Chapter Text
The first time Eddie shows him a magazine, Steve gets that feeling. That feeling that descends on him with more and more frequency these days. The feeling of being, totally, utterly out of his depth.
But Eddie has that effect on him. Which really, that’s not fair. It’s Eddie who’s the one with no experience of even kissing prior to dying, but now he’s reading from an article in some dirty magazine and saying shit like You should spit in my mouth next time, Harrington, that sounds hot and making Steve choke on his drink.
Which, okay, the way Eddie says it like it’s no big deal kind of does make it sound like it could be hot, somehow, but Steve is still sort of reeling from the concept when Eddie hands the magazine over.
“Where did you even find this?” Steve asks, eying the cover with suspicion. In big blocky white font, the title reads Drummer, and a burly, hairy man in an open leather vest scowls from the cover and damn, Steve thought he knew what a drummer was, but now he’s not so sure. “They definitely do not sell this at Melvald’s.”
“I drove down to Evansville,” Eddie mutters, snatching it back. “There’s a shop down there. Even if they sold this shit at Melvald’s, you gotta be kidding me if you think I’d risk being seen buying it from like, Joyce Byers or some shit. No, I’ve been driving into the city to buy porn with a fake ID since I was sixteen, Harrington, don’t be dense.”
And that’s really not fair. That Eddie can make him feel like Eddie’s the one with all the experience and insight, when really he is a nervous virgin who had porn articles instead of girlfriends.
Steve really is sick of being shown up by a bunch of nerds all the time.
“It’s very enlightening,” Eddie alludes with that insolent little grin, like he holds all the cards.
Asshole.
“Enlightening how?” Steve asks, reaching for it again. “Is this, like, S&M stuff?”
“Well, yeah, I — ” Eddie starts, watching Steve flip to a full-page spread of a half-naked man with his tongue out, feet planted, wearing leather chaps and a pair of matching leather cuffs. “I mean, I’m the freak, right? I’m into freak shit.”
But Steve has learned to call Eddie’s bluff with comments like that. “Don’t do that, that’s not fair. It’s not that different from other shit. It’s all, like, fantasy shit, right? Y’know, like a sexy nurse getup? Or a hot teacher? Make-believe. I get it. You’re into fantasy.”
Eddie smiles. A little bashful, but it’s obvious that he appreciates an effort of understanding.
Uncertain, Steve smiles back. “I mean… right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
Steve hands the magazine back to Eddie. "So, am I gonna have to get a cloak and magic wand or something for the bedroom now?"
"Man," chuckles Eddie, beet red, "fuck you, Harrington."
For some reason, he really likes that he can make Eddie laugh.
Steve’s parents have finally made the ostensibly permanent move to Florida, so Eddie leaves the magazine at Steve’s place without worry. It feels pointed, the way it sits there on the living room coffee table for a few days among the TV Guides and old copies of People, the burly man glaring at him until Steve picks it up and takes it into his room one evening, flipping awkwardly through it.
Most of the pages are full-colour shots of half-naked to fully-naked men. It makes Steve blush and quickly turn the page. It still feels dangerous and forbidden to look at men like that. Like something tempting. Makes his palms sweat. Makes his heart race like he is 12-years-old again with his first crush on a classmate. Makes him feel like he hasn’t got a clue.
And the most prohibited thought: maybe this isn’t actually new to him at all. Maybe he has liked guys all along.
He calls Robin.
“H’llo?”
“Can I ask you something?”
There’s a tisk on the other line. “Oh, hi, Robin, how’re you? Sorry to be calling so late…”
Steve glances over at the digital clock. Nearly a quarter to midnight. “Sorry. Shit. I didn’t realize what time it was. I’ve just, uh, I’ve been up. I’ve been thinking.”
“And we all know how well that goes for you, don’t we, Steve?”
Steve decides it’s best to ignore her and push through. “When did you know you liked girls? Like, was it an always thing, or did it just suddenly occur to you one day? Did you ever think that maybe you liked boys at first but realized later that you didn’t? Or maybe… maybe you only thought you liked them, because that was normal…”
“Jesus Christ, okay.” Steve can hear Robin resituating herself on the other line. “That kind of thinking.”
“What other kind of thinking would have me calling you in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t know, Harrington, you woke me up from a dead sleep. The Red Army could be back. Could’ve been ghouls crawling out of the walls again. It could’ve been a long division problem for all I know.”
Steve huffs. “Would you just answer the question?”
“Give me a minute, okay, that’s kind of a heavy question to interrupt my beauty sleep for.”
Rolling his eyes, Steve twists the kitchen phone cord around his fingers, impatient.
But instead Robin just exhales into the receiver and asks sleepily, “Why do you need to know all of a sudden?”
“Eddie, Robin. Obviously.”
“No, dingus. I mean, why right now? Tonight, at midnight. Haven’t you been macking on Eddie for a couple months now?”
Running his hand through his hair, Steve grumbles, “He’s got these magazines.”
“Magazines? Like porno magazines?”
“The porn isn’t the important part, Robin, I’m just — I’m sitting here looking at them and, like, I’m thinking back on stuff, okay. I’m thinking about how Billy Hargrove would like, taunt me in the gym showers about looking at him and I didn’t think I was, like I thought it was just standard asshole behavior from him at the time. But now… I don’t know, maybe he was right. Maybe he, like, actually did catch me looking and I didn’t even realize it. You know? Have I been into guys that long and I just didn’t notice? Robin, am I that meatheaded?”
“I — Steve, I can’t answer that for you. Maybe you were. I don’t know. Is there anything that stands out to you, now? Can you think back to any friendships that felt like more than that?”
Steve continues toying with the phone cord while he thinks. The way Billy Hargrove would stare him down hard, like a dare. Once in sophomore year he got drunk with Tommy, and Steve remembers thinking he was really beautiful. It hadn’t felt like a weird thought, but he knew to never say anything.
“I don’t know. Maybe. That’s the thing. I’m not sure.”
Static is all that comes through the line for a moment.
“I didn’t really figure it out until middle school,” Robin admits at last, “like, not really really. That’s when I knew it was girls only for me. But then once I realized that, I started to reexamine stuff from when I was younger. Because I wasn’t sure if I had always been like this or… or if something had, like, gone wrong with me somewhere along the line. When I thought about it… Like, when I was a kid, I always pictured myself as the guy in the movies. Right? Because the guy got the girl, in the end. And I wanted that. And, as a kid I don’t think I realized that was the reason, but I knew I wanted to be like the leading man. Like, when Jeannie and Tony finally got together I remember wishing I could be like Tony. But I didn’t really know why. You know what I mean?”
Steve nods, forgetting she can’t see him. If movies count, then maybe he has thought about Tom Cruise more than the normal amount.
“Oh. Okay. That… makes sense.”
“And just in case you need me to say it, Steve: it’s okay that you like men. And it’s okay if you have since you were a kid. Or if it’s happening for the first time. I just… sorry if that’s corny, but I wish someone would have said it to me.”
He nearly chokes up. Wishes he could’ve helped her the way she helps him. “Yeah. Okay, thanks, Rob.”
“You’re not, like, worrying you made a mistake, are you?”
“No,” Steve says instantly. “No. Definitely not.”
“Okay, good,” Robin says with a smile in her voice. “‘Cause I told Munson I’d side with you when it came to most things, but if you break that poor guy’s heart it’ll kill me.”
There’s an odd relief to the way she says that, and Steve smiles. “I’m not planning on it.”
The silence carries over the line until Robin speaks up. “But you have… doubts?”
“Not doubts,” Steve insists, “but… just trying to reevaluate a whole lot of stuff. Maybe… maybe I’ve always liked both, but I just really leaned into liking girls because everyone expected me to like girls. It was easy to like girls. The whole world expected me to like girls. And I do! I really do. That wasn’t fake, for me. So I didn’t have to really think about liking guys because — because I could always just stick to girls, and not worry about it.”
Robin is silent for a while then, and Steve clears his throat.
“Robin? Did you OD over there?”
A scoff tells him the line didn’t cut out, and then: “So then… is this midnight crisis because you’re wanting to go further with him?”
“We still haven’t… I mean we’ve…”
“Steve, I love you,” Robin interrupts hastily, “but I really don’t need the gritty details of how successful your sex life is no matter which way you swing while I’m still aggressively single.”
“Right, sorry. It’s just — it didn’t feel that weird, you know? When he kissed me. Like it surprised me, sure, but... I wasn’t repulsed or… or upset. It was good. And really easy, after the shock wore off. And I’m just wondering if maybe I’d been wanting to do it for forever before Eddie had the balls to do it first, you know?”
“Maybe you did,” Robin says as if it doesn’t even matter. “I mean, the way you two were down there in the creepy Hawkins… I don’t know, you seemed… different.”
“Different how?”
“I dunno. Like, at ease? In sync? Up until Henderson had us hunting down Eddie, the most common topic of conversation for you and I had always been girls. Girls you like, girls I like, girls you maybe don’t like as much as you thought. It was your main focus when we were working at the mall, your main focus at the video rental, your main focus when driving me to school. And you just seemed frustrated about it the whole time. But then, I dunno. The guy puts a broken bottle to your throat and suddenly you were gung-ho for him at every turn. You made us rush through the food run so we could make sure he was safe, you led the way to Skull Rock, you gave him the safest job during our insane plan to kill Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One…”
“‘Safest’ my ass. He —”
“Well, you tried,” Robin interrupts before he can derail the conversation, “but the guy’s gotta be a hero, there’s no cure for that. You should know.”
Steve tisks at that. Robin chuckles.
“Steve, I can’t be the one to tell you how you’ve felt your whole life, okay? Even I don’t know that. But I can tell you that right now, you sound like you have it pretty bad for Eddie Munson. And who knows, maybe he’s the one. Wouldn’t that be weird? Maybe the reason for all your failures with the ladies is because what you really need is a freaky weird dude you thought you had nothing in common with.”
“Excuse me, ’failures’?”
“Steve. C’mon. Brenda Sanderson?”
“Oh, and you should talk, Tammy Thompson.”
“I do talk!” Robin argues, but Steve can hear her giggling. “I’ll say it to anyone who’ll listen.”
She takes a deep breath and there’s a moment of silence as she collects herself. Steve can almost feel how serious she’s trying to be through the phone.
“Look…” Robin’s voice is firm now. “I’m just saying, all the time we’ve spent together since last summer, you’ve been a disaster in all attempts at love. You’ve not had the slightest clue in who you’ve wanted to be with, and you’ve been lamenting ad nauseam about a different girl every week. And now… well. You seem pretty happy.”
Steve wishes she were here in his room. He wants to hug her for always knowing what to say. What he needs to hear.
“I am happy.”
“So be happy,” she responds, as if it’s all that easy. “You deserve it. And so does he.”
Swallowing, Steve answers, “Okay.”
“Good. Now can I go back to sleep? Or are there any other crises I should extinguish before I hang up?”
“Get to bed, asshole.”
She giggles again. “Goodnight, Stevie.”
“Love you, Rob.”
“Yeah, love you too.”
Hanging up the phone, Steve flips through the magazine with a renewed curiosity. He had never imagined there would be enough queers into this sort of thing, never mind enough for a whole magazine. But there’s all sorts in here. In between the explicit photos, which lose their shock value somewhat after a moment’s consideration, there’s a weird little subculture Steve had no idea about. Letters to the editor. Full-page ads for leather bars in New York and Chicago. Articles, interviews, horoscopes. Weird. He scans the articles and personal ads anxiously for some sort of instruction, a starting point, but this doesn’t really look like a beginner’s sort of publication.
So he tries to glean any knowledge he can. The personal ads end up being the most helpful. The pay-by-the-word sorts; these guys get right down to brass tacks. Glendale. M. 35. 6’1”. Seeks knowledgeable bondage top. Christ, was it really that easy? Four words in a magazine to find a partner? There are seekers in every state, from the look of it. North Dakota? Poor guy.
Steve isn’t sure he learns much despite his efforts. But the next time Eddie comes over, he brings the magazine back with him to his trailer.
With Steve’s parents gone and Wayne Munson loosening the reins on Eddie’s house arrest Eddie shows up at his place a lot. They have more privacy here than the trailer, though, honestly, they aren’t exactly screwing like rabbits. Still finding their footing. Or at least Steve is, and Eddie is patient.
Most days they just enjoy each other’s company during the daylight hours, between volunteer shifts at the cafeteria and news hour updates from the National Guard. Usually they just split a pizza or a joint and watch a movie or listen to music.
Most of the time. They’re still young red-blooded men. The discovery of how much Eddie enjoys giving blowjobs doesn’t go entirely unutilized.
So despite prevailing wisdom, Steve isn’t that dense. He recognizes that Eddie bringing these magazines over is just some nerdy attempt at flirting. Not always Drummer, but usually. He’s always very performative with it, showing Steve some dirty picture and dropping some coy little remark to make Steve blush. But never outright declares a desire. Never asks Steve to do something to him. Just makes a playful little display out of it. Plays the freak. That’s where Eddie feels safest.
Which is why it’s so noticeable this night when Eddie stretches out over Steve’s couch reading his magazine in near silence while Steve washes out the glasses they used for Coke to go with their pizza.
“Anything interesting?” Steve probes as he comes around from the kitchen to stand behind Eddie’s head, causing Eddie to jump about a foot off the sofa. “Jesus, you horn dog, that good?”
“Uh — well…” Eddie looks up at him and then back at his magazine, and doesn’t elaborate in any way.
Worrying. Eddie is a lot of things, but he’s rarely ever speechless.
Steve tilts his head to see the cover of the magazine. Another copy of Drummer, this one with a broad-shouldered man with his back to the camera, throwing a steely gaze over his shoulder in leather pants. Eddie has brought this one to Steve’s place before, he recognizes that cover as the one Eddie had pushed into his face and taunted, we should get you some leather pants, big boy, and Steve had turned bright red and shoved him.
“Something catch your eye in that one, Munson?”
“Um… yeah. I guess.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips. Steve expects him to say more, but for a long moment, Eddie doesn’t look at him while Steve stares, waiting. Blushing, Eddie finally adds, “Do you — I can… I can show you. If you’re interested.”
“Is it a centerfold or something?”
“No.”
The response is so quick and final that Steve is a little stunned. He’s not sure what else it would be. “Um, okay.”
Eddie flips to a page he’s dog-eared, which leaves an anxious pit in Steve’s stomach. Eddie doing his homework never boded well for Steve.
“Promise not to freak out at the title?” Eddie says, big doe eyes wide and innocent and knocking Steve utterly defenseless. “It’s not as fucked up as it sounds when you read it.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s a ringing endorsement.” Steve tries to sound sarcastic, but his throat is dry, so it cracks a bit.
Eddie’s hiding the magazine flat to his chest like he’s worried Steve will bolt if he sees. Usually he's not shy about much of anything.
“Okay, I promise not to freak out at the title. Scout’s honor.”
Eddie swings his feet to the floor, cocking his head to the side. “You were a boy scout?”
“Yeah, obviously, Munson. Hand it over.”
Still, Eddie doesn’t. Okay, so this really doesn’t bode well.
“It’s just — the way the guy talks about… hm. Well, I mean, the thing with — uh.” He’s trying to get Steve on board with whatever weird fetish shit is contained in this porno mag article before actually letting Steve know anything about it, which is kind of endearing, but also leaves them both just sitting here staring at each other like a couple of losers. “Okay, so, it may seem a little weird or… extreme, but… It’s relatable, alright? It makes sense to me. When this guy talks about how, like, it quiets down his head.”
Steve’s eyes widen but he endeavours to maintain his cool. “Sure, whatever that means. Am I going to be allowed to read it?”
“I just really don’t want you to freak out, man.”
“Jesus, Munson, it’s a porno mag. I may have flipped through different ones for the most part, but it’s not like anything in there is gonna put me off my lunch.”
Eddie has that wide-eyed nervous look on his face like he’s psyching himself up to leap out of an airplane, that look he had the night he’d first kissed Steve. So Steve leans forward and kisses the corner of his mouth to try and offer comfort.
“I already said I promise not to freak out. Let me see.”
“Look, maybe you should read it while I’m not here.”
“Munson. C’mon.”
Still he doesn’t relinquish it.
“I’m not gonna think it’s bad, Eddie.”
Saying his name seems to work, snapping his attention back to the moment and Eddie hands the magazine over, his face beet red. Steve takes a minute to appreciate his trepidation before he looks down at the open page in Drummer.
“Master and Servant”
Oh. The header photograph shows a young nude man, bare save for a leather collar around his throat, kneeling on the ground before a man in worn denim jeans and a leather harness. Steve glances up at Eddie, who is staring down hard at his shoes. He’d promised not to let the title freak him out. So he’s not freaking out. He doesn’t want to freak out, anyway. Maybe it isn’t a freak out. Maybe his heart is just beating very, very fast.
Finally, eloquently, Steve manages, “Oh.”
“It’s really not that bad,” Eddie assures in a rush, stumbling a bit when he gets to his feet.
“Give me a minute, I haven’t even read anything yet,” Steve appeals.
Biting his nails, Eddie won’t look at him. He looks scared. Steve doesn’t want him to be scared.
Looking back down at the photo, Steve feels a warm twitch at the pit of his stomach. He’s a little shaken, but the idea isn’t flat-out unappealing.
The article is descriptive. Obviously, it’s porn, not a cookbook. Steve can feel himself blushing as he scans the page. The author writes about his relationship with his “master”, and honestly, Steve’s not so sure about that. Talks about obedience, submission, discipline. Talks about enjoying spending time on his knees, about being forced and shoved around. In Steve’s experience, the girls he’d been with aren’t really fans of that sort of behaviour.
He sees the bit Eddie had been trying to explain. It stands out to him vibrantly.
Sucking Master’s cock is my favourite thing to do. The weight on my tongue is like an electrical switch. Everything else goes dark. I become not a man with worries, concerns, but an object performing a function. My mind is on a static channel, nothing gets in, nothing comes out. I have no needs, no disappointments. All that matters is fulfilling my function, then.
That… is interesting. He recalls Eddie curled up against him back at Skull Rock, when they’d traded inexperienced blowjobs. He’d been nervy before. Panicked, almost. But after, he had been boneless, docile, like all the tension was wrung out of him.
Steve looks up to see Eddie fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. He asks, “So it’s not just — just a porn thing? You’re, like… interested? In doing stuff like this?”
“I — uh, yeah?” Eddie abandons his zipper and instead fidgets with his hair. Pulling it over his face in that way he does when he’s embarrassed, which is rare. “I mean, if you… if you were okay, at least. No pressure. And I don’t need, uh — not really hard stuff. Or not — not only… uh…”
“I’m still reading,” Steve insists, holding the magazine close to his chest when Eddie reaches for it. “Take a breath, Munson, I’m not… I’m not freaking out.”
“You’re not?”
“I mean, um…” Steve swallows. His heart is racing as his eyes skate over the article. He’s not freaking out, but he is dizzy. “No, I don’t — I don’t think so. I’m just… thinking.”
His eyes land on a subheading in bold: Pain and Punishment He looks back up at Eddie still looking like he’s about to vomit on his own shoes and then back down at the article.
If I fail in my duties, my function, Master requires that I be punished. In most circumstances it inspires me to be good, to excel in my obedience. Other times, it inspires me to disobey so I can have my ass spanked and skin whipped.
Well. On the next page there's a black and white photograph of a shirtless young man with his arms extended over his head. His wrists are shackled, Steve realizes with a gulp, in black leather cuffs that hang from an overhead hook. The man's back, flanks, shoulders, are bared for the camera, a long exposed plane of flesh smattered with dark bruises. In the background behind the bound man, slightly out of focus, a fully dressed man looms, brandishing some sort of leather strap between his hands.
"Eddie?" begins Steve, voice warbling a bit to his humiliation. "Um, do you want me to hit you?"
A sudden sense memory: a voice screaming in a Russian accent, asking the same questions over and over, his vision doubling, stupefying pain of a repeated closed fist to the gut. Being certain he is going to die far beneath the earth and no one will ever find him.
Dragging a hand over his face, Eddie doesn't look at him when he murmurs, "Maybe?"
"Ed." Steve is heartbroken. “I don’t know if… I don’t…”
"You don't have to,” Eddie interrupts abruptly, beet red. “Shit, I'm not gonna make you. It's just… something I've thought about."
"Have you… Do you… like pain? Like, uh, have you… have you done that to yourself before?"
"Sort of?” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and then quickly back again, the way he has to now that his ankle is as busted as it is. “Sometimes I'll, like, uh, bite the back of my arm, or pull on my hair."
"Oh."
That’s less daunting than hitting. Steve likes biting down on Eddie’s neck, and even some of the girls he’s hooked up with like their hair pulled. Relief settles over him. That’s doable. No big deal.
"Look,” Eddie tries backpedaling, “I'm not asking you to chain me up and whip me, okay?"
"But would you want me to?"
Eddie goes white as a sheet.
"Okay," Steve placates, reaching forward and stroking Eddie's shoulder. Hopefully it's reassuring. "Okay, forget about it. Baby steps. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, right? Don't freak. I'm not freaking. Let’s not freak out. Let me finish reading, okay?"
He can feel Eddie looming as he tries to focus on the words that all seem to dance over the page as he reads. He shuffles over and drops down onto the couch, hoping it looks more relaxed than overwhelmed. Further down the article, something stands out to Steve that makes him think of Eddie. More than any of the other things he’s read through or awkwardly mentioned to Eddie as he shuffles uncomfortably around Steve’s living room, it stands out as something that he understands.
This obedience is born from trust. Master chooses for me because I trust him. Punishment or pleasure, Master will take care of me, I know that he will. He always does.
He remembers Eddie, newly fished out of the rifts, frail and exhausted on his filthy mattress, holding his hand open for painkillers. Or letting Steve rinse the inky residue of the underworld from his hair. Remembers the quiet vulnerable moments. Eddie strumming an acoustic version of Heart of Glass on the hood of his BMW while they watch the sunset.
Eddie trusts him. Over anyone else.
That is suddenly a responsibility and honour.
But then Steve’s eyes skate over the mention being ordered around, told to kneel and stay like a dog, and feels immediately out of his depth again.
It’s almost comical, how quickly Steve feels his nerves return.
The guy talks about how sometimes, suffering and pleasure are the same thing. And the memory of removing Eddie’s stitches resurfaces like from a frozen lake. Steve had thought he was killing him with the way Eddie had been wincing. But then he remembers the hoarse whisper of his voice and how he wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes, and how he darted away the moment it was over.
“Um, hey, Eddie?”
Caught mid-pace, Eddie stops, facing away from Steve. “Mm?”
“When I uh… back before your uncle got back, the night I took out your stitches, was that —”
“Oh, fuck.” Eddie spins around and tries again to snatch the magazine from Steve’s hands. “Forget it, this was stupid, fuck. This was so stupid.”
Steve clutches the magazine to his chest again and swats Eddie’s hands away. “No, stop it. Shut up. I just mean… I’d thought I was hurting you. You looked like you were about to faint. Was that — you liked that?”
Eddie has the nerve to roll his eyes, as if any of this is obvious or worthy of blowing off. “I’m not gonna ask you to cut me up so you can snip out new stitches or anything insane.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The stern tone seems to do the trick, whether Eddie realizes it or not. He continues to pluck at his hair, combing his fingers through it anxiously, holding it in front of his face.
Finally, Eddie sighs, “Yeah, I liked… I liked it.”
Sweat prickles at the back of Steve’s neck. He recalls the memory with this new knowledge, and it leaves a heavy swoop in his gut, like missing a step on a staircase. That feels different than hitting, too. It sinks into Steve oddly. Not like the relief from the examples of hair-pulling and biting. Weighted. Electric. All this time Steve thought Eddie was squeamish because Steve had been sloppy and rough with the process. But that wasn’t it. It was because it was turning him on.
All this S&M stuff had seemed so daunting. Turns out he’s already been doing it for a while.
His mouth is suddenly very dry.
“Steve? Is — is that… are you okay?”
He realizes he’s been staring off into space and blinks back to himself. “Uh. Yeah. No, I mean, it’s not — I was just thinking.”
Eddie still looks pale and nervous.
“I’m not freaked out. That doesn’t freak me out.” It’s actually a comfort, if odd to realize. Knowing Eddie was just skittish. It’s better than thinking he’d really hurt him somehow. “I guess I just kinda wish I knew that at the time.”
“I figured you did,” Eddie murmurs, arms crossed, still toying with the ends of his hair. “You were standing right outside the bathroom when I came out, it’s not like the trailer has soundproof walls.”
“O — oh.” Steve’s voice breaks at this second realization. He hadn’t really put together that Eddie had been so turned on by it that he’d had to jack off about it. “Wow.”
“Oh my god,” Eddie pales, “oh my god, I thought you knew. C’mon, Harrington, why else would I have run off to the john immediately? I can’t believe it. I cannot believe I just confessed to that. Christ, I would have… I would have gone to my second grave without ever telling you that. Holy shit, I’m gonna, like, dissolve from the mortification.”
“No, c’mon, it’s fine. I asked. I want to know.”
“No matter how you swing it, Steve, getting caught beating off because of a bleeding flesh wound is sorta the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Steve has to regain his attention before Eddie gets too revved up. “No, that’s — that’s fine. Seriously. I just… good to know. Um. So, like, what… what was good about it?”
Eddie’s brows knit in a tortured little frown. “Good about it?”
“Well, yeah. I mean… like, what about it? What made it different then just… I dunno, a stubbed toe, or whatever.”
“Heh,” shrugs Eddie, a little hysterical, “well, like, I dunno. You were holding me down, you know? And it was this… stinging, fiery kinda burn, that I couldn’t avoid. I couldn’t flinch away. There was no choice in it. I just had to… endure it.” He swallows, glancing at Steve briefly.
“Oh.”
Looking down at the magazine, Steve stares down at the photo of the man in cuffs. Back to the bold words Pain and Punishment, and then back at Eddie.
“Is it —” Steve has no idea what kind of question to ask. He decides to stay vague and open-ended. “Anything else?”
“Like with the stitches?”
Steve shrugs. “Anything.”
He doesn’t miss the way Eddie shivers. As if just talking about it is enough. Steve feels a nervous energy tremble through him and bounces his knee.
“I like, uh… I think I like being told what to do.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Steve snorts.
Madly, Eddie laughs. “Yeah. I — no, I mean. Doesn’t seem like I would, right? Maybe that’s part of it. Not getting to choose. Not having to choose. Not having to… to think about it. About anything. When you — you were telling me to be still. With the stitches, but you — you said it when you first got me off, too, like I wasn’t… allowed…”
That sounds a little nefarious to Steve, but Eddie breathes hard out of his nose to keep himself from sounding winded. He clearly doesn’t have a problem with it.
Steve wonders if he should do something. Get up and crowd into Eddie’s space. Shove him back down onto the couch and wring another frantic orgasm out of him like the first one, panicked and spontaneous. He’s startled by how quickly the thought comes to mind; moreso by how much he wants to do it. His face feels hot, and the uncertainty surrounding this new confession keeps him seated.
Eddie is flushed, chewing at his bottom lip. “I don’t know. It was kinda nice. Calming. I guess because I trusted you. You’re always just… taking charge. And with you calling the shots… I just didn't have to worry about anything. And I’ve had a lot of fuckin’ worries these past few months, y’know? I guess I only like being in charge when it comes to Dungeons and Dragons.”
Because I trusted you. Heart beating quick in his chest, Steve gets to his feet. The urge wells up inside him to clear the distance between him and Eddie, maybe kiss him until the tension in his shoulders dissipates, but Eddie pulls abruptly tight against himself and says, “I don’t want to freak you out, Harrington. I’m still just happy you didn’t deck me in the teeth for kissing you. The rest is just gravy, you know?”
That stings, that Eddie was ever worried about that.
“What did I say about you being confusing,” Steve says at last, just to fill the uncomfortable silence. “Now you’re happy I didn’t punch you? Do you want me to beat you up or not, Munson?”
Despite it being goddamn corny, it makes Eddie laugh — a real laugh that throws his head back and creases his face— and Steve feels the guilty ache in his chest drain away.
He tosses the magazine into Eddie’s chest and tries to stabilize himself. Not a big deal.
“I’m not freaked out,” Steve tells him gently. “Just let me… let me think on it, okay?”
When Steve had carried him out of Rick’s boathouse that first night, Eddie had hardly weighed anything at all. And he had been so drained in the days after that he’d nod off after the effort it took to get from his bed to the couch. Eddie had just looked so rickety, angry red wounds, sickly pale skin, every moment Steve had to help Eddie walk it felt as if his bones might snap under his hands. Joints inverting like one of Vecna’s puppets. Eddie had died, then been spat out by hell, and seemed so breakable that Steve felt like he could kill him just by helping him into bed too quickly. And now…
There’s a twist in Steve’s gut as he recognizes the surge of protectiveness in his chest. The need to keep that smile on Eddie’s face. To defend him from all harm. To do everything he possibly can to be sure nothing bad happens to him ever again.
So Steve isn't the most introspective person. Knowing Robin has taught him that. She could talk for hours just about what goes on her own head. But he never really saw the value in examining his own emotions.
But that part, the part about wanting to protect, to defend, that strikes a chord in his own heart.
It’s a feeling he’s well acquainted with these last couple years. When Nancy Wheeler first shotgunned a beer on his patio before turning and smiling at him in that impish little way she does, back at the stupid party he’d thrown the first semester of his junior year. Or when he found her crying in the Hollands’ upstairs bathroom during one of their dinnertime visits, the next year.
It’s a feeling like his heart suddenly weighs fifty pounds in his chest. He knows what that feeling is. He’s known long before Robin asked him if he’d ever felt it while they were shaking off Russian truth serum on the Starcourt Theatre bathroom floor.
Swallowing, Steve pushes down the swell in his chest, smiles easily, and presses a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.
“Just — just let me think on it.”
“Yeah, obviously,” Eddie answers quickly, smile back on his face in an instant. “Like I said, no pressure, man. I mean it. You can just think about it.”
And he does. He thinks on it while Eddie mocks Risky Business while watching it with Steve until he falls asleep with his head in Steve’s lap. He thinks on it while toying with Eddie’s hair. He thinks on it when he carefully jostles Eddie awake to drive him home. He thinks on it when he leans over the center console of his car and kisses Eddie goodnight, making him blush and call him Sixteen Candles as he gets out of the car. He thinks on it on the drive back as the radio hits close to home with Heart’s Never buzzing just under normal volume on his car speakers.
For hours after dropping Eddie off, Steve’s mind whirls with the things the article said, the way it had phrased it all like it was normal, everyday shit but it wasn’t. It was new and electric and absolutely insane. People don’t do that. Not really. Surely it’s all just… exaggerated porno stuff. But he can’t stop thinking about it. He almost wishes he’d asked Eddie to leave it behind. It’s not like his parents are home to find it. Instead he’s just left stuck on the things he can remember. Admittedly not much. Eddie jittering around from one end of Steve’s living room to the other while Steve tried to make sense of the guy going on about how it feels to have his choices taken away.
But there’s something to it, something to the way Eddie had handed it over like it was a secret he’d been desperate but terrified to share. Something about how easily Steve could slot the image of Eddie into that role in his head. The way he always had said please. The easy, propositional way he presses up against Steve whenever they are alone. The way his eyes cloud with arousal over nothing — just a hand over the back of his neck or a playful tug of his hair.
The way Eddie begged to blow him the night they had snuck to Skull Rock. How hard he’d been afterwards, only from sucking him off. Eddie just wants Steve to know he’s like that, too. Has the same little switch in his brain.
The weight on my tongue is like an electrical switch. the guy had written. Everything else goes dark.
Thinking back, Eddie almost seemed to enjoy sucking dick more than receiving. Which, sure, maybe Steve just doesn’t know what he’s doing in that area, but that doesn’t seem to matter in any other aspect between them. Eddie had seemed so different after that. Desperate. Pliant.
The article had mentioned that, too. How once that switch is hit, there’s no other thought outside of making Master happy. Steve shivers. He’s still not too sure that he likes the title, but he can’t help but admit he likes the way Eddie just surrenders to him, after a point. Yields entirely. All his contrarian bickering and nonconformist posturing just to get Steve to meet him with twice the force. Like he seeks to get a rise out of Steve so that he can bask in the resulting onslaught.
Without considering it, Steve’s hand goes into his boxers, stroking himself lazily as his mind cycles through the images. That first time in Eddie’s room, barely any time at all, and how Eddie had fallen apart at simply being held and told Good.
A thrill jerks in his gut, and his hand starts to move faster. “Jesus, you’re easy, Munson.” Of course he is. He just wants Steve in control. Manhandling him. Holding him down. Fucking down his throat.
Something about it is comforting. Familiar. In the past he was always gentle with girls, and they usually would yield to him. Not totally in the same way — but when it came to sex, girls usually liked that. At least all the ones he’d been with. To be taken by the hand. To be guided. Maybe not as much as Eddie does, but it matters. It's familiar ground, at least.
The fantasy springs to mind before Steve can fully realize it. Eddie here, now, on his knees, eyes rolled back as he takes Steve to the hilt. Eddie could come from that alone, Steve wouldn’t even have to touch him. But he will. He will because he loves the feeling of Eddie’s hair in his hands, the way he sags against Steve's grip. Steve’s hands are knotted hard in Eddie’s hair as he leads his mouth over and back.
“Good boy.” He actually says it aloud. Eddie keens, bucking his hips against thin air. He’s so close and Steve hasn’t even touched him. Doesn’t have to. He’ll come like this. He will. Because Steve told him to. Steve cups his jaw, holding him still as he fucks down. He won’t pull away.
“Good — good boy —”
The orgasm hits him like a fucking brick. The edges of the world blur and diffuse. His ears ring. And Steve is left reeling, staring down at the empty space between his legs as he sits at the edge of his bed. His heart is pounding in his throat, in his head. Reaching for the tissues at his bedside table he cleans himself off, alone in his room. In the ringing silence something feels different. Stronger. Powerful. The panicked thrum at the back of his mind that whatever he’s doing with Eddie is past his level of understanding smooths out into a quiet buzz.
He could do that.
It’s what Eddie wants. And Steve can give it to him.
After a quick shower, Steve calls Robin again.
“Harrington, I swear to God…”
“Hi, Robin, how’re you? Sorry to be calling so late.”
It works to defuse whatever she was going to say, and Robin laughs. “Well, I was sleeping soundly, living in a fantasy of finally winning the girl of my literal dreams, but alas, that’s all she’ll remain as long as I’m friends with you, it seems.”
“Okay, no, that’s rude,” Steve grumbles, propping his free hand on his hip. “I’ve done nothing but help you with Vickie.”
“Right, your very encouraging boobie talk. Anyway, what is it now? Need to know how old I was for my first kiss? How many girlfriends I’ve had?”
“No,” Steve huffs.
Though he has to admit, the minute she brings it up, he wonders what the answers to those questions are. He probably shouldn’t just assume every queer in Hawkins is an awkward virgin, but he can’t ask now, or else he’ll just get distracted from why he called in the first place.
“Does it scare you?”
“What? Being gay?”
“No. Or, yeah, I guess. Just…” Steve fiddles with the phone cord. “I’d been scared. At first. When he kissed me, I panicked, a little bit. I liked it but I still panicked. And this one time, after I took out his stitches, Nancy walked in on us and —”
“Sorry, Nancy what?”
“No, not that. I just. I was going to kiss him. I’d wanted to, and I was going to, but then Nancy walked in, and I remember thinking ’thank God I wasn’t already kissing him’, but I also remember being like, annoyed that she showed up, because I had really wanted to.”
Robin scoffs. “Yeah, I think that’s pretty normal, Steve. I don’t even think straight people want to get walked in on while making out with someone.”
Steve had never minded it much before, but he doesn’t argue. That's not the point, anyway. He’s still wrapping the cord around his finger, trying to think how to phrase it when Robin says it for him.
“It’s normal to be scared. It’s scary. In a town like this, especially.” She sighs, and then, “But you used past tense.”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re not scared anymore?”
Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. A little, I guess. It’s all still there. Nervous about Nancy finding out, or Dustin and the rest of them. But like, I don’t know. I kind of… like it. I think.”
There’s a soft laugh on the other end, and then the sound of Robin shifting the phone from one ear to the other.
“Yeah, that’s normal, too.”
“I like that it’s different than with Nancy, you know?” he says, smiling to himself. “It’s so different that… it doesn’t really remind me of her. I like that it's something just for us, that we’re figuring out together. I like that he trusts me. That he trusted me enough to kiss me. It’s a good feeling.”
“Are you trying to tell me to go for it with Vickie?”
Steve laughs. “Maybe. I keep telling you she’s not the type to turn you into a town pariah, even if she’s not interested. And then maybe she’ll feel like this, which is… nice. It’s good.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Grinning, Steve feels a warm sort of pride course through him. He hopes she does. He hopes she goes for it. All at once he feels like he can go back to the Upside Down and kill Vecna single-handedly. His heart is beating excitedly in his ears. He wishes Eddie were here.
“Robin?”
“Yes, Harrington?”
“If she doesn’t go for it, she’s an idiot.”
A snort. “Thanks.”
He’s bouncing on his toes, full of abrupt nervous energy. He doesn’t know what else to say. Maybe he’s just sleep deprived. In the back of his mind he knows he’s going to still be full of doubts in the morning, but something about it is different, now. It’s not as harrowing as it was standing in the Munsons’ trailer with Uncle Wayne in the middle of the night. Maybe he feels what he did with Nancy Wheeler whenever he looks at Eddie, now. And maybe that’s okay. It’s okay. It won’t end the world. Even if it did, he and Eddie have survived the underworld once already.
“Steve?”
Steve jumps. He had almost forgotten he was still on the phone. “Yeah?”
“All these incredibly normal nerves of yours aside, I think it’s worth it.”
“Yeah,” Steve admits, “yeah, me too.”
With a yawn, Robin says, “And as happy as I am for the two of you, I really wish you’d at least call me during waking hours.”
“Yeah. Sorry. Get some sleep.”
“One last thing, Steve,” Robin stops him before he can hang up. Steve hums to show he’s listening. “Eddie’s happy, too. I can tell.”
Warmth pools in Steve’s chest. “Goodnight, Rob.”
“Nighty-night, Steve.”
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