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It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend.
And look, Steve knows that it’s not Robin’s fault. Her parents had assured her that the lake house slept four people. It was a little cabin just off of Indian Lake, perfect for the break she wanted to give Nancy. They were still in their little honeymoon phase and it was adorable; so when Robin came to him with the idea of them all going away for a weekend to get Nancy’s mind off of college stress, it seemed like a no-brainer.
They all deserved it, especially after the Upside Down chewed them up and spit them out.
So it was Robin, Nancy, Steve, and Eddie, with the promise of campfires, weed, and alcohol next to a lake. It sounded perfect.
“I’m so sorry, Steve,” Robin groans, head resting in her hands.
“Robs, it’s fine,” he says again. “Your parents have thought we’ve been dating since the Scoops days. And with how much Eddie and Nancy are around – well, I can’t say I blame them too much for the assumptions they made.”
He can, a little, but he knows that people aren’t exactly open-minded in Hawkins, Indiana.
So they have two beds. The cabin does technically sleep four, so her parents weren’t lying or hiding anything, they just made an assumption. The wrong assumption.
There’s a couch, though, and while it’s old, it doesn’t look too uncomfortable. He looks between the room and the couch again, debating.
“I’ll take the couch and Eddie can have the bed,” he shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”
“I’m sorry,” Robin deflates once more.
“Hey,” Steve grabs his best friend by the arms and shakes her a little. “It’s okay. Sleeping on a couch for a weekend isn’t gonna kill me, and we’re gonna have a great time. Now go help your girlfriend.”
Robin nods once before making her way to the kitchen where Nancy’s unpacking the groceries they brought with them, as well as a mountain of snacks Eddie demanded while they were in the grocery store.
Steve heads outside, finds Eddie smoking a cigarette that neither he nor Nancy would let him smoke in the car.
“So I have good news and bad news,” he says in lieu of a greeting, leaning against the bannister on the porch. He thinks better of it when it creaks and groans under his weight, and stands up to cross his arms instead.
“Bad news first,” Eddie says around his cigarette.
Steve nods, he knew that answer was coming. He knows Eddie well enough now, and can predict his next moves more often than not, even when Eddie’s spontaneous side takes over. He knows when it’s going to happen, can read the wild glint in Eddie’s eyes and the specific curve of each smile, so it’s not hard to put the pieces together.
It’s a lot like how he can read Robin, but it feels different somehow. The energy between him and Robin hums quietly, a string between them that neither of them can break, that he feels pull tight whenever they’re apart. With Eddie, it feels more like an electric wire, that pull leaving his heart racing and his lungs short of breath. He doesn’t try to figure it out, packing it into a neat little box on a shelf in the back of his brain, too high to reach on his own. It feels dangerous to unpack.
“There’s only one bed per room,” Steve sighs. “Not a problem for Robs and Nance, but…”
He lets the rest of the sentence hang in the air between them and feels a tug on that hidden wire, making something lurch in his gut.
“And the good news?” Eddie asks, head tilting as he regards Steve carefully.
“I’ll take the couch.”
He feels every second stretch between them as Eddie’s eyes roam over him, assessing. He can predict Eddie’s next move more often than not, sure, but they’re not at the mind-reading level that he and Robin are at yet, and it makes him uneasy. He shuffles from foot to foot under Eddie’s intense stare, trying not to meet those brown doe eyes that send electric shocks down the wire between them.
“You don’t have to do that, man,” Eddie finally says, stubbing out the last of his cigarette.
“It’s no big deal,” Steve repeats his earlier conversation with Robin as though it’s a script, fearing what he will say if he deviates from it. “Sleeping on a couch for a couple of nights isn’t gonna kill me.”
Eddie hums to himself, but he leaves the conversation there, and for some reason, Steve just wishes he had fought it a little harder.
*
They’re playing Monopoly when it happens. Nancy is smugly taking the last of Eddie’s money when the lights flicker and totally give up.
Steve tries not to show how it fills him with dread, how the bile starts rising in his throat and his heart feels like it’s going to stop. Nancy feels her way to the light switches, moving along the wall room-to-room until she’s tried them all.
“Looks like the power’s out,” she sighs. “There must be some candles around here somewhere. Robbie?”
Steve sees Robin nod and rise to her feet in the last of the evening light.
“This is sabotage!” Eddie calls out and Steve holds back laughter.
“You’re losing,” Robin replies flatly, and Steve’s sure she’s raising her eyebrows at him as she does so.
“I made a couple of bad investments,” Eddie shrugs. “I’m so close to stomping you all into the ground, just as soon as they come through!”
Steve chuckles, “Alright, big guy. Whatever you say.”
Eddie scoffs at that, but he still abandons the game to help set up the candles. Steve ignores the warm feeling in his chest, dangerously close to his heart.
With the candles giving everything a cosy glow and the space around them feeling a little less like a demogorgon will crash through the walls again, they head outside. It feels like as good a time as any to set up a campfire and crack open a few drinks from the cooler they hauled to the side of the lake.
Robin and Nancy are cuddled under a blanket, sipping from the same can of beer and talking quietly while Steve sets up the campfire. He makes a teepee of sticks on top of some logs, before flicking his lighter and letting it catch the paper and dried leaves he’d stuffed underneath the balancing structure of sticks.
“Where’d you learn to do this?” Eddie’s voice is closer to him than he’d expected, and it makes Steve jump slightly.
“Uh, dad made me join the Boy Scouts,” he says, voice low and hopefully not giving away his disdain for the memory. He blows gently on the catching fire, spreading the embers further. “Said a real man should know how to make a fire, or some shit like that. Never wanted to teach me himself though.”
“Dads suck,” Eddie offers with a nod. “Still, probably a better skill than hotwiring cars.”
“I bet that was more fun, though,” Steve smiles, hopes that the redness in his cheeks can be attributed to the heat from the growing fire and not from the memory of Eddie getting oh so close to him in that RV, of Big Boy and charged winks.
Eddie smiles. It’s somewhere between his soft smile and his wild smile; Steve has a hard time reading it.
“Definitely less lame than the Boy Scouts,” Eddie teases, and Steve feels the flush travelling down his neck.
“Laugh it up,” he pushes Eddie, sending him off-balance from where he had been perched in a squat next to Steve. “Without me there’s no fire to make s’mores.”
Eddie straightens up at that, sitting still next to Steve, coaxed into behaving like a child who’s told to eat all of their dinner if they want dessert.
“I would never laugh at you, sweetheart,” Eddie purrs, before clambering to his feet and giving a deep bow. “I shall venture into the trees to retrieve the sticks upon which we may roast our mallows.”
Steve chuckles. He’s hit with the feeling that he wants to kiss Eddie, not for the first time, but he pushes it back. Stuffs it back into the box in his head where all of the dangerous thoughts lay.
It’s not that he’s worried about Eddie being a guy, he’d come to terms with his attraction to men over a night watching Top Gun with Robin. She’d noticed him staring and lectured him on how that’s not how straight men look at other men, Steven. He’d gone back to the movie theatre a few days later to test the theory, to wrap his head around what Robin had suggested. And she was right, like she so often is.
So no, the dangerous thought isn’t being attracted to men. The dangerous thought is being attracted to Eddie. His best friend (other than Robin, perhaps he should say best male friend). In fact, he’s the only guy his own age that he’s friends with, really, other than a guy he had bullied and then ended up dating his ex-girlfriend. Besides, Jon wasn’t around much anymore; he’d gone to college in California and Steve had a sneaking suspicion that he and Argyle weren’t just roommates.
As much as Steve’s tried to package the thoughts away, he has allowed himself – in his most self-deprecating moments – to torture himself by thinking about it. The scenarios always start out sweet. Loving, even.
But things always go south. Eddie realises that he’s just bullshit and things fall apart. Before Steve knows it, he’s alone again, and he’s lost one of his closest friends. It’s just not worth the risk.
He shakes the thought of Eddie’s ridiculously charming bow out of his head and blows on the fire again.
When Eddie returns with enough sticks for the four of them, boasting about how his stick branches off into two and he can roast twice as many marshmallows than “the rest of you suckers”, Steve forces them out of his hands to burn the ends of the sticks in the fire.
“You better be careful with my stick there, Stevie,” Eddie nudges him with his shoulder. “That thing’s my pride and joy.”
Steve rolls his eyes, “Burning the ends helps to kill bacteria. Excuse me for not wanting you to get sick because of how gross the forest floor is.”
“Steve, I literally ate dirt last week.”
“I hope you’re kidding.”
Eddie smiles, a shit-eating grin across his face, “Nope.”
“How are you still alive?”
“Easy,” Eddie raises an eyebrow in smug confidence, “Spite.”
Steve shakes his head and pretends to disapprove, but he knows from the softness in Eddie’s smile that he knows, that he can see the fondness under the facade.
He has to intervene when Eddie sets his marshmallows on fire. Both of them. At the same time. He starts waving the flaming stick around like a caveman who just discovered fire and Steve’s instincts kick in – the ones that the party lovingly call his momma bear instincts. He almost regrets having to ruin Eddie’s fun when he hears just how musical his laughter is, thinks he should let the madness continue just to hear more of Eddie’s pure joy.
“O-kay,” Steve wrenches the stick from Eddie’s hand and throws it into the fire. “That’s enough of that. Didn’t your uncle ever tell you not to play with fire?”
“All the time. I just didn’t listen.”
“Unbelievable.”
“What’s unbelievable is you sacrificing my stick to the fire gods!” Eddie points exasperatedly at where the stick and melting marshmallows lie at the heart of the fire pit. “That was my baby, Steven.”
Steve rolls his eyes, “I’m sure you’ll live.”
“After that betrayal?” Eddie throws a hand across his heart and winces as though he’s in pain. He’s played it up enough now that Steve no longer worries that his scars are causing any residual pain; he can tell the difference between dramatics and something he should actually be concerned about. “I may just die of a broken heart.”
“Okay Romeo –”
“Romeo poisoned himself, dingus!” Robin calls from across the campfire, where she’s wrapped around Nancy and watching them with amusement.
“I’ll teach you how to roast a marshmallow properly,” Steve says instead, choosing to ignore Robin’s attempt to rile him up.
He expects Eddie to protest, but when he doesn’t, he loads a marshmallow onto his own stick and kneels down beside the fire pit, beckoning Eddie to join him.
“What you wanna do is hold the marshmallow above the embers,” Steve demonstrates before handing the stick over to Eddie. “That way it’ll be perfectly golden, rather than burnt to a crisp.”
“Maybe I wanted a burnt marshmallow,” Eddie pouts petulantly.
Steve shakes his head, and readies the other ingredients for Eddie’s s’more. It’s easier to assemble with two people anyway, so you don’t have to balance the stick between your knees while trying to sandwich the marshmallow onto the crackers and end up dropping your chocolate.
Not that Steve’s had any experience with that.
He trades the s’more for the stick, watching with rapt attention as Eddie takes a bite, smiling as the pleasure spreads through Eddie’s face.
And then Eddie moans.
A low, guttural moan that rewires Steve’s brain chemistry. The shelf with his neatly packed boxes comes crashing down, spilling the contents everywhere.
It’s all he can do to tear himself away from the thought, from the revelation, and continue as though his entire world hasn’t just been flipped upside down. It’s a pivotal moment and the most mundane thing in the world, surprising and expected, world-changing and every day.
He puts his own marshmallow on the stick and busies himself with making his own s’more in an attempt to quiet the rush of emotions.
It surprises him how much it doesn’t feel like a crisis. Everything he’s meticulously packed away comes spilling out, and he realises he can’t run from it anymore.
It’s significant, realising that he probably has feelings for Eddie — real, actual feelings, big and scary as they are — but it’s not terrifying. It feels right, as though the world has clicked into place.
Robin notices, of course she does.
She extracts herself from Nancy and sits down on the grass next to where Steve is crouching, focusing a little too intensely on the marshmallow.
“You okay, dingus?” she asks. It’s soft, like a warm hug or a fluffy blanket.
He chances a glance around, makes sure that Eddie’s distracted by some thing or another, and nods.
“You remember the Nancy conversation?”
“Yeah…” Robin’s unsure, and he can’t blame her. It’s an odd time to bring up the way she came to him, panicking, palms sweaty and tears threatening to spill over, apologising for liking his ex-girlfriend. For all she knows, he’s about to take his acceptance back.
“It’s kind of like that,” Steve says, his eyes flicking over to Eddie, hoping that he’s said enough for Robin to catch on. Luckily, Nancy and Eddie are currently engaged in some kind of tug-of-war over a blanket.
“Oh. Oh,” her eyes open impossibly wide as she takes in the scene before them. “Him? Really? Fighting over a blanket like a toddler?”
“Are you seriously judging me right now? Your girlfriend is right there with him!”
Robin cackles, “Payback for the muppet comment, bitch.”
“I was right!”
They laugh for a moment, falling into each others arms as they tend to do.
She runs a hand through her hair, tousling it in that messy way Steve knows Nancy likes. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he answers honestly. “I think I am.”
She nods at that, satisfied. “Good. What are you gonna do?”
“That part, I don’t know,” Steve huffs a laugh.
“Well, you don’t have to decide it right now.” Robin scooches closer, wrapping an arm around him and placing her head on his shoulder. It feels like home. “But I’m proud of you, dingus.”
“Love you Robs.”
“Love you too.”
*
Eddie produces two joints from the inside pocket of his jacket not too long after that, a devilish grin on his face.
“Maybe we should’ve saved the s’mores for when we got the munchies, but –”
“Absolutely not,” Steve cuts him off. “You couldn’t be trusted with the fire when sober.”
“Fair point, my Liege.” Eddie bows dramatically, offering him a joint and a lighter, before skipping across to the other side of the campfire to offer the second to Nancy and Robin.
Steve watches as Robin screws her nose up, knowing she would much rather have brownies and how much she hates smoking, but he knows she’ll accept it anyway. He gives a second lighter to the girls, and Steve’s almost sure he’s got at least one more on his person. He’s seen him fiddle with a Zippo lighter on multiple occasions, flipping it open and closed, but the ones in his and Nancy’s hands are Bics. So there’s a good chance that Wayne’s old Zippo is still tucked into his jeans.
He drops down next to Steve, still sitting on the grass by the dying embers of the fire, with little grace.
“Careful, man,” Steve chides him. “You’re gonna break something.”
“Can you break your ass?” Eddie asks, rubbing at the area. “Because I think I did.”
Steve chuckles, holding out the unlit joint and lighter to Eddie, but he waves Steve off.
“Nah, man,” he says. “You do the honours.”
And Steve doesn’t have a good argument for why Eddie should be the one to light it, other than it being his weed, but he knows Eddie will wave that off too, telling him that it’s more fun to share it.
So he lights it.
Maybe he imagines the way that Eddie’s eyes zero in on his lips as he tucks the joint between them, but either way, it sends a volt of electricity down his spine.
“The sky looks nice tonight,” he says, handing the joint over to Eddie. It’s not what he wants to say; he wants to tell Eddie just how gorgeous his eyes look when reflecting the last of the campfire, but he holds off on that one.
“Sure does,” Eddie nods, resting back on one elbow to see the sky better. “Do you know any constellations?”
“Nope.”
“Good thing I do, then,” Eddie uses the joint to gesture towards the sky before handing it over to Steve. “Do you see that one, there? Two circles and a long line?”
“Yeah,” Steve says, even if the only thing he can make out are dots, unable to see the image. It’s the same with clouds, he’s never been good at making shapes out of them, and Robin often rolls her eyes at his lack of imagination.
“Not a lot of people know about that constellation,” Eddie sighs, “But I think it’s my favourite.”
“What is it?” Steve asks, lips wrapped around the joint.
“Penis Erectus,” Eddie replies, shit-eating grin painted across his face.
Steve shoves him, a chuckle rumbling underneath his chest. He tries to stem it down, not wanting to give Eddie the satisfaction of his joke landing.
“Would you rather see Penis Flaccidus? I can show you that one if you prefer.”
Steve snorts, choking on the smoke he had been holding in his lungs. “Asshole,” he gasps out, once he has gained back the ability to breathe.
Eddie chuckles, taking the joint back from Steve, even if he hadn’t offered it. Their fingers brush, and Steve feels that electricity again.
“What is my use, if not to provide comedic relief?” Eddie stretches out, lying down fully now. Steve lies down next to him and tries to keep a small amount of distance between them, even as he’s itching to press against Eddie, to feel the zing of the spark between them. He wonders if Eddie feels it too.
“Is that the only reason you think we keep you around?”
Eddie shrugs, “That and shared trauma.”
Steve turns his head, stares at Eddie openly with a furrow in his brow. It makes something in his chest ache, thinking about how Eddie sees himself and his position within their group. He doesn’t know if he has the right words to reassure him, knows that Nancy’s much better at the comforting thing, but he has to try.
“That’s not it, Eds,” he says, his voice softer than he anticipated. It’s almost a whisper, but the way that Eddie swallows and tenses up lets Steve know that he’s been heard. “We all want you here. You know that, right?”
Eddie doesn’t answer. He takes another drag from the joint and holds his breath.
“We want you here,” he says again. “I used to be jealous, the way that Dustin would talk about you. I regret not saying that in the Upside Down when we were talking about it,” Steve sighs. “But I’m saying it now. You wouldn’t believe how much those gremlins treasure you, and how grateful I am to have a friend my own age.”
“You have Robin,” he croaks out.
“She’s not you,” he whispers, tracing every curve of Eddie’s face with his eyes, trying not to get stuck on his lips, fearing that he would never want to tear his eyes away if he allowed him to start looking.
“Shit,” Eddie curses, handing the joint to Steve. “Is this the Harrington charm? Have you been reduced to using it in platonic settings? Do I need to find you some woman to flirt with for enrichment?”
Steve shrugs, “I’m happy here.”
Eddie laughs, a wild unrestrained thing. “Maybe the weed went to your head big boy, I don’t think you realise how this sounds right now.”
“What does it sound like?”
“It sounds dangerously close to flirtation, dude.”
He should back off. He should stop. There’s no indication that Eddie would want him to flirt, and yet –
“If you’re not sure, then maybe I’m not doing a good enough job.”
“O- kay,” Eddie laughs, a little hysterically. “I think that’s enough grass for you.”
He lets Eddie pry the joint from his fingertips, if only to revel in the fire that spreads from his touch.
“It’s not the weed,” he tries to insist, but Eddie shakes his head.
“Let's get you to bed,” Eddie groans as he stands. “I’ll take the couch and you can sleep off – whatever this is.”
He pulls Steve to his feet, and Steve is too caught up on the fact that they’re practically holding hands to protest.
He only comes back to his senses when Eddie lets his hands drop, ready to leave him alone in the bedroom. Steve’s heart calls out for him to stop.
“Eddie, wait.”
And shit, he wishes he had thought any of this through, wishes he had the words to make Eddie see.
“It’s not the weed,” he says again, because it’s one of the only things he knows to be true. That, and the fact that he is more than a little head over heels for Eddie Munson.
“It’s okay, man, I mean – maybe the strain just didn’t agree with you or something.”
Steve feels his throat close up, a dull ache spreading through him that he knows too well. It won’t be long before tears begin to sting at his eyes. He can’t help but feel pathetic, half in love with a guy that seems determined to push him away, a story that seems to repeat itself over and over.
“It – it’s not the weed,” he manages to choke out, before the first of the tears fall. Steve stops it in its tracks by scrubbing at his face, holding his breath in an attempt to keep the sobs at bay, to stop them wracking through his chest where he feels torn open.
“Stevie, hey,” Eddie’s voice is softer now, and he’s started to rub at his arms, the touch grounding him. “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”
Steve’s no stranger to Eddie’s use of pet names, but right now, it makes his stomach sink. Still, he lets his hands fall away from his face and looks at Eddie. He’s concerned, that much is clear, but the rejection still stings like a fresh wound.
“There we go,” Eddie coos. “I’m gonna get you some water, and then I think you need to sleep, okay? Can you get your pjs on for me?”
Steve nods minutely, busying himself with the task while Eddie’s gone. The tears still fall down his cheeks, but at least they’re silent; Steve doesn’t think he could handle the exertion of heaving sobs right now.
Eddie brings the water in slowly, moving around Steve as though he’s a terrified animal that he doesn’t want to spook, and places the water down on the nightstand. He guides Steve gently to the bed, handing him the water before tucking him in and, god, Steve wants to cry all over again at the sweetness of his touch, even after unwanted advances.
Eddie’s a great guy, Steve reminds himself, There’s no need to fuck this up.
“Eddie?” Steve asks, as Eddie’s heading for the door. He turns around, slowly again, concern pouring out of every part of his expression. It almost makes Steve bite back the words, but they rush out of him before he can stop them. “Can you stay with me?”
Eddie opens and closes his mouth a few times, like a goldfish searching for water but only finding air. Drowning, Steve thinks, and then, Can goldfish drown?
“Please?” he asks, voice weak.
Steve sees the moment that Eddie melts, lets his guard down and drops his shoulders.
“Oh, Stevie,” he says, voice full of pity that makes Steve flinch. “Of course. It’s okay.”
Steve nods, gritting his teeth against the self-hatred that bubbles inside of him.
“I’m just gonna go change,” Eddie says, scooping up his backpack. “You gonna be okay until I’m back?”
Steve nods again, his eyes fixed on the patterned blanket his hands are resting on. He thinks he might just implode if he has to look at Eddie and see that pity for himself.
Eddie’s back quickly, after a clattering noise that Steve can only assume is him knocking over several toiletries in his attempt to change. Steve chuckles to himself, even in his current state.
He’s not crying anymore when Eddie makes his way back, though his breathing does still feel laboured.
“Can I…?” Eddie asks, his hands resting gently on the blankets. Steve nods, and Eddie climbs into bed next to him.
It’s not what he wanted, not exactly. Eddie takes care to keep some distance between them, lying on his side and studying Steve as though he may break any moment, as though he doesn’t know that Steve’s already broken.
But having him there is comforting enough, and Steve can feel some of Eddie’s body heat radiating from him if he concentrates hard enough. Or maybe that’s the weed.
“Are you okay?” Eddie whispers. He places a comforting hand on Steve’s arm, and he melts into the touch.
Steve heaves a breath, “I think so. Just a rough night.”
Eddie hums and nods, “Try to get some sleep?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Eddie pulls his hand away and Steve nearly whines at its absence. “Goodnight, Steve.”
*
When Steve drifts back into some state of awareness, he’s tangled up in Eddie’s arms. He’s not sure at what point they ended up drawn to each other, remembering how they went to sleep with a space between them that felt never-ending. But now, he’s lying on Eddie’s chest, and Eddie’s arms are wrapped solidly around him, as though he doesn’t want to let him go, even in sleep, where most people are pliant and moveable.
He’s scared to move. He might have only realised that he wanted this yesterday, but he thinks he needs to commit this feeling to memory; he’s not sure he’ll ever get this again, so he stays still, keeps his breaths shallow so that even his breathing won’t disturb Eddie.
Steve’s not sure what time it is – he’d have to lift himself out of Eddie’s arms to see the clock on the nightstand – but he does know that Eddie’s not an early riser, so he can only hope that he’s woken up early enough himself that he can bask in Eddie’s touch just a while longer.
Fate has other plans, though, it seems. Soon after, Eddie’s giving him a squeeze and burying his face into Steve’s hair. He smiles, content, as Eddie breathes in the scent of him, or his hairspray, whatever.
But then Eddie freezes. His muscles tense as he wakes up more, realises what he’s doing. Steve hears a whispered “Shit,” before Eddie slowly starts to extract himself from underneath Steve.
He can’t bring himself to pretend it never happened, knowing that he’ll be thinking about those few moments for the rest of his life, so he pulls back too, letting Eddie shuffle away from him.
“Uh,” Steve says, voice gruff with sleep and words as eloquent as ever. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Eddie replies, looking eerily like a deer in the headlights.
It’s the Bambi eyes, Steve’s brain supplies, unhelpfully. He’s trying to do damage control in his mind, find the words to explain how they’d ended up so tangled in each other. He thinks that an apology is a good place to start, maybe an explanation of how he and Robin sleep cuddled together sometimes, it doesn’t have to mean –
“I’m sorry,” Eddie beats him to the apology, eyes wide and unmoving.
“You’re –” Steve frowns. “Why are you sorry?”
“You, uh, you were in a pretty emotionally vulnerable place last night, man. I shouldn’t have –” Eddie gestures between them, unable to voice exactly what had happened between them. Steve’s heart sinks impossibly further.
“No,” Steve snaps, perhaps sounding more angry than he truly felt. It was the best way to mask his heartbreak. “No. I’m sorry. I hit on you and you obviously – well, I just shouldn’t have.”
“Right, yeah,” Eddie runs a hand through his curls, only looking more unruly in the morning. “It was the weed, so.”
Steve scoffs, lets his bitchiness escape and wears it like armour. “I mean, I literally already told you that it wasn’t the weed. Like, multiple times.”
There’s a crease between Eddie’s brows as he stares at Steve, looking at him as though he is a puzzle to be solved, and not a real, actual human being.
Steve can’t stand it. He throws the blanket off of himself and gets up to start gathering some clothes for the day, maybe make some coffee. Away from Eddie.
Eddie’s whispered, awestruck voice stops him in his tracks.
“Stevie,” Eddie says. “Are you saying – was it not the weed?”
And Steve’s an idiot. Holy fuck is he an idiot.
They’ve talked about Eddie’s romantic history before (read: not a lot). They’ve talked about how Eddie’s never been kissed, never had someone in his life that wants him, that loves him in that way.
In the morning light, it’s so much clearer, so much easier to see why Eddie would assume his advances were completely drug-induced. He’d only figured out he was gay the night before – or, maybe not gay, but something – of course Eddie didn’t know. Of course Eddie saw a straight guy who got affectionate while high.
Of course.
Steve turns back to Eddie quickly, looks at him earnestly and with purpose as he says it again.
“It wasn’t the weed.”
Eddie’s chest is heaving, sitting on the edge of the bed, his breathing pattern making him look close to a panic attack. Steve longs to soothe it.
“Stevie,” Eddie all but begs. “Come here. Please.”
Steve’s pulled back into Eddie’s orbit, as though it’s inevitable. Maybe it always was. He’s not sure who reaches out first, whether it’s Eddie’s hand on his chest, or his hand on Eddie’s jaw, but their lips meet and it’s as close to magic as Steve thinks he can ever get.
Kissing Eddie Munson is a contradiction. It’s soft touches and chapped lips. It’s gentle skin and the scratch of stubble. It’s a burning fire and the sweet caress of sunlight. It’s everything that he didn’t know he was missing, and everything that he didn’t know that he needed.
Eddie whines against his lips, pushing the sound directly into Steve’s mouth, where he swallows it down hungrily. He only pulls away when he’s running out of breath and his traitorous mind reminds him that this is Eddie’s first kiss.
“Wow,” Eddie breathes, watching Steve with a reverence he’s seen before, one that he has never attributed to this feeling swirling between them, this thing that feels an awful lot like love.
Steve smirks, “Good first kiss?”
Eddie shakes his head as a disbelieving laugh echoes around them in the quiet of the morning, “I can’t believe we could’ve been doing that last night.”
Steve bites at his lower lip, lets his smirk turn into something downright predatory.
“What do you say we make up for lost time?”
“Yes. Please,” Eddie’s nodding so hard that Steve worries he’s about to hurt his neck. He stills the movement with his hand, traces his thumb along the edge of Eddie’s plush lower lip, pushing slightly to let it dip into his mouth.
Eddie sucks it in greedily, eyes closing in contentment. It’s obscene, the way he moans around it, the way he moaned around the s’more the night prior.
“Lie down,” Steve commands, pushing him away by his jaw, just hard enough to free his thumb from Eddie’s mouth, but not half as rough as he wants to be.
Eddie falls back with a gasp, pliant and absolutely delectable. Steve climbs over him, rucks Eddie’s shirt up slightly as he does so, just enough to skirt his fingers over Eddie’s stomach.
And then they’re kissing again.
Steve kisses every inch of Eddie that he can reach: his lips, his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw. He trails kisses and bites down Eddie’s neck, leaving deep purple marks in his wake. He’s been half-hard since that blissful moment of waking up next to Eddie, and the combination of his pure scent and the little moans he’s making fills out his erection fully.
He decides to test the waters, grinds down onto Eddie and finds him just as affected. He grinds down again, harder, and coaxes a punched-out moan from Eddie. There’s layers of clothes separating them still, but it feels unreal. He sends a silent thanks to whatever powers-that-be that they’re still wearing pyjama pants, not yet dressed for the day; he can feel the length of Eddie properly like this, in a way that he doesn’t think he’d be able to if the thin cotton was replaced with denim.
“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie gasps, each breath cut short with pure pleasure.
“You like that, baby?” he asks, that predatory smile back on his face.
Eddie nods frantically, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, quieting his moans.
“Tell me,” Steve groans into Eddie’s ear. “Use your words.”
“Fuck,” Eddie says again. “Feels so good, Steve, shit.”
“There’s my good boy,” Steve purrs. “Knew you could do it.”
Eddie moans louder, it comes out like a scream. Then he stills, eyes wide and lips pressed together. A red flush creeps over his cheeks and he looks…
Mortified.
“Eddie, did you –” Steve can feel a wetness soaking through his pants, too much to be explained away by his own pre-come. “Oh, baby, that’s so fucking hot.”
Eddie’s mouth drops open; he still looks embarrassed, but also – pleasantly surprised?
“Gonna use you to get off,” Steve growls, rolling his hips again, “That okay, baby?”
He feels Eddie nod while he latches his lips to Eddie’s neck again.
“Y-yes,” Eddie finally replies, a strained whisper that betrays his overstimulation.
“Good boy,” he says, pressing a soft kiss over the newest bruise. “Remembering to use your words. So good for me.”
Eddie whimpers at that, and the broken noise sends him careening towards his own orgasm.
He lies there on top of Eddie for a moment as they both come back down to Earth, trading lazy kisses that are much more about swapping air between them than they are about actual kissing.
Eddie breaks the silence first. “Jesus H. Christ, Harrington.”
Steve creases up his nose, “Don’t call me Harrington after we just had sex.”
“Was that sex?” Eddie asks, eyebrows furrowed together. “Does that count?”
“Sex can be whatever you want it to be, Munson,” he replies with a wink.
“Ew, nope, yep –” Eddie pushes Steve off of him. “I hear it now. No last names after sex.”
Steve laughs, pulling his shirt off to clean himself up before tossing it to Eddie. It’s not the nicest thing, but he doesn’t want to take a sticky trip to a shared bathroom and risk running into his best friend and her girlfriend (who happens to be his ex-girlfriend, so, double weird).
Once Eddie’s cleaned himself up and tossed Steve’s shirt into a corner of the room, Steve allows himself to kiss Eddie again before he puts on clean boxers and some sweatpants. He pats himself on the back for bringing something other than jeans for this weekend.
“I, uh,” Steve fidgets, all of his bravado melting away. “I should take a shower.”
“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “Yeah, of course, man. I’ll, uh, shower after you.”
Steve nods, scoops up a towel and leaves the room.
“Steven Delphinia Harrington,” Robin screeches the moment the door opens, staring at him in fury from the living room, he doesn’t even have the chance to protest the most recent, always ridiculous, middle name she’s graced him with. “At least warn me if I’m going to have to suffer through your disgusting exploits!”
He almost feels embarrassed, but when he hears Eddie’s cackle from their shared bedroom, he thinks it was all worth it.