Chapter Text
Indianapolis Band Harringley Embarks on First National Tour
Written by Fred Benson for the Indianapolis Tribune
August 22, 1988
Indianapolis rock band, Harringley, is set to embark on its first national headline tour September of this year. The band has chosen to call this extensive string of shows 1982 on Tour, in honor of the album that skyrocketed them to recognition this past year, and are set to hit a number of both large and small cities on the way.
While a newer name on the scene, Harringley is still one worth jotting down. With undeniable chemistry and innate talent, Harringley makes an audience feel as if they’re a part of the band themselves. There’s a connection with the audience Harringley provides that feels rare and precious. “Our audience is why we can do what we do,” Steve Harrington, lead singer and bassist for the group, spoke in regards to this claim. “We’re just excited to bring the album live to them, along with a few covers and newer songs.”
The live experience is sure to not disappoint, and the ever-changing set-list of Harringley is a delight that will make every show feel one of a kind. There’s a spontaneity and genuine, deep joy for music this band’s performances revolve around. Despite their up-and-coming nature, their fanbase is strong and devoted: we recommend getting your tickets fast if you don’t want to miss out on what is sure to be a recognizable moment in history.
Eddie had spent a lot of hours of his life thinking about being on stage, being on tour, playing along with a band that made his blood fucking sing. It was his dream, the one thing he could hold onto when life became too dark and meaningless, when his brain was clawing away at his own skull. It was his life raft. His North Star, or some other mystic shit. A big chunk of his life was spent thinking about going on tour, but in all those adolescent fantasies, it had never looked like this.
“Okay, eyes on the whiteboard you fucking freaks.” Robin was standing in front of the group, holding a marker in her hand like a wand and waving with each phrase.
They were in Robin and Steve’s apartment, roughly 24 hours from finally leaving for their first major US bus tour. Their last album had blown up in the right scenes, and it felt so dangerously like they were on the precipice of something great. All four of them had been buzzing for months preparing, practicing, talking about the tour.
Eddie had played in a lot of bands before Harringley , but none of them were like what he had with Robin, Steve, and Nancy. Hence, his fantasies never quite matched this image; Robin standing dramatically in front of them as the other three were squeezed onto the couch—Nancy between Eddie and Steve. The other three had been around longer than Eddie, he’d just showed up when they suddenly needed a guitarist, but he’d found them at the perfect time, right before they started working on the album.
He’d never say it aloud, but he was so fucking grateful he’d ripped that piece of paper from the ad hanging in the liquor store on his way to buy cigarettes and a handle of whiskey, high and already half out of it and ready for the night to begin. Like, eternally grateful. The best thing he’d ever done while fucked out of his mind.
“Welcome to the congregation of the Groupie Bible: Tour Edition.” Robin was pointing the marker toward all three of them now, waving it wildly back and forth. “It’s very important that we get these ground rules set. Our gospel, if you will. Do we all understand?” Her eyes went wide, expectant. “I need verbal confirmation, people!”
Yes, they all echoed back, voices laced with humor.
“Number one.” She slapped the pen to the board. “No getting crossed before the show. You may enter the stage with alcohol or weed in your body, but not both. If anyone is seen breaking this sacred promise, it’s death on sight. ”
“I think we should add an addendum that Steve isn’t allowed to be high on stage,” Eddie said as he raised his hand like he was in class, feeding into the ridiculousness of this all because he sorta loved when they were all being dramatic as hell. He sent Steve a wide smile when he gasped at the suggestion. “Dude, you can get real spacey while high. You’ve our lead man. Need that shit to be tight.”
“Addendum granted.” Robin dipped toward the board and lazily added a smaller bullet point below rule 1. No pre-show weed for Steve. Space Case.
“This is so fucking rude,” Steve muttered, slumping down further into the couch. Nancy reached out a hand and patted his knee.
“Rule number two. This one should truly be number one because of its importance, but do not steal or consume Robin’s Emergency Snack Pack Chocolate Puddings.”
“Oh my fucking god. It was ONE TIME, ROBIN!” Steve shot back up in his seat, filled with renewed energy. “That’s your fault for not labeling them, and is this list just a way to insult me specifically? I hate this list.”
“One time too many,” Robin answered. “You should have known. That’s what best friends do. They know. ”
“I’m not a fucking mind reader!” Steve exclaimed.
“Well, now you do know, and if any of you—” Robin said as she swung her pen back and forth again, “dare touch them, it is also death on sight.”
“There’s a lot of potential death on this tour,” Nancy said, an amused smile on her lips.
Eddie leaned his head against Nancy’s shoulder, shoving further in when she started giggling. “Isn’t it hot? ”
“Eddie.” She laughed, pushing him back to his space.
“Nance, you have nothing to worry about,” Robin said. “You’re perfect. It’s the boys we’re keeping in check here.”
“Now I’m offended, too,” Eddie said.
“Number three!” she continued, unperturbed. “There will be no fucking on the tour bus. None. Zilch. Nada. This is a shared communal space, and I won’t have it smelling even fucking worse than it inevitably already will. Plus, there’s just, like, a lot of hygiene and safety concerns with you all getting it on in those bunks, so this is a strong veto.”
Eddie laughed. “You’re subjecting us to dirty bar bathroom hook-ups?”
“Oh, please.” Robin rolled her eyes. “Like you don’t love dirty bathroom hook-ups, you whore.”
“Fair.” Eddie shot a pleased smile over to Nancy and Steve. Nancy shook her head, the wild curls of her shag shifting around her head. Steve was barely paying attention, still sulking. “How long is this list?”
“Just one more. Eyes on me, class.” All three listened, watching with rapt attention. “There will be no, and I mean absolutely no, hooking up between band members. No Fleetwood Mac shit, do you hear me? We are not fucking up our first big cross-country tour by fucking each other. If anyone breaks this rule, it’s—”
“Death on sight,” they all chorused.
Robin jumped up a little, nodding enthusiastically. “You’re finally getting it.”
“Does that rule really need to be on the board? We’ve all gone this long without fucking each other.” Steve apparently had decided to end his sulking, and he twisted on the couch to lean his back against the arm, throwing his legs across Nancy and Eddie’s laps.
As Eddie’s hand came to Steve’s ankle, gripping it in his hold, he took a glance at the other man. Just for a beat. Just cause he could. He was in jeans and a white t-shirt, looking all casual and a little tired, and it was a good look on him. To be fair, every look of Steve’s was a good look on him. Eddie had come to terms with his attraction to their bassist and lead singer pretty much the first day he’d joined them for practice.
Steve Harrington was hot, hell, this whole band was hot. And, sure, Eddie fantasized about what it would be like to make all that bottled up anxiety of Steve’s wash away under Eddie’s touch, melting into pliancy and bliss, but he never would. It was just a good way to get off when he was a little drunk and/or high: a nice and easy fantasy for the spank bank.
This band, the tour, was what Eddie had been dreaming of his whole life. This was the best band he’d ever worked with, this was his band now—one he’d helped to properly build up, a part of their collective vision. So Eddie wasn’t planning on fucking Steve if it meant the destruction of all this, and, frankly, Eddie was pretty sure Steve wouldn’t want to in the first place.
Sure, sometimes Eddie thought he caught Steve appraising him. That Steve’s eyes were maybe landing for a little too long on Eddie’s bare torso. That his hands were happy to trace over Eddie’s shoulder or tattoos or play with Eddie’s rings when Steve was nervous but trying not to show it, tugging Eddie’s hand into his lap and twisting them around Eddie’s fingers. The whole band was close like that, though—touching and flirting and swapping clothes.
Eddie wasn’t planning on fucking Steve.
“You never know what can happen on tour,” Robin said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “All that close proximity can make people insane. Remember when you and Nancy kissed after that 48-hour rehearsal we had?”
“Hey!” Steve’s brow furrowed. “That’s not fair. We were drunk, and she said she could do that cool thing with her tongue. Am I just not supposed to experience it?”
“Wait, I want to see this cool Nancy Wheeler tongue thing,” Eddie said, turning to Nancy who was shooting him a look. “I think the whole band should get equal opportunity to that. I mean—”
“Absolutely not! All of you horny motherfuckers stop it. Are we all agreed on the rules?”
“Yes.”
“Begrudgingly.”
“Yes.”
Robin nodded. “Good. Now someone find the takeout menu for the Chinese place. I’m going to be missing those egg rolls for the next two months.”
After all the anticipation, the build-up, it felt unreal to actually stand a few feet away from the stage about to step on for the first time of the tour. Eddie was buzzing, and he wasn’t the only one. Jittery excitement had been slithering through all four of them the entire day—as they sat in the bus, as they did their makeup and got dressed, as they ran through their sound check.
It was their first show. Eddie was so excited and nervous he thought he might be high from the adrenaline alone.
“Huddle up,” Steve ordered, hands on his hips and bass strapped across his chest as it rested on his back. “It’s time.”
“Fuck. Fuckity fuck,” Robin said. Her eyes were wide, darting, but there was an all-encompassing smile on her face, too.
Nancy reached out a hand and took Robin’s in her own. They shared a look, a small smile, and their hands stayed clasped tightly together. Eddie shifted from foot to foot, ready to just go. He hated waiting. He wanted to feel alive, the way he only did on stage playing their music.
“Eddie. Skittles.” Steve motioned to the tub of fun-sized Skittle bags they brought with them for performances.
“I’m not your bitch, Harrington.” Eddie picked up a bag, anyway, ignoring the sly smile Steve was watching him with. He tore it open with his mouth, laughing at Robin’s small ew, and he poured them into his hand.
Nancy took a Green. Robin? Orange. Steve picked up a Purple. Eddie found the lone Red of the pack, and he tossed the rest into the trash before they could start staining his hand.
“To the first concert of the best goddamn tour this wasteland of a country will ever see.” Eddie held up his skittle as if in a cheers, and the other three raised theirs too.
“Hear, hear!” Robin exclaimed.
“Salut,” Nancy added, ever classy.
They all popped them back, chewing and swallowing, the fleeting taste of sugar on their tongues.
Then, overcome with a rush of feeling, of how much he fucking loved these people, Eddie reached out his palms to the two closest to him—Robin and Steve—and clasped his hands on their napes. He tugged them closer, bringing their skulls close together, and Nancy joined, too.
“We’re going to fucking do this,” Nancy whispered. “We’re fucking doing this.”
“Love you guys,” Steve said.
“Sap.” But Robin said it soft, light, a way of saying right back atcha.
Eddie pulled back enough to place a sloppy kiss to Steve’s forehead, grin growing wide as Steve laughed at the gesture, before turning to Robin and doing the same.
“Get off, freak,” she said through a giggle.
Nancy was expecting it, looking at him with resignation, and he grasped her cheeks between his palms. Then he planted one right on her lips, releasing with a loud muah.
“Gonna experience that tongue thing someday, Wheeler.”
“And just for that,” she replied, looking at him all coy, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “you now never will.”
His eyes lit up. “ Evil, ” he whispered. He watched from the corner of his eye how Robin pulled a tube of lipstick out of her pocket, quickly moving to drag the color across Nancy’s lips once more. Her thumb wiped away a smudge at the corner of Nancy’s lips, and as she pulled back she gave a satisfied nod. Eddie rolled his eyes. Dramatics done, he whipped around to Steve. “Lead the way, sweetheart.” He flicked a finger against Steve’s cheek, and Steve slapped it away.
“I’m not your bitch, Munson,” Steve echoed, pushing him back, smirking over his shoulder as he stepped to the edge of the stage.
Eddie winked. Steve rolled his eyes.
And then he stepped on, and the show got fucking started.
Eddie felt as if he almost had too much energy in his body. The vibes, the music, the people in the audience— it was all so fucking insane and he was living for it. Looking out on the crowd, he watched as fans pressed themselves up against the stage, yearning to get closer to them, closer to him. To him! People wanted to see him and be near him and it was fucking electric.
As Steve leaned into the microphone, singing the bridge, Eddie watched as long fingers curled around the stem of the stand. His other hand reached up, brushing sweaty strands off of his forehead. Eddie’s throat went dry and his mouth wet. He’d never wanted to be a set of hands so badly in his entire life. What the fuck?
Eddie sauntered towards Steve as his fingers moved over his fretboard in the final progression of the song. It was a sick combo, something he and Robin cooked up during a night filled with grease, weed, and a little too much Madonna. Just playing it made his spine sizzle with excitement. He was soon pressed shoulder to shoulder with Steve, leaning into his space and towards the microphone as well.
“How’s everyone feelin’ tonight!” Steve smiled, eyes flickering towards Eddie for a beat. The crowd cheered back at him. “I just have to say, you guys are fuckin’ gorgeous.”
“No, no, not gorgeous,” Eddie butted in, bumping Steve aside to wrap his hand around the microphone, bringing his mouth flush to it. “ Sexy .”
The crowd roared back to life, absolutely feral at the positive affirmations. Cheshire grin taking over the expanse of his face, Eddie teased them with a sultry voice, “I wanna kiss you all on the mouth.”
“DO IT!” someone screamed back to them. The crowd erupted with laughs as they chanted Do it! Do it! Do it! Soon there was the sound of stomping feet, clapping hands, so much noise it was ready to bowl Eddie over.
Eddie shrugged, swinging his guitar to his back and shooting Steve a glance. The man’s mouth was slack as he gawked at Eddie like he was a madman. Steve turned to catch Robin, then Nancy’s, eyes as if to say are you fucking seeing this? Nancy’s lips were twisted in amusement. Robin was cackling, jumping up and down with the rhythm of the audience’s chant. Eddie was an open socket, buzzing with electricity, ready to connect.
Never one to back down from a challenge, especially with all that wayward energy coursing through Eddie unpredictably—hitting him sideways, from all angles, making him feel like he’d lost his goddamn mind, he walked toward the edge of the stage.
He picked a pretty brunette with dark-lined eyes, peering up at him with shock and elation, and he crouched down. She beamed as his hand tangled into her hair, bringing their lips together, wet and fast and overeager. He pulled away right as she started to tug at his hair, feeling it knot between her fingers. He laughed as he wiped the corner of his mouth and connected eyes with a not-so-pleased boyfriend to her right.
“Don’t worry, I share.” Eddie smiled, wrapping his hand around the back of his head and pulling him in. The man froze in place for a beat before cautiously giving him a kiss back. It was short and sweet and silly, and Eddie was having the time of his life.
His eyes prowled the audience, searching for his next victim. It felt like he had the pick of the litter, seeing gorgeous, glittering eyes staring back at him like he held the keys to the universe. He felt like he did in the moment. He could kiss anyone and they would be happy about it.
His eyes locked with a beautiful ginger girl, choppy red hair flowing to her shoulders. He knew he had to kiss those foxy red lips as soon as possible or he would keel over and die. Eddie slid over to stand in front of her, dropping down to his knees. He reached forward, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before leaning forward.
“Hi there,” he grinned, getting into her space, watching the blush rise up to her cheeks and across her nose. They were dotted with freckles, and Eddie had the urge to dip forward and lick his way across. He settled for kissing her instead.
“Alright, alright, break it up you two,” Steve grumbled, pulling Eddie away by his guitar strap. Eddie whipped around, giving Steve his best puppy dog eyes.
“You jealous or something, big boy?” he asked coyly, leaning into his space and licking his lips. He tasted the cherry chapstick left over from his last kiss, savoring the taste of his sweet ginger girl.
“You have lipstick all over you man,” Steve whispered, staring at Eddie’s lips.
“Yeah, and?”
“We’re literally in the middle of our show.”
Eddie shrugged, leaning forward and giving Steve a big, wet smooch on the cheek. The crowd buzzed as he pulled away. It might have been all that adrenaline making Eddie’s brain malfunction, but he swore Steve’s pupils were blown wider when he pulled back. That Steve was staring at him with annoyance, sure, but also… curiosity? Huh. Interesting. Eddie patted the cheek he just abandoned with slight force and affection. “Let’s get back to it then, yeah?”
Eddie pivoted back towards the crowd, swinging his guitar back to his front once more. “Show time!”
The bar scene was consistently a hit or miss for all four of them. But that never stopped them from the ritual of it.
Usually, it went something like this:
Nancy stayed glued to one of the seats at the bar, men and women alike flocking around her like she was a beacon of light to their tiny, mosquito brains. She normally got to pick from her admirers, selecting her shiniest toy for the night with skilled precision. Her perfectly painted lips would purse as she locked eyes with her choice, gently taking their hand in hers, and leading them outside of the bar. Eddie wasn’t necessarily sure where she went with her choices, but if he knew one thing for sure, it was that Nancy Wheeler didn’t fuck at bars. She was classy like that.
In contrast, Robin was the oblivious type, a warming bottle of beer pressed in her hand as she floated around the room, eyes locking with beautiful strangers that she didn’t dare go up to. Eddie always thought if she had a little faith in herself, she could get anybody she wanted. However, if it was a lucky night and she met someone, she would giggle into her drink, cheeks flushed, eyes shining, and awkwardly choked out a casual so what are you doing later? Robin was lucky—the awkward thing really worked for her.
Steve was a wild card. He would frequent the corner of the bar, the edges of the room, or places he could easily blend in if need be. Eddie had heard through the grapevine—meaning Robin—that he had once been far more boisterous. One disastrous relationship later, he was more guarded. His eyes would survey the room, taking in everybody there. Who was a threat, who had potential, and who he desired . Once he locked in on a choice, if he locked in on one , Steve would spend the rest of the night trying to find just the right way to say hello. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he would get it right. He would get it so right that he would get dragged to the dark corners of the bar for something special. It seemed like Eddie was the only one to notice this about Steve… maybe he was just being too observant.
Eddie liked to think he was the best pursuer of the bunch. If he saw something he wanted, he would get it in his grasp and snatch it. Consensually, of course. His taste was vast: Eddie just loved people. He especially loved leggy brunettes, ones that would let him put them in their place. But again, he wasn’t picky… everyone had their fantasies, right? At the end of the day, Eddie loved the chase of finding someone who caught his eye and playing the game of cat and mouse. Sometimes he would even challenge himself to see how long it would take to get the person of his choice into one of the bathroom stalls. His record was three minutes; he was efficient and especially horny that night… and the guy was a fan. Eddie didn’t discriminate—haters, groupies, people who had no idea who the fuck he was…
Eddie snapped back to reality, watching all his theories unravel in front of him. Nancy grabbed the hand of a man with mousy, curly brown hair that hung into his eyes. Her eyes were soft and filled with curiosity as she led him towards the door. Robin leaned up against the lone pool table placed awkwardly in the center of the bar, nervously chatting up a small blonde girl with some of the nicest eyeliner Eddie had ever seen. Steve was standing against the wall, eyes bouncing from person to person. A bottle of beer hung loosely in his hand by his side, his face neutral as he took in the crowd.
Steve’s gaze met Eddie’s. The look Steve gave him made Eddie’s fingertips tingle. He figured it was from the condensation of his glass dripping down his fingers. Steve raised his free hand up in a small wave, giving Eddie a half smile before moving on with his observations. Huh.
The energy of the night felt different than the other gigs they’d done so far. It was electric, it was exciting, but it was also goddamn daunting . Eddie peeked through the curtains, seeing the hoards of people gathering around the stage. He gulped as he felt his guitar strap dig further into his shoulder.
“There’s a lot of people out there,” Eddie announced to the other three. He heard three sets of footsteps stomp towards him, peeking through the same crack in the curtains as him. It must’ve been a sight from the crowd– four awestruck faces peeking through red velvet. They were idiots, but they were successful idiots.
“Holy shit,” Robin breathed out with a laugh. She was grinning from ear to ear, excitement practically bursting from her fingertips.
“Yeah, holy shit is right.” Nancy whistled between her teeth. She reached out a hand and clapped Steve’s shoulder, a smirk dangling from her lips as he turned to meet her gaze. “You fucking ready, or what?”
Steve nodded, boyish grin taking over. Eddie liked watching this version of Steve, the way he transformed in front of their very eyes when he was about to step out onto stage. There was always confidence hanging from Steve, but when he was on stage? Hell, on stage he was magnetic as he fed off of the crowd’s energy, giving back just as much, and more, as he got.
“Let’s do this.” Steve took the first step out onto stage, the rest of the band following close after, and the crowd roared to life all at once. As Eddie got into position, scanning the cheering crowd, he couldn’t help but notice Steve out of the corner of his eye. He sneakily watched as the man, in perfect step, swung the bass forward from his back, the instrument rattling against his hips, and grabbed hold of the microphone. “How are we fucking doing tonight?” Steve yelled.
The sound had already been insane, but after Steve’s words it grew ballistic. The yells, the cries, the screams, just the sound of all those bodies existing in that space. It barely felt real.
“I’m Steve, that’s Eddie, Robin, and Nancy. This is Harringley… enjoy.”
Then Nancy was starting the beat of the bass drum, a steady rhythm, and Robin tickled her keys, and they were off. Flying through the first few songs with ease, Eddie felt like he was in a fever dream. Sweat dripped down his neck, cooling his heating spine as his fingers danced across the fretboard of his guitar. This is where he felt most at home. His guitar settled into the crook of his body, people’s gazes directed on him, the feeling of good music thrumming through his veins. He thrived in this eclectic environment they generated, and he fucking loved it.
All four of them were on the same wavelength, slipping into a groove that had his head spinning. They were on, just hitting it all at the right fucking moments, and Eddie kept grinning over at Steve with his mouth flush to the microphone, eyeing him back through half-closed lids. He watched Robin blow a kiss to Nancy while her left hand continued hitting the chords.
They were leaning into each other’s space, moving back and forth and letting the music take over. Eddie walked towards Robin as his fingers flipped over the strings, and he leaned his back against hers. She dipped forward, letting Eddie stretch into her space—head thrown back against her shoulder, right foot stomping, the both of them feeling the energy of the other playing through their connected touch.
That’s why they all understood each other, got along so well, because they all held that truth above all else: it was always all about the music.
The show was perfect until it wasn’t.
Eddie’s eyes caught on someone weaving through the crowd, a man with a greasy rattail, and watched him with a careful eye. Something felt off with the way he inched closer and closer to them; something Eddie was afraid to look away from. But Eddie was a professional… he tucked his unease into his back pocket and the show would have to go on.
“Alright folks, this next song is a favorite of ours. We hope you love it, too. Fuck, I mean who doesn’t like Fleetwood Mac? This is The Chain ,” Steve announced, stepping back from the mic and giving Eddie a smile. He was practically beaming, sunshine exuding from him as he gave him a nod of encouragement. The corner of Eddie’s mouth quirked up as he played the beginning chord, feeling the steady beat of Nancy following him in his core. He watched as Steve spared Robin a glance as he stepped back forward, the two going into the song in perfect harmony.
Watching the two sing together was another experience all together. The two just knew each other so well, inside and out, their voices melting into each other like lemon and sugar. Eddie got lost in the two, practically playing on autopilot, as he slipped into the essence of the song. His eyes darted back to the crowd as he saw rattail creep closer to the stage. A sick feeling swirled in his gut. He glanced back to Steve as his hands rose for his bass solo. This was always his favorite part. Steve rarely got to shine instrumentally, let alone in the way he was able to with this song.
It happened in slow motion. He watched as Steve smiled widely as he finished his solo, Robin giving him a thumbs up from her keyboard. He watched as the man with the rattail hoisted himself up on the stage. He watched as Steve’s kind eyes widened, looking rattail right in the eye and seeing where his gaze was locked. Nancy . Eddie’s fingers stayed glued on his guitar as they ran along to the rest of the song. Steve’s jaw was set as he pushed himself away from the microphone, moving his body to block the drum set behind him.
The beer bottle in rattail’s hand was held tightly as Eddie pressed his lips against the microphone, taking over for Steve, him and Robin’s voices fighting to stay on pitch as they watched the duo in front of him.
The crowd gasped as Eddie shredded the progression in time with Steve landing a punch to the guy's nose. Blood spurted down his pinched face, dripping down in fast droplets and melting into his beard. The guy lifted his free hand up to wipe his nose, scowling at Steve. He let out a guttural noise as he smashed his beer bottle against the butt of Steve’s bass, charging forward as broken glass shattered around their feet. Eddie was frozen in place as he watched the guy aim for Steve’s sweating neck with the broken beer bottle in his hand. His aim was too high. The glass punctured the skin next to Steve’s eye, dragging down in ragged succession from eyebrow to cheekbone to hairline.
“Fuck!” Steve growled, swinging his bass back to his back like he’d had it backstage. He charged forward, tackling the man to the ground. Eddie, Robin, and Nancy continued to play. He watched as Steve landed punch after punch, the guy's face becoming a broken, bloody mess. “Stay the fuck away from her!”
The song came to a conclusion. Rattail groaned as his face slumped to the side. He had tried to give a good fight, but Steve was always one step ahead. Steve paused, touching his hand to his bleeding face before standing up. The crowd remained silent as he walked back up to his microphone.
“Uh,” He chuckled, wiping his face again with the back of his hand. “Clean up on Aisle four?”
The show was over, and the four of them—not ready for the night to end yet, or leave the comfort of each other with the danger of earlier still hanging over their heads—were lying around the green room. Steve sat sullen on the tattered arm chair, ass nearly off the seat he’d slid down so far, legs spread and long in front of him. Robin was in the loveseat with Nancy practically on top of her, half on her lap, both drinking from the same bottle of wine they kept passing back and forth. It tinged their lips a pretty shade of purple.
Eddie watched them from his spot on the floor, propped up on his elbows and legs skewed behind him as he alternated between sipping his whiskey and taking hits off of the joint that Steve and him kept passing back and forth.
“That was fucking batshit,” Eddie said finally, feeling like he had to say something. He couldn’t get the image of Steve with a broken bottle so close to his throat out of his head. Neither could he forget the way Steve jumped into action without a second thought, all act first and think later .
Eddie wasn’t like that. Eddie was a runner, really. Hell, he was loyal, he knew that about himself, but he’d never responded to danger the way Steve did. Steve grit his teeth, he strangled it in his grasp, he refused to let it go. There was something so admirable about it, something that tweaked at an old feeling of jealousy in Eddie’s chest.
“I didn’t even fucking see it coming,” Nancy added, the rim of the bottle pushing into her bottom lip. Eddie caught Robin’s eyes trained on the dot of garnet liquid on Nancy’s lip before letting her head drop backward, looking at the ceiling instead. “I was just at the drums, and then I look up and Steve’s beating the shit out of someone.”
“Think he beat the shit out of me right back,” Steve grumbled.
“Yeah, but at least you won,” Robin said with a little laugh, but Eddie knew her well enough to hear the lining of discomfort in her words. She was unsettled. Eddie felt it, too.
“Nance,” Eddie began, watching her carefully. Her eyes were a little far away, a little grasping. “Are you good?”
“Of course. Steve, my savior,” she joked, and Eddie could tell from the way she said it that she didn’t want to talk about this. She wanted to brush it aside, keep pushing forward, because dwelling on it would do her no good. Nancy could push forward better than any of them, Eddie often thought.
She flipped her gaze to Robin. “Do you need air? I need air. We’re heading outside,” Nancy said, pulling Robin up behind her. Their bodies swayed closer. “It’s rank in here.”
“Be safe! Use protection!” Eddie waved them off, Nancy turning around to flip him the middle finger before they disappeared through the door. Eddie turned instinctively to the only one left in the room, letting his worry shift. “Steve. Steeeeeeve.”
“What?” His words were muffled, dark and gloomy, quiet as his mouth wrapped around the top of a beer bottle. There were at least five already at his feet, not including whatever he’d drunk before and during the show.
“You’re wallowing, man.” Eddie finished the last of the joint, dumping it into one of the discarded bottles within his reach. “This is not the tour vibe.”
“Getting like half of your face slashed by a beer bottle and gushing blood all over the stage isn’t really the tour vibe either.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be sour,” Eddie reached out his hand until he could grip at Steve’s ankle, rubbing a tiny circle over the flesh before pulling it back. “You’re still just as pretty, Stevie.”
“Do you see my face, Munson?” Steve slid up enough in the chair to bend forward, elbows resting on thighs, eyes locked with a dangerous focus on Eddie.
Logically, Eddie knew Steve was just riled up, knew exactly why he was riled up and that Eddie should be taking this situation seriously, but his cock didn’t. His cock wasn’t particularly good at listening to his brain these days, especially not where Steve was concerned.
The expanse of his forearms were on full display, veiny and flexed, and there were blood droplets around the rim of Steve’s muscle tank where Eddie could see a stretch of collarbone he wanted to sink his teeth into, and Steve’s eyes. Staring him down, focused, filled with fire and fury that Eddie could imagine swallowing with the flat of his tongue. He felt halfway to losing his damn mind, so he stood up to head back over to the bottle of Jameson and top off his glass, giving his body a chance to de-escalate.
“I see it. Don’t you think the chicks are just going to be on you more? Like, you can spin shit about that, dude. Defending some poor innocent child or some shit. A rough bar fight for the guys.”
“Getting more than zero isn’t gonna be much of a stretch.” Steve fell back into the chair, bringing a hand to his forehead. “When did I lose my fucking touch?”
“You used to have one?” He flipped himself around, hopping onto the small counter that groaned under his weight.
“Eat shit, Munson.” Steve’s lips tightened, and his body was tight, and what Eddie would do to help him loosen those muscles.
If he could run his hand along his jaw, trail it down his chest, put his hand where it really wanted to go. To see Steve Harrington lose it all in front of him, that constant tension dissipating beneath Eddie’s touch. Eddie didn’t normally consider it a possibility, fucking Steve (he could hear Robin’s list in his head, envision the white board like it was yesterday), but it was an occasional fantasy all the same. He’d gotten off to Steve, sure, of course. Who wouldn’t when they were around him 24/7 the way Eddie was? The dude was hot. Like annoyingly hot.
“You’re actually upset about this,” Eddie said, eyes narrowing. It was hard to tell with Steve, sometimes, where he was on the scale of genuine to absolutely playing into the drama .
“My face is fucked, my sex life is fucked, and no one is ever going to want to fuck me again, period. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Steve brought the cuticle of his right thumb to his mouth, eyes staring off into space as he settled with his own words.
This was so absolutely ridiculous that Eddie wanted to scream. He didn’t think Steve was dumb, but sometimes he just had no fucking clue. The idea that Steve didn’t understand the effect he could have on people was insane, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh as he watched him.
“Eat up my misery, sure. I’m repulsive and now apparently celibate—it’s a goddamn riot.”
Eddie jumped down to his feet, threw back the rest of his booze, and eyed Steve as he walked closer. “Steve,” he said, voice serious, until Steve’s eyes snapped to his. A look crossed Steve’s face like maybe he was trying to read Eddie’s sudden intensity and was coming up blank. For some reason that egged Eddie on more, that sudden power in his hands. Eddie removed his vest, tossing it over the abandoned loveseat, leaving himself in just the shirt underneath, and moved until he was standing between Steve’s legs. “Shut the fuck up.”
It was insanity that took him over, had to be, because Eddie knew he shouldn’t do this. He knew every single fucking reason he shouldn’t do this, why he hadn’t before, but Steve looked lost. It was fine when Steve was in a funk for the dramatics, but Eddie couldn’t handle him truly believing those dumb words he’d just spouted. He needed to fix that feeling of Steve’s, needed to eradicate it, and Eddie never claimed to be all that smart, okay? His mind landed on only one solution.
“Eddie, I—” The words died on Steve’s lips, and it was beautiful to watch as Eddie lowered himself to his knees. Steve's parted lips, the tip of his tongue peeking between them, the way his eyes blew wide and darkened exponentially the closer Eddie’s knees got to the booze-stained floor.
“People are going to want to fuck you, Steve.” Eddie brought his palms flat against Steve’s thighs, pushing them further apart (tenderly, slowly, centimeter by centimeter), thumbs running over the jeans, eyes never leaving Steve’s. “I want to fuck you.”
Eddie’s hands slid up his thighs, taking their damn time because Steve’s breathing was becoming so erratic it made his dick twitch. Just the sight of his goddamn chest rushing up and down sending his body racing. There was still blood covering part of Steve’s face, and a drop to the left of his lip that Eddie wanted to lick away. In another world, perhaps he would…
Finally, his hands found the zipper of Steve’s jeans to find Steve already hard, pushing against the fabric. “You want me to suck you off, Steve?”
Steve nodded as he licked his lips, a soft groan coming from somewhere deep in his throat.
“Steeeeve,” Eddie teased, tilting his head onto Steve’s thigh and looking up at him through his lashes. This was the best angle Eddie had ever seen Steve from, honest to God.
“Yeah, fuck, yes Eddie. Please.”
“Oh, he begs,” Eddie said, finally taking the clasp of the zipper between his fingers, and then all that teasing energy dissipated at the sight of Steve’s cock popping up without the confinement. Eddie’s throat was dry. The fucker didn’t even have underwear on, and his lips were speechless because words would have never conveyed how much he wanted anyways. What was the point?
“So fucking gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous on your knees.” The words rushed out of Steve seemingly without thought, coming from somewhere deep and real, and it riled Eddie up like he’d never experienced before. Steve brushed his thumb against Eddie’s lips, Eddie popping it into his mouth and sucking it off with a pop. Steve groaned, throwing his head back, and Eddie grabbed the base of Steve’s cock with one hand and licked the tip.
“Look who’s talking,” Eddie said, and there was a response prepared on Steve’s lips, but the words were swallowed by a moan when Eddie lowered his mouth to Steve’s dick.
Had there ever been a sight more gorgeous in Eddie’s life? He just wasn’t sure. No, he was pretty fucking certain because Steve looked wrecked. All those layers that were constantly plastered around him melted away, and it was just Steve. No worries, no inhibitions. His hands gripped in his own hair, head thrown back, long neck on display, happy little mewls from his pink, wet lips.
“No, you don’t even know. You have no idea.” Steve’s voice was breathy, indistinguishable, falling away into bliss.
Eddie wanted to bottle it as he ran his hand up and down, circling and sliding over the tip, doing anything a second time if it got Steve to quiver under his touch. He brought his tongue to the tip again, licking around the head and then up along the base, all the while groaning into it because the sounds Steve were making should be illegal. Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever been so hard before from giving a blowjob.
“Eddie, please, oh my god,” Steve rambled, words falling from his lips without thought, without pretense.
“Baby,” Eddie moaned, and then he lowered his mouth onto Steve’s dick and went as low as he could go, taking all of him.
“I’m not— Eddie— I’m not, fuck. ” Despite his incoherence, Eddie knew what was about to happen.
He sped his movements up a little faster, keeping his rhythm consistent, watching Steve from below his lashes as Steve grew closer and closer to letting go. When he came a few seconds later, Eddie was pretty certain Steve Harrington’s face as he released was fucking renaissance art. He wanted to write songs about it—the way the tension loosened, his jaw clenched, his lips parted, his eyes blew wide and then fluttering shut. Fuck, it was one of the hottest sights of Eddie’s life.
He swallowed the cum, even going so far as to lick up Steve’s dick again to clean it as Steve had a few aftershocks. Eddie tipped back onto his heels, feeling pretty proud of himself with the blissed out and boneless version of Steve in front of him.
“How was that?” Eddie asked, tilting his head and feeling the smirk tug at his lips.
Steve opened his eyes to look at him. “Shut the fuck up, you cocky asshole.”
Eddie laughed. “Good then. Glad to hear it. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“God, you’re so fucking…” Steve shook his head. “I need to, let me—” He was tipping forward, reaching out for Eddie’s belt loops and trying to pull him closer, and Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrists to hold him in place.
“Nuh uh. That was just for you. No payment needed.” Eddie hopped back up to his feet, looking down to get one last look of Steve because holy shit. His hair was in a million different directions and his cock was resting on his stomach and it was the perfect picture.
“Eddie—”
He reached out his thumb, this time bringing it to Steve’s bottom lip and pushing in just a little. “People want to fuck you,” he repeated, staring Steve down. “Got it?”
Steve nodded. “Crystal clear.” His hands came out to Eddie’s hips, gripping into them, and Eddie thought about letting himself give in, letting Steve give him pleasure back, but he didn’t want to taint the moment, the message. The need to evacuate, to run, before he could somehow ruin this moment like he seemed to ruin so much in his life rose in his chest.
Eddie curved forward and kissed Steve’s hairline, running a hand over the hair, and then stepped back. “Night, Harrington.” He grabbed the bottle of Jameson, waved over his shoulder, and exited back into the night.