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There’s a rumor that’s been whispered into every ear of the Chicago scene for weeks.
Something big, something dark.
No one quite knows what, no one even knows who’s running the show. Just that it’s exclusive, invite only show.
The venue? TBA.
The band line up? TBA.
No fucking details, not a single fucking one. Nada. Zip.
If anyone knows anything, they’re not fucking saying a word.
Not one goddamn pair of loose lips in sight.
To make everything all the more curious, Steve Harrington receives an invite one random early afternoon in December.
If anyone had asked him a week ago what he thought about those rumors, Steve would’ve talked your ear off with a foamy beer in his hand about how it’s a crock of shit. Some sort of viral reaction farming bullshit that made people want in on it.
Hell, Steve was sure there was some link out there with overpriced tickets. People were probably just making shit up because they were embarrassed about the amount of cash they were dropping on their entry fees. Posers and clout chasers alike making up the word of mouth to feel better about falling for capitalism once again.
Yet, Steve receives a knock on his door with a box wrapped in the deepest shade of red with no one in sight. Not even a single car on his street.
Steve looks around, snatching the box up off his porch and disappearing back inside. Once the wrapping paper is shredded and covering his floor, Steve opens it to one single thing inside.
Just one single envelope.
The envelope itself is pitch black, like not just a shade of black, but vanta fuckin’ black.
His name is on it, in swirls of blood red on the paper, the only thing with any color until he flips it over.
It’s sealed with wax in another deep shade of red like the box it came in, stamped with some sort of sigil and it nearly entrances him.
Steve doesn’t want to ruin the beauty of it, but he also needs to know after weeks of hearing whispers, thinking he’d never be considered.
Not that he wanted to be considered, of course.
He’s not a fucking poser.
Still, he runs into the kitchen, searching for a knife sharp enough to open it with ease. Of course, Steve nicks himself, wincing as the blood trickles onto the paper. It doesn’t seem to absorb or drop, it just kind of sits there popping against the black like its thick ink that wasn’t mixed properly.
It would almost be unsettling if he weren’t so goddamn excited to get inside .
The house seems to still as Steve produces his letter, which isn’t so much a letter as it is coordinates and a password.
It’s in deep red like Steve’s name on the envelope, popping against the void black of the paper. He stares at it for a long while, until a hand claps on his shoulder and snaps Steve out of it.
“Hey, dingus, why are you just idling here like an NPC?” Robin asks from behind him, and Steve realizes the kitchen is now shrouded in late afternoon light.
And the letter is gone.
The letter is fucking gone.
Steve spins on his heel, confused as all hell, and Robin looks him over with concern. He looks in his hand again, turns to look by the counter, then back at Robin. All the evidence Steve has that he opened anything, is the cut on his finger.
“What time is it?” Steve asks without answering her, rubbing at his eyes.
“Right before five,” Robin searches his face, then the concern is back. “Are you having another episode? Headaches, your light sensitive shit? You look sick, Stevie. You’re worrying me.”
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Steve tries to promise, knowing he’s even lying to himself. “I just—weird day at work. I promise, Birdie, I’m good.”
There’s dried blood on his hand and before Robin can see it, Steve walks to the kitchen sink and runs cold water over it. He just tries to pretend he’s washing his hands, nothing to see here.
He still remembers the weight of the letter in his hands, the numbers of the coordinates ribboning through his mind as if they’re being sewn into his brain stem. The password becomes an auditory brand, burning deep and repeating itself over and over and fucking over.
It’s almost itchy, the canal of his ear burning as Steve tries to ignore it to start dinner, trying his hardest to focus on Robin telling him about her day.
“Then—then, get this,” Robin jumps up on the counter, her drink splashing a bit onto her shirt. “Nancy looks at the guy and says ‘if you don’t step about three feet back, I’m going to chew through your esophagus’. I mean, you’ve been asking why I haven’t asked her out yet and there’s your fuckin’ answer, dude.”
“Mmm,” is all Steve gets out as he stirs the pasta, staring at no particular spot on the wall.
Robin flicks something at him, hitting him smack dab on his eyebrow ring.
“Ow! What the fuck, Rob?”
“You’re not even listening!” Robin protests, folding her arms with her drink dangerously dangling from one hand as she looks at Steve expectantly. “What was I even saying?”
Steve blanks, then scoffs even though he has no business scoffing.
“Nancy and the guy,” Steve snaps his fingers a few times, then points at her. “She threatened someone! See? I was listening!”
Robin just squints at him, arms flexing where they’re folded.
“Nancy threatens someone every other day, what was the reason?”
Now, he really fucking blanks, mouth probably gaping like a goddamn fish.
Steve tries to search Robin’s face for context clues, but comes up completely empty. It’s like his brain has been drained for all it’s worth, the only thought circulating it being the missing letter he’s not sure is even real.
“Uh, because—because, man?” Steve tries weakly and shrugs.
Luckily, it earns him a fit of laughter.
“God, dude, did I miss today being a T day or something? You are all sorts of wool in the ears,” Robin takes a sip of her drink and smiles for the first time since she’s gotten home. “Typical man thing, can’t listen to your female friend talk about violence against baldies.”
“Ugh, don’t say ‘female’ like that,” Steve fakes a gag and then chuckles. “Also, he was bald?”
“Soo bald, I could see mine and Nancy’s faces in his forehead,” Robin snorts and then hops back off the counter, heading for the living room. “Since you were clearly not listening, it’s my pick tonight.”
“Fine, none of your black and white shit, though!” Steve calls after her as he pulls a piece of pasta out to test it, finding it just the slightest al dente. “I’m serious, Robbie!”
“Yeah, yeah. No black and white shit.”
They end up watching black and white shit, of course. Robin’s whole thing being ‘at least it’s not old black and white shit’. What she didn’t warn Steve about at all, is how she was forcing him to watch some actually harrowing shit.
“Rob, babe, what is this?”
She shushes him as a half naked man runs up a hill on screen.
Fucking lovely.
“Don’t you shush me, this is fucked up,” Steve winces as the main character stabs the man she’s had captive. “How can you even watch this shit?”
“It has depth,” Robin answers, mouth full of spaghetti.
“Depth? How does this have depth?” Steve covers his eyes then peeks at her with one eye. “You’re the reason I have nightmares!”
“I also think I’m desensitized,” Robin slurps a noodle and smiles with red sauce covered teeth. “Dude, it’s like, beautifully shot. Just shush and watch!”
Steve shoves his own plate onto the table with a loud groan.
“Well, my appetite says otherwise,” Steve announces, sinking back into the couch.
Without meaning to, Steve’s mind drifts back to the cryptic invitation. There’s no way he made it up, he still remembers the texture of it, the weight of it.
He remembers the sigil that was melted into wax, Steve could probably even sit down and draw it if he tried.
And the thing is, Steve tells Robin everything.
Like, everything everything.
Robin was the one who heard every detail of every date, even if she protested the entire time.
She was the first person he came out to, she went to all the appointments in the beginning. The very first face Steve saw when he woke up from top surgery.
So, why does Steve feel like keeping a secret from her for the first time in his life?
It’s beyond him.
Steve watches the rest of the movie in silence, which is a very rare occasion. Usually, both he and Robin talked non-stop, pointing out parts in the movie they wanted the other to watch.
But he finds himself in another trance, this time music he’s never heard in his life floating through Steve’s head.
It’s eerie, ethereal, enigmatic.
Right when Steve hears his own name being chanted, he realizes it’s Robin.
“Steve! Hello? Earth to fuckin’ Steve Harrington,” Robin claps in his face and Steve’s vision finally comes into focus, blinking at her. “Oh my god, finally. I’ve been yelling your name for the last thirty minutes. I almost called in reinforcements!”
He blinks at her, unable to get words to leave his mouth. Brain foggy and still coming back online, Steve has to figure out an excuse quickly.
“Uhh—ahh,” Steve tries, clearing his throat and hopping off the couch. “I—I’m tired, going to bed!”
“It’s like, barely eight!” Robin calls after him as he heads for his room.
“Like I said, weird day at work!” Steve slams his door and breathes hard against it. “Shit—what the—what the fuck?”
Steve does feel tired is the thing, beyond exhausted. His limbs all feel like they could crumble to dust at any moment.
Then, the images start.
Flashes of abstract dark, pitch black nothingness. But Steve feels something hiding amongst the vast, something that sets off every alarm in his body and mind.
It calls to Steve without using a voice, vibrates through his body and cracks through his skull. It calls Steve ‘mine.’
Something about it makes Steve feel wet between his thighs, dick throbbing at the thought of being claimed when he doesn’t even know what this void is.
There’s a chittering reverberating through Steve’s ears, fear replacing that feeling in a way he’s never felt before. He knows it’s a different thing, but Steve can’t see it either.
Then suddenly, there’s a flash of a long red hallway, a door with the sigil from the envelope.
Steve snaps out of it with a gasp, falling to his knees on the bedroom floor.
With a broken sob, Steve crawls into his bed and completely collapses into dreamless sleep.
When he wakes the next morning, Steve sits straight up and smacks his lips a few times before falling back onto his bed.
This is… crazy.
Like psych ward levels, hospital level 5150 code type shit.
There was no way Steve really saw those images, felt those things. It was one of his migraines playing tricks on him.
It just had to be.
The whole thing had to be some deep rooted thing with Steve’s imagination.
Probably the fucking movies Robin makes him watch.
He doesn’t even know the date of said weird fucking, spooky little…whatever it is.
By the time Steve is fully awake, he’s made the decision to ignore the happenings. When he smells coffee, he’s already forgotten his little hallucinations.
“You gonna tell me why you went to bed so early last night, Cinderfella?” Robin asks the second Steve crosses the doorway into the kitchen.
Of course Robin wasn’t going to let it go.
“Never call me that again, first of all,” Steve goes for the freshly brewed pot of coffee, but Robin steps in front of him like the child she is. “Also Cinderella left at midnight, that’s not super early by any means.”
“Semantics,” Robin rolls her eyes. “Come on, spill. What’s going on with you?”
Steve has a decision to make here. Lie completely, tell the truth or tell a half truth.
“You were right,” Steve grumbles, conceding with his head down. “The migraines are coming back. I just—I didn’t want to believe it, I guess.”
Robin huffs and then reaches for Steve, gathering him into a tight embrace. She rubs down his back as she breaks it, soothing him like she always does when Steve has one of his migraines.
“You need to call in your script? Or is it just a Tylenol and quiet room type situation?” Robin asks softly and Steve kind of just shrugs. His head does actually hurt, stomach a little bit funky.
“Maybe um, maybe the script?” Steve answers, rubbing at his temple for good measure.
Maybe painkillers wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world right now when he’s already seeing shit.
The thing was, ‘calling in his script’ wasn’t exactly contacting a doctor.
They had a guy for that: Argyle.
He was a chill dude, like if all the strains of California were a human person. Scripts weren’t really his forte, not much of a pill peddler.
For Steve, though? He had connections.
Steve had been long cut off from his parents, insurance went with it.
Shortly after, Steve and Robin met Argyle through mutual friends.
Then luckily, Argyle made exceptions for his migraine meds and testosterone. It wasn’t something he had to do, as Steve didn’t have a whole lot of money to delve out.
Argyle still always pulled through.
The line trills and shit, Steve really does have a migraine from everything over the last twenty four hours. His ears are ringing by the time Argyle picks up and he groans his voice is just a little too loud.
“It’s a cold day in the Windy City, if you’re looking for something to toast those buns, I’m your dude—“
“Argyle, I—I need my script,” Steve interrupts his spiel, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I thought I got you set on three months of T, little homie,” Argyle is quiet for a second then Steve hears him distantly snap his fingers. “Ah, the other one?”
“Yeah, the other one,” Steve agrees and then Robin shakes his shoulder, mouthing her order. “Oh, and a half gram of sour diesel? Is that good?”
“Is that—of course it’s good, my righteous dude. I’ll be over in say, two shakes of a lamb’s tail?”
“No idea how long that is,” Steve sighs out, but Argyle has already hung up because of course he has. He looks at Robin with a grimace, thumbs upping her.
“So, we’re on Argyle time?” Robin asks.
“We’re on Argyle time,” Steve agrees.
‘Argyle time’ could be anywhere from twenty minutes to a solid three hours. There was just no way to tell.
Once, Steve swore he made it across Chicago city traffic from the other side of town in twelve minutes flat. Another time, he was up the road and it took nearly half a day. Argyle just ran on his own system of time measurement.
To their surprise, today's Argyle time was only a half hour, a little rap on their apartment door signifying his arrival.
“Steve Harrington,” Argyle says with a nod as he enters their place.
“That’s me,” Steve returns with a weak smile, moving aside for their guest. “Argyle…” he suddenly realizes he doesn’t know the man’s last name even though they’ve been his clients for years, “…Shmargyle? Fuck, sorry— I —migraine, ya know?”
Argyle laughs, a joyous thing as he walks further into the apartment.
“A kitchen is the place to do business, come follow me into my office,” Argyle announces as if it’s his own home.
Steve sighs softly, following after him to where Robin’s sitting at their dining room table. She looks up from her phone, texting Nancy he’s sure, and gives a small wave.
“Hello to you too, my good lady bro,” Argyle does a half curtsy and Robin pulls a face as he slides in next to her. “So, we doing a payment today? S’okay if not.”
Robin pulls out a crumpled wad of cash and Steve tosses in a twenty. Argyle just hums, pulls out a green canister and a prescription bottle without a label.
Steve takes the opaque orange bottle and shakes it, the oval whites rattling.
Vicodin, not Steve’s favorite because it constipates him and makes him a little itchy, less itchy than oxy. But it helps his migraines, and right now he has one burrowing into his orbital cavities which is likely why he’s been seeing shit.
There’s ten in total so Steve takes one out and pops it in his mouth. He grabs a cup out of the cupboard and fills it with water, throwing it back as he shuts his eyes.
He takes out two more before he hands back the bottle, knowing his twenty probably only paid for those plus the one he took. Argyle just takes his head and shoves it back towards Steve.
“We’re good, homie. Don’t stress,” Argyle says with a dopey grin then points at Robin. “I do get greens, though.”
A few minutes later, the kitchen is filled with smoke. Steve opts out, his Vicodin already settling weird in his stomach.
Robin giggles about some story Argyle is telling about him and Jonathan, some attempted romantic date gone wrong.
Steve though, he can’t focus and he knows it’s not the damn Vicodin.
Because everything starts to distort.
The kitchen becomes dark, fuzzy around the edges. Suddenly before him, there’s a hallway. The image is wobbling, like an unstable portal and Steve?
Steve is fucking terrified.
He’s completely paralyzed, it feels like there’s ice coursing through his veins and he can see his breath even though Steve is sure he’s not breathing.
Then comes the chittering from the first hallucination. Closer this time and moments later, it’s accompanied by a gravel toned voice that sounds slightly further away.
It calls his name, louder and louder. The chittering sounds like something is running towards him. Steve wants to run himself, but he can’t. He’s fucking stuck.
‘Did you find him, sweet girl?’ The voice asks with a dark chuckle. ‘Stevie, where are you?’
It’s almost playful, like a game Steve sure doesn’t want to fucking be apart of. He tries to yell, scream, move any limb on his body. Absolutely nothing happens.
Then the hallway is filled with red light, like blood red. There’s two shadows in the distance, a low whistle that reverberates in Steve’s skull, almost like it’s weeviled deep in his ear canal.
The shadows get closer and one has wings , Steve thinks. Except—except it looks like a person. Something almost human shaped, with the second shadow at knee height almost like a dog.
When it gets closer, Steve’s eyes widen in fear despite his predicament.
Because that thing isn’t a dog.
It doesn’t even have a face.
And its master?
Has teeth like a Great White.
Then Steve hears Robin’s voice, screaming bloody murder and everything disappears like a desert mirage.
When he comes to, Steve is on his kitchen floor.
It takes a second for him to fully realize what’s going on, but the first thing he notices is that he’s wet. The second is that Robin is crying and holding him, Argyle sitting behind her looking scared out of his goddamn wits.
“What’s—why am I wet?” Steve stutters and Robin stops crying, dropping him onto the linoleum with a scoff.
“That’s your concern? Steve, you stopped breathing,” Robin says, voice wavering. “I was about to call a fuckin’ ambulance.”
“Too expensive,” Steve sits up with a grunt, holding his head up. “I’m fine .”
“You’re not ‘fine’! You’re the literal definition of not fine, Steven!”
“It’s just Steve and you know that. I chose the name, I would know! ” Steve squawks, shooting a glare at her.
Robin sees right through his poor attempt at a diversion, leaning back on the kitchen floor and taking him in.
“Something’s going on with you and it’s not just migraines,” Robin says in her best older sister voice, despite being a year younger. “And you’re going to tell me.”
“Oh? I am? Is that so?”
Argyle suddenly slaps the table and stands up, clearing his throat as he does so.
“I think that’s my cue to skedaddle,” Argyle says as he squeezes around them, heading for the front door.
Robin scrambles to her feet to follow after him, but Steve remains on the floor as he hears their voices trail off.
He’s dizzy, disoriented. Steve is still soaked through his shirt, now noticing that the tap is running and there’s a cup by his foot. He sighs and grabs it, careful as to not slip in the puddle.
The cup gets thrown in the sink and Steve grips the sides of the kitchen sink when he hears the front door slam.
“Well, Argyle wouldn’t stay as a witness to your absolutely batshit crazy behavior,” Robin’s eyes widen in realization at her own harsh words and she shakes her head. “I shouldn’t word it that way, it’s just you’re passing out and—and the other night you were being so—“
“Robs,” Steve warns softly.
“—weird, but you won’t tell me what’s going on! So, what am I supposed to—“
Steve needs to tell her.
“—think? You’re scaring me and you scared the shit out of Argyle—“
“Robin! ” Steve shouts and grabs for her shoulders to ground her.
There’s tears threatening to fall from her eyes, and Steve feels it drop to the pit of his stomach. He did that, he’s the one who made his best friend that upset.
He huffs out a breath and closes his eyes just for a moment, opens them back up a moment later to a single falling tear doing Robin’s cheek.
She looks… scared. For Steve.
Really scared.
“Rob—I—I’m’ so sorry,” Steve whispers, yet it fills the kitchen with his regret. “Let me—I’ll tell you. But swear on my life that you won’t tell anyone because…it’s gonna sound actually batshit crazy.”
Robin blinks, another tear slides down the length of her freckled nose. She breathes out and nods, lips pursing together into a grimace.
“It better be for all this shit, Stevie.”
Steve tells her everything.
About the whole secret show that Steve truly thought at first was some shtick of a band trying to go viral. He tells her about receiving his own letter and the vision that followed when she found him in the kitchen, its little disappearing act. Then of course, the most recent event today with the shadow… thing and some sort of beast.
After Steve is done, Robin stammers, mouth opening and then closing tight. It opens again, remains hanging open until she shakes herself like an Etch-a-sketch and narrows her eyes at him.
“So—this thing, it's like a vampire? Or something?” Robin finally asks.
Steve can’t help the noise he makes, loud and sharp. It hurts his nose like when you have a bad cold and a sneeze gets stuck, making him wince.
“That’s your conclusion? That I’m being haunted by a fuckin’ vampire? ” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, something he’s been doing a lot of lately. “Robbie, need I remind you that vampires don’t fucking exist?”
“Well, I don’t know! You’re telling me that some shadow is fucking visiting you via hallucinations and its got—“ Robin makes teeth with her fingers and wiggles them in front of her mouth, “—what am I supposed to think it is?!”
The whole thing felt silly now, Steve’s mind drifting back to this whole thing being a hoax. It’s extremely possible that he’s separately having his migraine, causing his brain to cross wires with his night terrors along the line somewhere.
The anniversary of going no contact with his parents was nearing, almost five years without a peep. Maybe that was it.
No, that had to be it.
“Rob, I’m going to go take a shower and then I’m going to lay down. This is dumb,” Steve pushes past her, muttering about vampires as she tries to follow close on his heels.
“Steve,” Robin tries, but Steve shakes his head and grabs a towel out of the clean laundry.
“No, dude. We’re talking about vampires and shit when it’s obvious I need some sort of help,” Steve spins around and heads straight for the bathroom without looking at her. “I think I should go in.”
“Steve,” Robin repeats, her voice slightly trembling. “Steve, do you really think—“
“I don’t know what I think anymore! I’m—I’m freaking out, man,” Steve throws his hands up with the towel. “Let me just take a shower and see how I feel, okay? Just give me some breathing room.”
He hates the way it comes out, especially when Robin just nods slowly and walks towards her other room, slamming the door. Steve is left alone with his racing thoughts before he finally gathers himself enough to close the bathroom door.
The water is warm and welcoming, still though, Steve shivers under the stream.
He never asks for space from Robin, they’ve been joined at the hip for years. She even helped him with his T-shots when the thought of poking himself with needles made him gag.
Steve will need to apologize.
He will apologize.
First though, he has to sleep this off.
The second Steve’s wet hair hits the pillow, he’s out like a light. The Vicodin is still working its way through his system and helps Steve drift off into a surprisingly dreamless sleep.
He doesn’t wake until the next morning, feeling rested for the first time in a few days. It feels a lot like relief when Steve starts to wake.
Then, a loud bang comes from the front door.
It’s obviously someone knocking and it sounds like a fucking cop knock. Steve is about to tell off whoever is trying to blow his front door down like the Big Bad Wolf when he hears Robin answer.
“Steve!” Robin yells, it sounds panicked and Steve doesn’t even bother putting on a shirt or real pants when he runs to the front door.
An extremely pale man stands in their doorway. He’s tall and blonde, sunglasses on hiding the eyes behind them.
He’s wearing all black, head to toe, a hat atop his wispy hair. It’s almost as black as Steve’s envelope without the shock of the red.
“I’m here to pick up Mr. Steve Harrington,” the man says and it sends shivers down Steve’s spine.
It’s robotic, ice cold without emotion.
The man smiles and it doesn’t reach his eyes where they’re hidden behind his glasses. Steve has a feeling that even if he could see them, there wouldn’t be any relief to the uneasy feeling in his stomach.
It also felt nice to hear someone call him mister, regardless of whether Steve thought formal titles were bullshit.
“I’m—I’m him. I’m the…guy,” Steve stutters and Robin elbows his ribs, shooting a glare his way.
“Ah, yes, of course. Ed—my master said you would have that particular mop,” the man in their doorway gestures to Steve’s hair. “The car is waiting, your outfit’s been sorted for you if you’d like to change into that before our departure.”
Steve runs his hand through his hair, mouthing ‘mop’ to himself. He’s had the same hair since he got into the scene, a creature of hair habit above all else.
At first, the blue deathhawk didn’t feel like him. It felt like a performance of someone Steve wasn’t quite sure he was.
But it grew on him more and more, becoming a staple much like his first haircut had when Steve first came out.
His brain finally catches up to the rest of this stranger’s words, frowning and cocking his head like a lost puppy.
“Outfit? Departure? Dude, I don’t even know who you are,” Steve backs up a little, pushing Robin behind him. “I’m not going anywhere without knowing what the fuck is going on.”
The strange man chuckles, it sounds all wrong. It doesn’t even sound human.
Out of thin air, he produces something black.
Vanta fuckin’ black.
Steve’s eyes go wide and he hears Robin gasp behind him, which would honestly be comical if this whole thing wasn’t so eerie . Especially Steve can still see his fucking blood on the envelope.
And it’s still wet.
“You bled for the one I serve. He is very politely extending his VIP experience, and he’s someone I wouldn’t say no to,” their stranger says with a tip of his hat, Steve catching the glint of his too blue eyes when he does so. “And I use the name Henry, not ‘dude’. I’ll be awaiting you in the car, Mr. Harrington.”
Before Henry goes back to his car which Steve now sees is a vintage limo, he bends to grab a box that Steve didn’t notice at his feet. It’s red like the box the envelope came in, just longer this time.
Henry hands it over with another tip of his hat, and starts to saunter down the stairs.
Steve can’t breathe, let alone talk, yet he calls after the man with a squeak as he drops the box on the floor.
“Wait! I—uh, I—“ Jesus, Harrington, spit it out. “I won’t go anywhere without Robin! So your master better extend its creepy little invite to her too!”
“Steve,” Robin hisses, pushing him away.
“Rob,” Steve hisses back at her and turns around to face her in their own little bubble. “I can’t—I can’t go to this alone! What if I get eaten or something?!”
“You’re the one who was adamant this wasn’t vampires!”
When Steve turns around, he’s met with Henry’s smile, icy eyes peering over the top of his sunglasses. Steve startles, almost knocking him and Robin to the ground as Henry leans forward.
“I can call upon my master and make those arrangements if you’d like,” Henry says, a hint of amusement in his tone. It's the least robotic he’s sounded since he stepped onto their porch.
“No, absolutely not—“ Robin starts, but Steve slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Yes, yeah. We’d love for you to ‘call upon your master’ or whatever,” Steve answers as Robin tries to protest under his hand. “We’ll be waiting if you need to make your call privately—“
Then Henry is gone. Just… gone.
Like he was never even there.
Robin bites Steve’s palm and he finally lets go with a yelp as she starts to babble on, but Steve isn’t listening.
Because a whole ass man that was once on their porch is no longer fucking there.
“Robin—Rob! Stop fucking talking, please because I need you to tell me that just happened or we have to get me serious medical help,” Steve pulls at his hair and falls to the floor, the box he was given is still at his feet. “That’s real, right? Please tell me it’s real.”
Before Robin can answer him, there’s a shimmer in the air and then Henry is back like he never left. With another box.
He extends it to Robin who chokes on her own spit as it’s shoved into her hands.
“For you, Lady Cunningham does hope it’s to your liking,” Henry says before leaning back and dusting himself off like his suit isn’t pristine. “I’ll be in the car.”
With that, he’s off again and Steve just gapes. Robin doesn’t move next to him and he can see her white knuckling the box she’s still holding.
“I—what—what the fuck? ” Robin stammers, kicking at Steve’s leg. “Get the fuck up, we have to deal with this, Steven! There’s a disappearing man waiting for us, but noo this isn’t vampires! Right right right, sure sure. And now—now there’s someone named ‘Lady Cunningham’? Why do we need more characters at this point in the damn plot?!”
Instead of answering her, Steve just grabs for his box and starts to unwrap it.
Inside of it Steve finds black material, something velvet. He smooths over it with his hand and gets up without a word, accepting his fate. Because if Steve disappears off the face of the planet, at least he’ll look good while he does so.
Steve locks the door behind him when he gets to his bedroom, something he never does because there’s no need. Robin pounds on the door as Steve makes quick work of getting dressed without really taking in what he’s putting on.
It…has a scent.
Steve can’t quite place it, it's like the earth after the first rain of autumn, yet there’s a metallic sort of quality to it.
“We don’t lock doors in this house!” Robin yells outside of the door, but Steve is too busy throwing his new outfit on.
He’s sure he should be more skeptical.
Steve was more skeptical. Originally.
Something about the scent makes him fuzzy around the edges. He suddenly doesn’t care, not even a little bit, that this whole thing is beyond strange.
When Steve is finally dressed, he walks to his stand up mirror and just stares .
He looks fucking good.
The suit feels tailored to him, Steve hasn’t owned a suit since before he came out and started T. It’s something Robin helped him with, it just didn’t feel like him.
A suit made for a woman, a lesbian, not the man Steve knew he was.
This suit, though?
This suit is so very him.
Like someone plucked it right out of Steve’s subconscious, his deepest of buried euphoric dreams.
Instead of a conventional tie around his neck, Steve secures a double sided one that hangs past the velvet pants he was gifted. The lapels are pointed up to the sky as if cursing God themself, the jacket also made of expensive velvet. The button up kind of drapes like curtains to a show, Steve being the main event.
Robin is still pounding on the door when he swings it open, mouth gaping as her fist freezes mid-knock.
Her brow furrows as she looks him over, clearly stunned yet wholly impressed.
“Steve, you look— Jesus,” his best friend says breathlessly, like all the air has been knocked from her lungs.
“I know,” is all Steve can really manage, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, forcing himself to squeak out the rest. “I—Rob, I—feel like me.”
There’s a breath pushed through Robin’s teeth, cursing at the ceiling, before she looks right into his soul with an intensity he doesn’t know that he’s ever really experienced form her.
“You really want to do this? Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Steve chokes out, his voice wetter than he thought it would be.
She nods, another rough breath. Then Robin slaps the box still in her arms with the opposite hand.
“Fine, I’m coming,” Robin says flatly, shaking her head when Steve starts to smile. “I’m babysitting you, don’t you smile at me. No fun to be had here, we’re just going to solve this creepy little Clue game and come home. You got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure sure sure, babysitting me. Got it,” Steve agrees quickly, trying to suppress his inner glee. “Go get dressed, please? Because that Henry dude is fully giving off Patrick Bateman vibes, but like, if Patrick was a zombie or something?”
“Oh, 1000%,” Robin laughs out, it’s not quite humorless and there’s caution there.
Still, Robin raps her knuckles on the door frame and disappears towards her room, leaving Steve alone.
Steve walks back towards the mirror, taking himself in again.
His beauty marks pop just so against the black that Steve is draped in. They look like little bite marks, just slightly. Like someone had their fun little way with Steve’s neck. The ones on his cheek pop too, presenting themselves as if he was a French aristocrat in the 1700s.
Robin knocks him out of his spell when she reappears in the doorway and she’s not draped in black like him.
Instead, it’s something deep red much like the ink on the envelope. The open button up underneath is patterned and pathworked, something so incredibly Robin. Around her neck are pearls, that manage to look both old and new.
She looks—
“Amazing, you look amazing, Birdie,” Steve says with a hand coming up to his mouth, wiping it as he nods. “We’re so going to this weird vampire party.”
“Thought it wasn’t vampires,” Robin quirks a single brow, this time with a smile.
“Shut the fuck up, come on.”
They link arms and something in the air feels charged .
Walking through the house to the front door is something different than their usual going out march. It’s something that buzzes and twists, thrums through the house.
Steve feels like he can goddamn taste it.
When they get to the front door, Steve can see Henry leaned up against the limo door. He’s too smug about them coming out of the house, Steve finds.
They lock up the house and head down the stairs like it’s a Lyft or Uber taking them out to the club.
They say nothing to Henry as he holds open the door for the pair, and they enter the car like nothing wrong has ever touched them in their life.
No words are exchanged, just a silent agreement as they scoot into the backseat and the door slams behind them. There’s treats and drinks glowing in compartments around the plush seats that match Steve’s new pants.
He reaches for a mini bottle of vodka, but Robin slaps his hand.
“Dude, that could be poison,” Robin hisses under her breath, looking towards the front seat where Henry still isn’t seated. “Zero out of ten, would not recommend.”
“We’re probably on the way to our death anyways, so what’s poison to us really?” Steve asks back, same bite to his own voice.
Robin seems to argue the point she wants to make in her head before she ultimately shrugs. Steve takes the little bottle then, cracks it open and throws it back.
It doesn’t even burn like his normal paint thinner and when he checks, it’s top shelf, definitely shit Steve could never afford.
Steve sinks back into his seat, closing his eyes as the engine starts up. He’s determined to have a mini nap, however with the noise Robin makes, Steve knows that’s not going to happen.
He opens one eye then the other and what Steve realizes when he’s aware of what the noise was about? Well, there’s not enough words in the English language for his own reaction.
They’re no longer in front of the house nor are they driving. Instead, they’re in a dark and empty alley. It’s almost cinematic, the rolling fog that lines the dark street.
Especially because it was still light outside when they left the house.
The divider window opens suddenly and Steve jumps as Henry peers through it.
“We’ve arrived,” Henry announces and shuts it back up as quickly as he opened it in the first place.
There’s a chill running down Steve’s spine and fear, so much fear .
He’s dragged Robin into this mess and they’re probably going to be human remains in mere moments. Steve is sure that his grave will read ‘here lies ye olde idiot’ and the obituary Nancy will surely write will have the same sentiment.
Steve has to get them out of this.
Yet, there’s an underlying thing of intrigue and absolute wonder as Steve’s eyes land on a door that resembles his visions.
The one with the sigil.
Now, there’s no regard for his own safety. He just wants Robin to get home, Steve will beg for her to be spared since it was his big mouth that got her into this.
He would give anything, even the breath from his lungs, to whoever wants it.
“Steve, what did you get us into?” Robin asks through her teeth.
Before Steve can answer, the door opens for them and Henry stands waiting.
“Your night awaits,” Henry’s cold and uninviting voice sends more shivers down Steve’s spine. “My master is one of the impatient variety, I wouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Without really meaning to, not of his own volition at least, Steve steps out of the limo onto the pavement.
“I—I want Robin’s safety guaranteed,” Steve is able to get out and Henry laughs.
No, not laughs. Henry cackles.
It’s a loud and terrifying thing, Henry’s soulless cackle. It feels like a sound not meant to come from his body.
Every nerve in Steve’s body feels like a frayed wire as it continues for a beat too long and when he finally stops, Henry lowers his sunglasses with his finger and sighs. It’s way too fucking satisfied and makes Steve want to bite the tip of his nose clean off his body.
“Oh, Edward is just going to love you. She’ll be just fine, so will you,” Henry flourishes his hand in the air, then tips it to the side. “Maybe, probably.”
Robin scrambles behind Steve and when he whips around and tries to push her back into the limo but she stands her ground.
“Absolutely not, you got me into this and I plan to make sure you’re not some little weirdo’s snack,” Robin whispers loudly and Henry laughs again, this time a low chuckle.
With a pale hand, Henry reaches for the ornate handle of the sigil branded door. When he opens it, music pours out into the dark and quiet road. The red lights blind Steve for a moment, his arm covering his eyes until they can adjust.
More fog rolls out, but it doesn’t have that scent that the fog machines do or the manufactured thickness of it.
It’s real fog. But that seems…impossibly ridiculous.
As if this whole thing wasn’t ridiculous in and of itself.
“Welcome to The Corroded Coffin Experience,” Henry declares with a bow and steps aside for the pair.
As Steve’s eyes adjust more, he sees that underneath the blood red lights are writhing bodies. At least fifty, give or take.
No one else is dressed up.
They’re all in various states of undress and the ones who are dressed are wearing typical clothes you’d see at a show in the Chicago scene.
Except—
Except that they're all wearing masks.
Embellished in different shades of red and black, all of them covering the crowd’s faces. The kind you’d find at a masquerade ball in the times of kings and queens. The type that shrouded the dirty little secrets of those same kings and queens.
Steve and Robin were the only ones without something adorning their faces.
Besides Henry, who when Steve spins around to question, is no longer there.
Rather, the whole door is gone.
Getting really sick of all the smoke and mirrors disappearing bullshit, Steve walks to where the door used to be and starts to pound on it and yell.
“Hey! You can’t just—you can’t leave us here without fucking explaining any of this crazy shit!” Steve screams to no avail, he knows deep down they’re stuck.
They’re stuck and he did this to them.
“Please! Come on! I—I can’t just—“
Steve starts to hyperventilate, falling to his knees in front of where the door used to be, Robin coming to his side.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Robin soothes, rubbing up and down his back to try to calm him. “We’ll figure this out, okay? Come on.”
“Oh, you must be Eddie’s special guests,” a small feminine voice comes from behind them.
They both pop up and turn towards the source, met with a tiny blonde with lips as red as her suit.
It has abstract flowers all over it in black, a little black bustier peeking out of the top. Her hair is curled and timeless, like she stepped right out of a silver screen.
Robin stutters out something that definitely isn’t words and without looking, Steve reaches over to shut her gaping mouth for her before it starts catching flies.
“Eddie?” Steve asks, remembering the name ‘Edward’ from Henry’s mention outside.
The blonde laughs brightly and a flash of something in her mouth makes Steve’s fight or flight kick in. Her look doesn’t really… match.
This girl in front of them radiates the Sun in the dark of the club, venue, wherever they are.
“Oh, he loves to play up that ancient mysterious card when he’s just flirting,” she says with a twinkle in her eye, wiggling both her hands out in front of the two of them. “Come, darlings, let’s find the man in charge. Well actually, I guess if we want to get all technical about things, that’s me. Semantics .”
Robin immediately goes for her hand, which Steve slaps away and is met with a biting glare.
“Steve,” Robin scolds.
“Robin,” Steve scolds right back and the girl in front of them looks between the two.
“I guess I haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Christine, but you can call me Chrissy or even Chris. I don’t bite.” Chrissy smiles, her pair of fangs glinting under the red lights and creating an image that makes Steve feel faint. “Don’t worry about these,” Chrissy points at her sharp canines, “they’re only for show. It’s a hard biz to be in as a woman, you know. I feed off the energy of the crowd.”
That gives Steve pause, because if these were vampires, how the hell—what the hell? He can’t even wrap his head around this shit, none of it. Even with being in and out of his weird little trance.
“Who—what? How?” Steve finds himself actually asking and Chrissy laughs again.
“Ed will explain everything, he’s waiting for you in his den,” Chrissy offers her hand out again, nodding to Robin. “She’ll be fine, I’ll keep her safe.”
“Yeah Steve, she’ll keep me safe,” Robin agrees dreamily, and Steve can basically see the cartoon hearts in her pupils.
Everything is too fucking much.
It’s all moving so fast, this conversation. It makes his head throb, and Steve wishes he had brought the medication he’d gotten from Argyle. The music is too loud, the people are too loud .
Steve covers his ears and sinks into a squat, groaning as he tries his best to breathe.
Then it all stops.
Steve realizes the music is barely audible now. When he looks out into the crowd, they’re moving slow, like their bodies are suspended in honey.
When he looks back up to Chrissy, she shrugs and softly smiles at him. Steve slowly pulls his hands away from his ears.
“We all have some tricks up our sleeve,” Chrissy says quietly and offers her hand once more to Steve. “Eddie can help you with that.”
“He can?” Steve asks skeptically.
“He can,” Chrissy replies sweetly.
So, Steve takes her hand.
They walk through the crowd like minnows swimming through gentle water.
The way the bodies move streams red ribbons throughout the room. It’s honestly a little breathtaking, and Steve has to stop himself from watching.
Instead, he lets himself be pulled along with Robin, towards the back where there’s another door with the same sigil that’s been brandished on everything pertaining to this event.
Steve can feel his heartbeat everywhere in his body, and he hears it pounding in his ears as Chrissy opens the door.
The first thing he notices is that same peculiar scent from his gifted suit.
It fills every one of his senses as Steve breathes in deeply, making his head delightfully fuzzy.
When they enter further, the room is dark, backlit by an overwhelming amount of candles. Steve can see there’s a deeper part of it, sunken in and he knows.
His shadow is there.
“Ed, I’ve brought your guest,” Chrissy calls into the deep room, and then she honest to god bows at the dark, turning to wink at Steve. “I’ll keep your bird safe, and I promise Edward doesn’t bite what doesn’t consent.”
Steve bristles at that and the shadow chuckles, but it doesn’t step forward.
Not yet.
Because another person emerges from the darkness, one that both Steve and Robin know all too well.
“Tommy?!”
They say his name as one voice, looking at each other like they’re on a sitcom and then back at the pale, unfortunately shirtless and still incredibly freckled man.
Steve’s ex from the before times.
Tommy fucking Hagan.
“Uh, hey—hey guys,” Tommy stutters, wobbly on his feet as he holds something in his palm to his neck. “Long time, no see, Shelby—“
“Don’t use that name, his name is Steve,” the shadow spits and Tommy looks scared.
Like he’s quaking in his damn boots.
Steve thinks he likes that.
He thinks he likes that a lot.
“Understood,” Tommy says with a bowed head. “Steve, then. I apologize.”
The air is different then, like it was at the house.
Charged and full of this sparking energy that Steve wants to be able to taste . He wants nothing more than those sparks down the length of his tongue and to never know anything else afterwards.
Steve doesn’t even care that there’s so many questions to be answered even without Tommy being added to the equation.
All coherent thoughts are out the window and have rushed straight to his dick, flooding his boxers which are the only thing on Steve’s body that he actually owns.
“Chris, take the blood bag out of my sight, will you? And don’t forget to feed Dart,” Steve’s shadow says, Tommy’s eyes widen and it lets out a high pitched laugh. “Oh, my sweetest idiot, you’re not dogmeat. Tonight at least.”
“Come, blood bag,” Chrissy whistles, and Tommy follows the sound like he’s a trained puppy. She snaps her fingers and points at Steve before he fully makes it over to her. “Say goodbye to Steve, don’t be rude.”
“Bye, Steve,” Tommy murmurs, not meeting Steve’s eyes.
“Good little blood bag,” Chrissy mocks, as she pats the tops of her legs like she really is calling after a dog. “Steve, I promise that your beautiful friend will be in good hands.”
“Okay,” Steve agrees, nodding his head quickly before turning to his best friend. “Robin?”
“I’ll be fine as long as she keeps calling me your ‘beautiful friend’, I don’t care if she literally eats me,” Robin says in one breath, making Chrissy giggle next to her.
“Oh be careful what you wish for, button,” Chrissy winks and starts to walk from the room, Tommy dragging his feet after the two of them.
Robin wiggles her fingers and mouths that she’s fine as they disappear from the room, leaving Steve and his shadow alone.
Steve supposes he should be scared like earlier in the night, like he was earlier in the week. He finds that he’s not, just annoyed that his migraine is choosing the moment of their meeting to be nailing his temple.
What Steve is though, is unprepared when his shadow that steps forward out of the curtains of darkness looks more human than not.
Dark curls frame a face that doesn’t quite fit the gravel in his shadow’s voice.
The tattoos that cover his hands and throat, however, do. Grayscale mostly, from the looks of it. Steve can only see what isn’t covered by the vanta black suit that his shadow wears like a glove.
It has a jacket that’s more like a cape and the vest sports two rows of silver buttons, which is some of the only contrast to the darkness of the suit. The lapels have the same dark velvet of Steve’s pants, a long silver pendant with the sigil around his shadow’s neck.
Steve has heard his shadow’s name out of the mouths of others, but he’s been waiting for this moment to hear it from the lips of the beast itself.
He goes to speak, it gets caught in his throat.
His throat just makes a croaking noise, so Steve tries again. Nothing.
“Eddie,” his shadow says then, softer than Steve would expect. “Edward, if you want to get formal. Ed, if I allow.”
It steps forward again and Steve sees more of its humanity, thinks that it could pass for a he . Eddie is just a little pale, doesn’t look as beastly as the visions portrayed.
Though, Steve is curious about the thing he calls ‘Dart’ and speaks about like it’s a dog when Steve has seen that there’s no way that could be true.
“St—Steve,” is all he can get out, like an idiot.
Clearly Eddie already knows his name, he’s said it outloud now. Plus, it was inked in red on his invitation. But Eddie still nods, grins and Steve sees the Great White teeth that had previously frightened him.
“Are those for show?” Steve asks, remembering what Chrissy said.
He also remembers Tommy’s state, so he figures they’re not.
“I feed both ways,” Eddie grins wider, fangs sharp and tempting. “It’s more fun that way, keeps my day interesting. Adds to the whole rockstar vibe, you know?”
“Are you a vampire?” Steve immediately regrets asking, especially when Eddie’s cackle rings off the walls. At least it’s warmer than Henry’s.
Eddie steps even closer, so close that Steve could reach out if he wants.
Instead, Steve hangs his head so he doesn’t have to look at him while he talks.
“Never really gave a name to it, I guess if we want to go based on the lore of things,” Eddie taps a ringed finger to his chin, then makes a noise of contentment. “Incubus? Succubus? Something like that, not really a vampire. Too many things I can do that a vampire can’t. Thank Satan, too, because I love garlic.”
Steve’s throat clicks as Eddie circles him, once then he’s right there in front of Steve. If Steve looks up, he could probably kiss him.
A thought he definitely doesn’t want to think about this very moment.
“How did you…?”
“How did I what, sweetheart?” Eddie asks innocently, there’s an underlying tone there that he knows what Steve wants to ask.
“Were you always this way?”
Eddie kicks at the ground and lets out a long sigh, Steve finally looks at him again and he looks a bit sad .
“No, darlin’, I wasn’t,” Eddie says quietly, sniffing. “Neither was Chris or my boys, that’s on me. Something I’ll never really atone for. Curse has its perks, though.”
Steve cocks his head to the side, waiting for the story. It doesn’t come, though, because Eddie touches his thumb to Steve’s cheekbone and then under his chin to tip his face up just a tad more.
“Let’s fix that head of yours, hmm?”
Eddie brings his thumb to his mouth, tears the pad of it with his canine and Steve’s eyes follow the stream that starts to flow down the ridges of his knuckle.
When he brings it to Steve’s mouth, the only thought is to drink without question. The iron tastes sweeter than any blood that Steve’s accidentally tasted before.
His own on occasions where transphobes needed to feel bigger and tougher. Then theirs when he hit back, straight to the free clinic afterwards on those occasions, just in case.
Those times just tasted like an old penny.
Eddie’s blood tastes like nectar.
Steve can’t stop himself from wrapping his hands around Eddie’s wrist and his shadow doesn’t stop him as he takes from the source.
He feels it trickle down his throat, thick and sweet.
It feels like the closest to heaven that one can get.
Then there’s a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. Steve whines and tries to bring his lips back to Eddie’s thumb, but Eddie pushes harder then.
“Can’t drink too much, sweetling. We’d be entering a dangerous game then,” Eddie says softly, the gravel in his voice becoming smoother velvet. “Plus, I need my energy if I want to feed more tonight. Only got a sip off Tom.”
Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his migraine is gone and replaced with fuzziness that doesn’t feel like any subspace he’s ever entered in his life.
This was Cloud Nine injected with fucking steroids.
“You have to have energy…to feed?” Steve asks slowly, feeling dumb from the blood.
Eddie chuckles, head thrown back and it echoes in Steve’s head. It bounces off the sides of his skull like the walls of an empty home and Steve giggles, eyes twitching with wonder as Eddie takes a step back towards the darkest part of the room.
“Of course, gotta give to get, sweetheart. We give them a piece of ourselves and they, well, they reciprocate,” Eddie disappears further, so Steve follows his voice.
Alice after the Cheshire Cat.
“I want to know everything. How you guys pull this off and—and why you gave me and Robin the suits and—“
“I gave you a suit,” Eddie corrects, barely visible now. “Robin’s was all Chrissy, she’s the one who convinced me. I wanted you all to myself.”
“Alone? To do what exactly?” Steve continues to follow without fear, the candles dimmer now.
“Not ‘eat you’ like you two think,” Eddie laughs again, then he’s right in front of Steve again and takes his hand into his own. “An offer, something that needed to be discussed in person. Because Steve Harrington, I’ve seen you.”
“Seen me?” Steve asks, swaying in place as Eddie laces their fingers together.
Eddie lifts his hand to his lips and it’s not quite a kiss, just sort of holding Steve there, breathing him in. He closes his eyes a moment, as if reminiscing before Eddie intensely focuses his gaze on Steve.
“When I feed off someone directly, teeth to vein, I can taste their past. I can’t quite make out images, but I can get a general feel. For how they grew up, who they did that growing up with,” Eddie pauses to nuzzle Steve’s hand like a cat. “Their romances. You see where I’m going with this?”
Steve doesn’t really, brain still a slow stream, so he shakes his head. Eddie does kiss Steve’s hand then and pulls him backwards. That’s when Steve notices what appears to be a throne in the most sunken part of the room.
Eddie walks them to it, sinks down into it and doesn’t pull Steve the rest of the way.
No. He waits, hand still in Steve’s, he just waits.
Even looks up at Steve with hope in his eyes like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
So, Steve climbs into Eddie’s lap, his own throne. Atop his shadow who says he knows Steve. Because he wants to hear Eddie tell him out, forever curious, but especially now.
Once Steve settles, Eddie wraps his arms around his waist and one snakes up Steve’s spine to keep him upright.
Steve’s eyes threaten to roll back as he feels the coolness of Eddie’s skin. It’s weirdly grounding at the same time as Eddie inhales and looks up at Steve.
“Where was I? Oh, yes. Tommy’s romances,” Eddie whispers with a light chuckle, and tips his head back in thought. “I could taste that he had been in love, once. He thought twice, but he was wrong. It tasted…different from anything I had secondhand.”
Steve breathes out and tries to shy away, Eddie catches his chin in the hand not on his back. He pulls it roughly so that Steve is forced to look at him and Eddie fixes him in place with his intensity.
“He wasn’t worthy of this person he loved. In fact, I don’t know that anyone is capable of loving this person now that I’ve seen into him,” Eddie speaks barely above a whisper and clamps down harder. “Because he bled for me and then I saw.”
“I don’t—“ Steve starts, Eddie cuts him off.
“When you bled onto that invite, the one I had Henry send out before I knew your importance, it connected me to you,” Eddie explains, eyes flickering now. “I knew you were what I was chasing in Tommy’s blood. You see Steve, I’m just like you. Or was, once upon a midnight dreary.”
“Human?” Steve asks, knowing it’s a dumb question with an obvious answer.
“Well, that and—and being born into the wrong body,” Eddie says shakily, a year falling down his cheek. “Turns out this curse is also a blessing because of its capabilities .”
Steve furrows his brow. He’s not dumb, he really isn’t. Not like people used to say especially. Sometimes things just take a second to click for him.
Eddie huffs, clearly seeing the gears whirring in Steve’s brain. It’s not out of annoyance, Eddie is clearly trying to think of how to help Steve along when he refocuses his attention on the man in his lap.
“I—I wasn’t born Edward or Eddie or Ed, I was born—I don’t um, I don’t—“
It does click then for Steve and he shudders in Eddie’s lap. He finally moves the arms he’s kept behind him while in Eddie’s lap, hesitantly taking Eddie’s face into his hands.
“Okay, okay. I—I understand now,” Steve soothes him gently, thumb brushing over his cheek. “You’re like me .”
“I’m like you,” Eddie repeats, then breathes out a laugh. “I mean, to an extent. But I do know you, Steve Harrington. I see you and I know you. I’ve seen every version of you now. Who you were, who you are, who you could be.”
“Who I could be?” Steve blinks.
“Your future, what I could help shape it to be. What kind of god you could become and deserve to transform into. As my equal, we could do so much more.”
His—his equal?
Steve blanches, he can’t—can he?
There’s no way that’s what Eddie’s offering. To be like him?
There’s a moment where it feels like all air has been vacuumed out of the room that’s more like a lair, making Steve choke on his own spit. Panic flashes in Eddie’s eyes and then they’re on their feet, Eddie pulling a tall glass of water out of seemingly nowhere.
“It’s a lot to take in, I know it is,” Eddie murmurs, feeding the water to Steve. “We could rule in almost every dimension, together. It’s just up to you to take the reins.”
“What about Robin?”
It’s all Steve can think to ask, mostly because he thinks he knows. Even without the details of what that would even mean for him, for his body.
For his very life and soul.
What kind of life has Steve Harrington really lived anyways?
He lived lie after lie for so long. Lying to himself, his family, his friends. Out of survival for so long, but lies nonetheless.
Then Steve knew loss.
Loss of his parents, of exes who didn’t want to believe they had dated someone who was always a man at his core.
There were a few friends, distant cousins, who put their two cents in on Steve’s identity when it wasn’t needed or asked for.
People telling Steve who he was and what he should do with his own body.
What would they say to someone akin to a God?
It was more tempting than anything in Steve’s life had ever been. More tempting than an extra drink at the bar, or a line off the back of a toilet in a graffiti covered stall. The sweetest temptation Steve never even knew existed.
The thing is, Steve can’t just leave Robin behind. His rock, his cheerleader, Steve’s fucking soulmate .
She was all he had for a long time and some days, Robin still is.
Steve’s Birdie came first.
“You could see her whenever you like, dear. If you didn’t notice with my one trick familiar Henry, time and space doesn’t exactly adhere to our kind’s specific set of rules,” Eddie pauses for a second, clearly sensing Steve’s wavering uncertainty. “Tell me something you got for Christmas one year. Anything.”
Steve barks out a laugh at that and shakes his head, he doesn’t really get what Eddie’s trying to prove, but he’ll play the game his shadow wants him to play.
“Fine, I’ll bite.” Steve thinks it over, landing on his most hated Christmas gift from his mother. “The 2005 Holiday Barbie. Charlotte was pissed I didn’t act grateful. I just told her I was too old for them.”
Eddie hums, clicks his tongue and then he reaches into the space next to him.
It looks like his hand is in a void, some sort of wormhole. When Eddie pulls it back out, there’s a wrapped gift in it.
It’s the same paper that Charlotte used every year for Steve, pink with a silver plaid pattern. He always hated the way it sounded as he would unwrap it.
Eddie hands it to him and Steve looks at the tag in his mother’s perfect cursive loops. Charlotte Harrington , not ‘mom’ .
“I was hoping it would be something happier, but go ahead and open it,” Eddie smiles knowingly, that heavy sadness that can only be something of shared experience.
Steve tears open the paper much like he had that Christmas, revealing the hideous pink atrocity inside that was not the i-Dog he had asked for.
He stares at it for a moment, taking in that Eddie pulled this from under seven year old Steve’s Christmas tree.
And Steve lunges forward.
Eddie makes a noise of surprise as Steve latches on to his lips. The box drops to the ground with a clatter and Steve clings on to the lapels of Eddie’s suit jacket.
The first thing that Steve notices when Eddie kisses him back, is that his tongue is pierced. Which is an absolutely delightful discovery.
Steve sucks Eddie’s tongue into his mouth, groaning as Eddie pulls him tighter against his body.
“I fuckin’ hated that Barbie,” Steve gasps into Eddie’s mouth as their bodies search for the friction of one another. “This is crazy, this can’t be real.”
“You don’t think I’m real, baby?” Eddie noses along Steve’s neck, tongue licking a hot stripe up to his ear. “I could drain you before you would even be able to react, is that real enough for you?”
Steve’s eyes roll back at the thought of that, eyelashes fluttering as he goes limp. Eddie catches him, of course.
“Don’t go all woozy on me, sunshine. I have plans for you,” Eddie says into Steve’s skin, making him shiver. “I need your head in the game, because I have a bit of a trust fall activity for you.”
“Trust fall activity?” Steve echoes and Eddie flashes teeth.
Eddie spins on his heel, dragging Steve along even further into the room that seems to go on forever. There’s a cabinet that comes into view, with ornate metal finishes and beautiful gold handles.
When Eddie pulls it open, it takes Steve a moment to adjust and peer inside to view the contents. When he does realize what it is he’s seeing, he stammers as the confusion takes over Steve’s brain.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, take your time,” Eddie says, satisfaction dripping in his voice. “They’re amongst my favorite possessions, yet they’ve never been broken in. Sad, isn’t it?”
Steve looks back at Eddie, then the cabinet, taking in the wonders it holds.
On each shelf, are different sizes and shapes of toys. All different colors and when Steve looks closer, they don’t look like human shapes.
He pokes at a darker red one and Eddie snorts next to him, picking it up and handing it to Steve.
“Get a feel for the weight of it,” Eddie purrs and Steve does as he’s told.
It’s redder at the tip Steve notices while it’s in his hand, gradient into a darker red at the base. It’s hefty, ridged in three separate sections. Steve runs his finger down the length of it. He likes it, he finds.
But then there’s so many burning questions.
“Why do you—“
“I can change at will, what’s going on underneath this suit. One of the many parts of the curse that backfired really. But I uh—I don’t like having a dick, like a fleshy one. I mean, I still have a dick in the way I like. It’s just not quite as…phallic or fleshy,” Eddie rubs at the back of his head, looking at his cabinet. “And while I am a dark creature of the night, this body is human. For the most part. It has its limitations, plus look how cool they are.”
Eddie reaches out and pokes one himself, the silicone wobbling a bit. Steve laughs, this whole situation feeling just a little bit silly.
This monster, this shadow, courting him by doing impossible things. Then wanting to be split open on one of his own devices.
It’s also really doing it for Steve.
“You really want this? Me to fuck you and not the other way around?”
“I want to have your full trust. To know that should you decide to accept my proposal, you will truly be an equal,” Eddie says genuinely, turning back towards Steve. “I think letting my guard down, letting you in like this in a way no one gets to see me…it’s something I’m proud to offer. My vulnerability for you, oh King Steve.”
Steve crinkles his nose at King Steve, the nickname reminding him of when Tommy and him ‘ruled’ Hawkins High. In the before times, when all that mattered was being a popular Queen B.
But his face quickly softens because it’s nice being considered a king to a god-like being.
“If I do this, does that mean—“
“No, nah. That requires a whole thing. Bat wings, chicken feet, ritualistic murder—“
“What?!”
“I’m kidding! You humans are so gullible,” Eddie grins and teeters on his feet, clearly proud of himself. “But it is like, a binding contract of your mortal soul or whatever. A little bit of vampire rules, a dash of Jennifer’s Body type shit. Hollywood got some of the lore right.”
Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, just the slightest bit annoyed, but not any less horny.
Eddie seems to sense that, coming closer until he’s eye to eye with Steve. He leans into Steve’s ear, tucking a stray hair behind it.
“I would never put you through what me and my crew went through. I may feed off the unknowing’s energy, but I only take what they give. I would never turn someone without consent,” Eddie says into his ear, breath hot on Steve’s piercings. “You can walk away at any point, Stevie.”
He breathes in the scent of Eddie, that smell that’s been a part of Steve since he put on the suit. It overwhelms Steve’s senses and becomes the only scent he’s ever known.
It makes Steve throb, from his scalp down to his toes. His boxers are starting to stick to his inner thigh, he can feel it with how tight the velvet suit pants are.
“I don’t want to walk away,” Steve whispers back, the heaviness of the toy weighing down his hand. “You know I don’t want to.”
Eddie chuckles and backs up just far enough to connect their lips again. It starts slow and sweet this time, Eddie’s clever tongue swiping over Steve’s bottom lip.
It quickly becomes hungry, feverish, but Steve can tell something’s being held back in Eddie. He wants it all.
Steve wants to see the side of Eddie that scared him, the visions that made him think he was going crazy and he doesn’t care how fucking insane that might be.
He wants his monster, his shadow.
The cracked closet you see out of the corner of your eye, the dark space beneath your childhood bed.
But if Eddie says he wants Steve as his equal, Steve also wants him to prove he’s not going to make him a snack.
Even if it’s a majorly fucking dumb idea.
So, Steve bites and he bites hard.
Eddie doesn’t even flinch or yelp, he just pushes Steve against the open cabinet, toys rattling behind them and threatening to spill out onto the floor.
“I told you what I want from you, why are you trying for a death wish?” Eddie growls, fist balled up in his button up.
“I just want to see if you’re good for your word,” Steve snarks back, licking at his lip where Eddie’s blood painted them. “If you have the control you say you do, sweetheart.”
Steve spits out the nickname and something dark flashes in Eddie’s eyes before he grimaces, something that Steve thinks is supposed to be a smile.
The grip on his shirt is loosened and Steve brushes imaginary dust off himself.
“You would kill me, Steve Harrington, but I’m already dead. Kinda. Whatever, semantics,” Eddie does grin then, the same toothy thing he’s always flashing. “Come along, I still have much to show you.”
Eddie grabs something from the cabinet and hands it to Steve. It’s thick leather, the strap for the toy, Steve assumes. It’s thicker than any strap he’s brandished himself, and it had been a while since Steve had sported one.
The o-ring on the harness is comically large to accommodate for the toy sizes being about 5-10 times the size of normal pegs. It looks reinforced where the leather holds it, well made and probably not fucking cheap.
All he can do is follow when Eddie walks further into the never ending space around them. It’s deep and cavernous, smelling like earth and a little bit damp.
It reminds Steve of those visions, the endless hallway he heard Eddie call down.
That was more hazy and dreamlike, more mirage than reality.
This feels lived in.
There’s the sound of water closing in on them, like a babbling brook. When they get closer, Steve can see it’s a large tub. Not so much a jacuzzi, but a tub built into the earth, one that reminds Steve of Greek tales of lust and gluttony.
“How do you want to do this?” Steve asks softly, more meek than he would like.
Eddie throws his head back in a sharp laugh and it bounces off the space around them.
“Oh aren’t you just adorable?” Eddie asks back, starting to shrug off his jacket. “How I want to do this, Stevie , is to ride you until you’ve made your decision. Screw the energy I need for tonight. Let them eat cake and all that.”
Steve’s brain goes offline, dial-up noise ringing in his head. He nods quickly to himself, mirroring Eddie by shrugging off his own jacket with it hitting the ground with a soft noise. Eddie takes off his tie, so Steve takes off his too.
And so it goes, one piece of clothing after another removed until they stand bare. The instinct to cover himself earns Steve a grunt of disapproval from Eddie, so he drops his hands to his side.
“Oh, sweetheart, look at you,” Eddie coos, taking in every inch of Steve. “You’re absolutely fucking transcendent.”
Blush crawls up Steve’s neck, heating up his cheeks. He can’t look at Eddie, terrified that it’s not allowed.
“Are you afraid to look at me?”
Steve nods quickly, whimpering as he bites his lip and Eddie laughs again.
“Go on, baby. You can look,” Eddie murmurs.
The sight that Steve feasts on in front of him is in a word, otherworldly.
All those grayscale tattoos cover Eddie’s chest, arms and legs. They look like they tell a story, something Steve would like to know just as he wants to know Eddie’s body itself.
Steve can see his prominent collarbones and hipbones now, not much curve to his body, but it’s more beautiful than anything Steve has ever laid his eyes upon.
Then there was the matter of his dick.
It looked a lot like Steve’s T-dick, maybe a little bit girthier, peeking out from a bushel of dark curls. The mess of curls are damp, Steve can see and he can feel his own wetness starting to create more of a mess down his thighs.
“I— fuck, I—“ Steve stammers as he realizes he’ll have to dig out the toy from under his bundle of clothes.
“Rendered speechless, are we?” Eddie mocks, dropping to find the strap and peg with ease, clicking them into place for Steve. “Do me a favor and stand there really still and pretty for me. Okay, baby?”
“Yeah—shit, yeah. Okay,” Steve stutters as he stands still for Eddie.
Eddie runs his hands down Steve’s body from his place on the ground, looking up at him like he’s his very reason for life. He taps against Steve’s ankle, holding the harness in front of his foot. Steve steps in with a shaky breath, then steps in with the other.
The strap is pulled up his legs, thick leather pulling up on his cheeks as Eddie stands to pull it all the way into place.
“Turn around for me, darlin’,” Eddie practically purrs and again, Steve, does as he’s told. His shadow hums contentedly and starts to work on the buckles, barely adjusting it as he moves Steve’s hair aside to whisper into the shell of his ear.
“Just perfect, like it was made for you.”
That sentiment makes Steve shudder, a gush of wetness threatening to dampen the leather that’s pressed against him as Eddie reaches around.
He strokes the cock connected to the harness, like it’s Steve’s very own. Eddie’s body presses into his back and there’s a noise that Steve thinks sounds like a kite in the wind. When he looks up, he sees that they’re shrouded by something.
Wings.
There’s black wings that tower over the two of them as Eddie continues to stroke Steve’s strap.
It doesn’t even make Steve flinch.
Clearly Eddie notices this, nosing against his neck and resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.
“I didn’t want to hide anything else of myself from you, this is me,” Eddie says against Steve’s ear again. “I glamour them and it’s honestly exhausting, that kind of magic. You would have them, too, you know.”
Steve spins in Eddie’s arms, throwing his own around his shadow’s neck. He kisses him for the third time tonight, licks over Eddie’s sharp fangs before pulling back.
A trail of saliva still connects them before it falls, and there’s a low rumble in Eddie’s chest before he tugs Steve towards the sunken tub.
They step into it and it’s the perfect temperature, just a hair above bath water. Eddie gently guides Steve down to sit on one of the built-in seats, standing between his knees as he watches Steve watch him.
“Do you—do you need anything from me?” Steve asks, feeling a little stupid in the head because he’s in some limbo between subspace and domspace.
He finds that he still feels like he’s submitting to Eddie. The way Steve is being courted by his shadow who obviously knows what he’s doing to Steve.
Eddie grins like the Great White he is, shakes his head and his wings shake a little with him.
“I just need you to be my good boy and let me sit on that pretty cock of yours,” Eddie starts to lower himself, his wings coming around Steve to cover them in darkness. “I’m the only thing that exists for you right now and you, sweetheart, are the only thing that exists for me.”
He straddles Steve then, fully settling his weight onto the tiered cock. Steve gasps as he realizes the leather presses right into his own real cock, just in the right way.
Steve can’t see anything in the darkness that he’s enveloped in within their little capsule. All he can do is feel.
And smell, god, can he smell the harmonies of all that is Eddie.
The scent of rain on earth, the hint of iron. Now that they’re in this proximity though with Eddie riding him, he can smell his natural musk and it makes Steve feel lightheaded.
He wants to bottle up the scent of Eddie and wear it every day so people know who Steve belongs to.
Who he’s equals with.
Shit, Steve really wants that.
It’s on the tip of his tongue when Eddie starts grinding in a way that punches noises out of Steve’s mouth that he can’t cover up. Little oh’s and ‘ah’s.
A symphony that Steve is composing between their bodies just for Eddie.
It feels like it’s Steve’s own dick that Eddie is riding, like it’s fused to his body, becoming one with his flesh.
When Steve tries to thrust his hips up, Eddie places a hand on his chest in warning.
“Angel, I know I said I need your head in the game, but let me take care of you. Do you think you can just be my good boy and do that for me?”
A pathetic whine leaves Steve’s throat at ‘good boy’ as he nods frantically against Eddie.
There’s light then, just the slightest and it’s coming from Eddie. Steve looks up and realizes it’s his eyes, glowing honey in this self created darkness.
As the leather continues to grind against his dick, Steve realizes he’s building closer to his finish as Eddie expertly rides him in a way that shows he has to know what he’s doing to Steve.
Eddie captures Steve’s mouth in his and nips at his bottom lip, drawing blood without much effort. The iron and salt of Steve gets passed between their tongues and it’s what brings Steve right to the edge.
Steve does his best to hold off, the burning thing finally coming off the tip of his tongue.
“I want to do it, I want to be your equal,” Steve manages, gasping into Eddie’s mouth. “Please, please.”
In the low light, Steve can see Eddie lift his wrist to the sharpness of his teeth and he bites down. Eddie lifts the dripping wrist to Steve’s own mouth, holding it right above him.
“Drink. Until you’re full.”
So, Steve Harrington does what he’s told for the last time.
As the crest of his orgasm falls over him, Eddie’s full of him and he’s full of Eddie .
He groans around Eddie’s wrist, eyes rolling back into his head as Steve’s body starts to make noises no human body should ever make.
It’s painful, like really fucking painful.
Not the same pain Steve felt when he broke his elbow in the seventh grade.
It starts at the base of his spine, trickles upward as things crack into place.
He feels shit growing, too.
At the same time, it’s the most intense pleasure Steve has felt.
Even more so than when he came for the first time while rolling on molly.
He can’t stop moaning, thrusting against the leather that helped bring him to the orgasm that won’t stop.
There’s stars bursting behind his eyelids from the rapture of Steve Harrington’s mortal soul.
New constellations creating themselves behind the eyes he squeezed shut god knows how long ago, as Eddie’s blood flows next to his in Steve’s veins.
It dances in him, creating new pathways for things beyond his wildest imagination.
He sees it all.
And then, Steve opens his eyes for the first time in his new life.
He wakes, a god.