Sir Steven? Darest thou?” Steve laughed loudly at the grand flourish Eddie moved his hands through. That laugh quickly turned into a gasp when Eddie led him into a slow, deep grind, tilting his head with a rakish grin.
“With or without the rings, sweetheart?”
“What?” Steve’s ears were ringing, eyes transfixed on the branching curls splayed across Eddie’s shoulders
“My hands, sweetheart.” Eddie said fondly. “Rings or no?”
“With—” Steve gasped “Always with. Love em.”
“I should have guessed. Never can seem to get enough of em, do you, sweetheart?” Eddie slipped a hand into Steve’s underwear, jeans having slid down to his thighs in his squirming. The bite of skin-warmed metal, bumps and ridges and texture against the live-wire of his cock was indescribable. Steve keened, arched forward even as his shoulder curved hard into the bed, urged closer and farther away by the same movement, the same moment, the same pressure against his skin.
“Eds—”
“Where’d you put that lube, sweetheart? Got it special, just for me— it’d be a shame not to use it, don’t you think?”
“Dresser.” Steve said, voice soft and low. “First drawer.”
Eddie leaned down, took one of Steve’s nipples between his teeth and tugged gently. Steve shot upwards with a yelp, whining as Eddie shot him a salute before rolling off the bed. “You are a gift , Steve Harrington.”
Steve groaned, and then Eddie was yanking Steve’s pants over his legs, tumbling out of bed and stripping off his own, wearing nothing beneath them. Steve reached to take off his boxers, making eye contact with Eddie as his hand moved down, checking. Eddie grinned, wide and leering, gesturing magnanimously with one hand and opening the dresser’s top drawer with the other.
“By all means, Stevie. Let me see.”
Steve breathed sharply through his nose, eyelids briefly fluttering as he slipped his thumbs beneath the elastic, slid the fabric over his thighs and down his legs before flinging the sweat-damp fabric across the room.
The moment he stopped moving, Eddie was on top of him again, chest to chest in the dark.
Steve pressed a hand to Eddie’s chest, running his palm over the spare, dark hairs scattered across it. It was nice, just the other side of rough, and Eddie’s skin was warm against him. He could feel the heartbeat beneath Eddie’s skin, dull but present. Steve couldn’t hide a shudder at how alive he was, how alive they both were. He craned his head up, ran the tip of his nose along the slope of Eddie’s cheek, following the scent of his skin down his neck and along the curve of his shoulder, still stretched out to bracket Steve’s body beneath it. He loved it, the sharp smell of his sweat, the lingering scent of soap and outside that clung to him. He kind of wanted to trace it further, to lick across every inch of him.
A groaned punched its way out of Eddie’s chest. “Yeah, sweetheart? Want to taste me?” Steve felt himself twitch, half humiliated, half aroused, but leaned right into Eddie’s challenge, flattening his tongue against the skin above Eddie’s ribs and dragging it up through the wild, dark hair curling out from his armpit. Eddie yelped, arm twitching where it held his weight, but held firm, letting Steve get his fill of him. Hair was not Steve’s favorite texture to have in his mouth, but it was coarse, salty, saturated with a scent so uniquely Eddie that he couldn’t help but linger there, nuzzling into the space with closed eyes and a questing tongue.
Eddie twined a hand through his hair, tugged Steve up into a kiss, and Steve went eagerly. He wondered if Eddie liked it, the taste of himself on Steve’s tongue.
“Was it good, baby? Did you like that?” Eddie asked. Steve knew that voice, knew what that tone meant.
“Yeah, Daddy. Love you, love your skin.”
And before he can blink there’s teeth on his neck and his knees are pressed flat against the sheets, bent out and open. Steve’s feet are twitching from where they’re pressed heel-to-toe, a mockery of prayer, the perfect picture of piety as Eddie’s hand wraps around the both of them. It’s slippery, rough from his callouses, but Eddie’s cock is hot against his and Steve’s nerves are sparking off like a live wire. The sound Eddie’s fist makes is obscene, wet and loud in the empty room, frothing up with a mixture of lube and pre and dripping down onto the sheets. Steve loved it, loved the glide, loved how loud they were together, filling the space up, making it home again.
Eddie gasped, little grunts wrung out with every stroke. Steve was breathing right along with him, harsh breaths through his nose playing second fiddle to the dull whines building in the back of his throat.
“Do it.”
Steve blinked hard, trying to shake some of the fog from his head, even as Eddie worked them closer and closer to a fever pitch. “What?”
Eddie slowed down, just a little, and locked eyes with Steve. “Do it. C’mon, Stevie. Please don’t make me ask again.”
There was something needy in his eyes at that, in the set of his shoulders, and Steve wanted more of it. Ah. It was that sort of day, wasn’t it? Steve pressed upward, pulled his knees beneath him until they were both kneeling on the bed. Eddie moved to adjust his grip, but Steve grabbed his hand, tucking it gently behind Eddie’s thigh. “Do you want me to count down, Daddy?” Steve asked.
“Nah, baby. Just give it to me.”
Steve groaned, pulled his hand back in a telegraphed motion, and slapped Eddie hard across the face. Eddie keened, cock jumping against his stomach, but immediately took both of them back into his hand afterward, stroking frantically. He hissed, a quiet little “Yes, baby,” that made both of them twitch in his grip.
“Did I do good, Daddy?” Steve gasped, hands scratching harshly at Eddie’s back. Eddie kissed him for it, a harsh, biting thing.
“Perfect, baby. Perfect. Want your reward?” Eddie grinned madly, running his hands over Steve’s skin.
“Yeah. Yeah, Daddy, Please—” Steve opened his mouth wide, stuck his tongue out, closed his eyes and waited. Eddie didn’t leave him there for long. Almost immediately, there was a hand in his hair, the other still working between their legs, and Eddie was spitting into his mouth. Steve swallowed, pressed an open-mouthed kiss against Eddie’s mouth, licking over his teeth and gums before Eddie pulled him back with a soft, honeyed “Good Boy.”
The whole room smelled like sex, like EddieandSteve, something a little sweet and heady that Steve has no name for. Steve didn’t know what to say, couldn't think of anything when he could feel the sharp edge of Eddie’s teeth against his throat. His spine curved, shoulders sinking even further back into the mattress as Steve curled into the touch, trying to get more from every angle and not quite knowing how except to surrender even further, to give himself over to Eddie’s hands, to make his body sing to the tune of tongue and teeth and the sweat running down the backs of his knees. Eddie’s body was singing, too, rutting and rolling against him. Every motion, every inch of sweat-slippery skin rubbing against the other’s felt insane, pushing sharp cries of ‘Ah— Ah— Oh, fuck, Eds—” out of him with hardly any effort. Steve was glad that the house was empty, that he didn’t have to be quiet. It was too good. How could anybody feel this good?
The tiny metal balls of Eddie’s pick necklace were pressing into his chest, crushed between their bodies. He hoped the mark would stick for a bit, little red dots swirling over his heart. Steve could belong here, like that. Another one of Eddie’s things, marked up in sketches and jagged handwriting. Eddie was writing a story on his skin, pressing himself into Steve with every gasp and whimper and twist of his wrist. They were burning up with the heat of it, Eddie mouthing at Steve’s skin as they went supernova.
“Can I— Eds, Daddy, Please, can I—”
Steve felt him smile wickedly against his skin.
“What? Tell me, Baby. Tell Daddy what you want.”
“I can’t—” Steve gasped, throwing his head back as he fought to hold onto the edge. Eddie stroked his fingers through Steve’s hair, tugging and soothing in the same movement.
“You can. Tell me, Stevie. Tell me, and I might let you.”
“I’m gonna come. Please—” He gasped, writhing against Eddie. “Please, Daddy, let me come.”
“Yeah, Baby? You gonna come for me?” It wasn’t an answer.
“Please. Eds— Daddy, Daddy please —” Steve was desperate, burning up with it, grip on the edge rapidly slipping. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out with Eddie touching him like that, one hand sliding down to grasp the back of Steve’s neck while he thumbed across his cockhead with the other—
“Do it, Stevie. Come on, sweetheart, come for me.” Steve clawed at Eddie’s back, whining as his hips stuttered, twitching in and in as he came across Eddie’s hand.
“Fuck. Shit, that’s it, baby. That’s it.” Eddie groaned, eyes rolling as Steve mouthed at his neck. Another stroke, two, and he was shuddering, spilling onto his stomach, leaning heavily on Steve who quickly took over stroking them through the aftershocks.
Everything was quiet after that. Time passed in a blur, in gentle hands moving across bruised skin in the shower, in shared bites of food and sips of lukewarm water, in soft murmurs and softer skin tucked gently between clean sheets. Eddie could stay the night this time, with no alarms to set and no fear of being caught come morning. Steve imagined the rest of his life playing out like that, curled up in Eddie’s arms. He imagined a life of devotion, of tenderness and sharp teeth, of burning up without burning out. It was better than any of his other dreams had been in the past, dotted with hazy women and faceless children, picket fences and gray skies. This was real, bloody and brutal, rough and tumble, romantic and sensual and safe. This was what home was supposed to feel like. This was the kind of life that Steve could imagine men fighting wars for. He wasn’t sure those men would have considered Eddie Munson, rumored devil-worshipper and town pariah, to be nearly as important as their own sweethearts back home but, then, they didn’t really know him either. Steve was one of the few who’d had the privilege.
Steve knew exactly what his parents would say about it, if they found out. Could make an itemized list, in order of severity, of all the reasons why they couldn’t. He’d heard more than enough gossip around town about “that satanic Munson boy” and how he was “corrupting” the kids in his DND club, knew they’d parrot it, maybe even throw in a few slurs with that traditional Harrington flair, but Steve wasn’t about to be discouraged. One benefit of tradition was that there was never anything new to grapple with. He’d heard it all before, oftentimes directed at him. Who gave a shit if his parents thought Eddie “spent my whole paycheck on food for the cats that hang out near my trailer” Munson was a vessel for the devil? Steve knew better. The only evil thing about Eddie Munson was how his touch made Steve feel, and, of course, that wicked fucking tongue.
He’d never preyed on Steve, never exploited his insecurities or hurt him in any of the countless ways he’d already been hurt, but he always had Steve praying for more, deeper , for that love and comfort to be so present that he couldn’t forget that it existed, for it to go on and on and never stop. He made Steve want to be held, used, possessed . Steve could practically hear his mother’s voice chiming in the back of his mind, “Idle hands are the Devil’s Playthings,” but Eddie’s hands were anything but idle. He was always using them for something, twisting his rings around his fingers, raking them through his hair, playing his guitar with single minded focus…
No, Eddie's hands were never idle, and if it was wickedness that Steve was craving, it would only ever be given in an amount that he could handle. If anything, Steve was the sinful one, gluttonous and always taking , aided by Eddie’s urge to give and give until Steve was full up and dripping with it.
Life was funny like that.
No, There was nothing wicked about Eddie Munson. Steve hoped that, someday, everyone else would realize that. Until that day, however, Steve would keep pulling him close, keep urging him on, keep devouring and being devoured and falling into bed afterwards, sleepy and sated. He’d keep holding onto those trancelike dreams of a future just like this until they became a reality, until the haze cleared and they sat in a house of their own on unborrowed time. There was freedom in this, too. In Eddie’s tattooed arms wrapped around Steve’s waist, with the sun dimming like a distant flame through the window beside his bed. Steve watched it set, running gentle fingers over Eddie’s skin, and prayed for more days just like this. If this was what Hawkins, Indiana thought evil looked like, Steve didn’t want to be holy.