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These days, Steve didn’t really think he should be blamed for his attitude.
Sure, he always had what Robin referred to as “latent mean girl tendencies” (and sometimes ones that weren’t so latent, if he’s being honest), and he always had some, like, leanings towards bitchiness. (“Leanings?” Robin had blinked hard, when she’d heard that one. “Steve.”) But in the grand fuckin’ scheme of things — the grand fuckin’ scheme of things being, in fact, an eighteen month government enforced quarantine of their town where everyone was on edge, and only a little bit of that was from, like, the monsters and shit — in the grand fuckin’ scheme of things, he thought he should be mostly absolved from his so-called attitude problems.
Like! He couldn’t be a little put out about the fact that he couldn’t go to his favorite clothing store in Indy, or that he couldn’t see the latest movies or get the latest tunes? He had to just be the pinnacle of fucking martyrdom because he had to pay that a-hole Bauman a goddamn premium to get his haircare routine and not complain even once about it? He couldn’t even roll his eyes at Henderson’s bullshit without getting asked if he needed a nap? As if everyone else was dealing with this shit better than him! Just because he voiced his opinion on it —
“You voice your opinion kind of a lot,” Robin said one afternoon.
Steve rolled his eyes. “Like you don’t have an entire radio program you voice your opinion on.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “That’s different!”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered. Felt, in fact, like she could air her grievances (and really fucking toe the line on where the closet door was publicly) in a government sanctioned way, when he just caught a ream of shit for it constantly. So not fair.
“You could try being a little, I don’t know, nicer when you do, you know?” Robin was saying. He made a face at her.
“Why?” he asked. “We’re all on edge! We don’t know fucking what is happening! We don’t know if that wrinkled nutsack is still kicking even though we banana fostered his ass, and Max is — Max is — I’m allowed to be high strung!”
Robin reached out, hooked her pinky with his.
“We’re all high strung! How come I’m the only one getting, like punished for it? I mean,” he continued, clearing his through hard, “no one is talking about Henderson or Mike being little assholes constantly, and Dustin got suspended for it. Dustin! King of the nerds! Suspended! I’m surprised Ma didn’t have a goddamn aneurism!”
“No, that’s fair, we’re being unfair,” she said, “when you put it like that. Though I think Henderson’s also allowed to have a slightly bigger attitude problem what with Eddie dying in his arms and all.”
“Yeah, well he lived,” grumbled Steve. “So, like, get over it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Wow, you should go into therapy. I mean that — not as a profession, but you should see someone because Jesus.”
Pointing at her, he said sharply, “I’m allowed to make that joke because I gave him mouth to mouth and, like, brought him back to life and shit!”
“And I remain unconvinced that it didn’t awake anything in you, but —”
Steve didn’t really have a reply for that for reasons he really didn’t want to look at straight on right now or, like, ever, so he was trying to figure out how to get them back on his attitude problem when Jonathan threw the door to the studio open and said, “Delivery truck!”
Saved by the fuckin’ bell, he thought, and ducked out after Byers.
He was always impressed by Robin’s ability to get the info for the crawls out through the power of one, rambling description of a song. He knew it took her a hot minute to put together, shutting herself up in the basement to work it out with as little distractions as she could manage, but it always impressed the hell out of Steve. She had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of songs, it felt like, to draw open to get the code out; even Munson, who got released from his temporary digs in said basement while she worked (because of course the normies of Hawkins were still looking for him, even though he was listed as presumed missing in the quakes and the PD had cleared him), admitted to being impressed by the sheer breadth of her mental catalog.
“Wish she’d maybe branch out though,” he would complain. “It’s always pop or rock or oldies. She could add a little spice.”
Which was exactly why, when he was free to roam the studio, Steve was under strict orders from Robin and Nancy both that Eddie was to not have access to any of the equipment. Of course, this led to further bitching — and why didn’t he catch any flack, hmm? — that he wouldn’t be able to do anything, because Robin made him keep his tapes in his bunk.
Anyway — Robin was a freakin’ genius, was Steve’s point, and there was more than one reason why she was Rockin’ Robin and Steve was her sound gremlin. She thought on her feet like no one else and made solid connections out of thin air. He couldn’t wait until he finally convinced her to marry him for the tax benefits (and also life insurance purposes if he beefed it).
She always got the job done, and this broadcast was just another tick in the win column. Everyone who caught the broadcast subsequently made it to the meeting damn near fully briefed from her code, and they were able to get everyone else up to speed pretty quickly.
In three nights, their military overlords would be doing another burn to bring in resources for whatever it was they were doing down there. (Main theories currently: either weaponizing something or actually trying to close it — the majority of them felt "weaponizing" was probably more realistic.) It likely wouldn’t be a huge drop, according to Bauman’s ill-gotten intel, but Hopper had gotten through bigger zones with less time in the past. Privately, Steve thought this was all a big waste of time and also probably, like, a massive unnecessary risk — especially considering the Chief would have roughly half an hour for his grid search — but what did he know? He was just the kind of, sort of getaway driver for this shit.
He thought he did a good job of masking his annoyance and skepticism, considering how people were up his ass lately about his less than sunny disposition, and he was mostly facing away from the usual suspects who would roll their eyes or question his attitude (like Jonathan was any better). But he didn’t count on the fact there was one person in the room who, besides Eleven and Hopper, had the reason to be the most stir-crazy of them all — and Munson had practically made antagonizing Steve into an even bigger pastime than a professional goddamn sport.
There were a variety of one liners he liked to deploy when Steve would roll his eyes or let loose a huff of annoyance.
“What’s got your panties in a twist, Harrington?” he would ask, or, “Baby skip his nap today?”
A personal favorite of his seemed to be some variation of asking if it was Steve’s time of the month. “You on your period, sweetheart?” he’ll ask. It never failed to kill with the boys, who would fall all over themselves laughing when he asked — usually after whatever meeting they were in, because it also never failed to get Nancy apoplectic. Munson, to his credit, had only needed twice to learn to keep that one way under his breath and out of her earshot for fear she’d shoot his nuts off.
These questions also had the unique ability to make Steve as red as a fucking tomato which, like, fuck him, he guessed.
That was probably why Munson was obsessed with doing it. Boredom, too, sure, he had to imagine. But getting a rise out of Steve and finding it perversely funny had to be why, because otherwise he had no clue why the asshole just kept fucking doing it. Because it was frequent, a variation on a theme, like he said.
Steve hated that it did get him riled up. They were semi-friends these days anyway, hard not to be, and he was prepared to roll his eyes and shove him away — which, like, he did! He did do that! And he was comfortable in himself, mostly, right? Sure there was some stuff Robin says he needed to work through, but he figured that could wait until they were out of this nightmarish hellscape to do that and he wasn’t going to let Munson being weirdly sexist or whatever bring him down, get him pissed off. He had way worse lobbied at him in locker rooms, and by Billy fucking Hargrove (RIP, asshole) in particular, over the years! He could handle Munson’s childish, mildly vulgar taunts.
Except, said the little Robin that lived in his head, for the part where you can’t.
Which —
Okay. Sure!
Fine! Yeah! It pissed Steve right off!
Because, like, what the fuck did he mean by any of it? It wasn’t like the locker rooms, where everyone was catching a ream of shit for whatever reason because that’s how they talked. Yeah, okay, he back-sassed the boys and Robin and Nance and, on one memorable occasion, Hopper, but Munson wasn’t exactly asking Jonathan if his briefs were on too tight when he got a little snappish. It was only Steve. He only picked on Steve.
And it was in such a specific, pointed kind of way. With everyone else, it was just comments and rolled eyes and a pulled mouth; with Steve it was so much more. He was always in his space when he did it, weasling his way in close from wherever he was — and it was never far, like he was always waiting for an opportunity, but sometimes there were one or two people between them and then he’d just be there — and getting his body up against his, mouth against his ear. And it was —
It was —
Annoying! Infuriating!
And also, maybe, okay, just, like — a little maybe starting to affect Steve in ways he didn’t really want to investigate, as he had said!
Because sometimes when Eddie leaned over him to whisper some shit and needle him, with his surprisingly muscled chest against Steve’s shoulder or back, his body hot through the thin cotton of his t-shirts, so close that Steve could feel those muscles and the barely there raised texture of his scar tissue and his miraculously beating heart —
Because sometimes when Eddie leaned over him and his hair tickles Steve’s neck, soft despite the way he was relying on Nancy to help him perm his hair in the basement bathroom of the Squawk and they’ve damn near fried it off four times now —
Because sometimes when Eddie leaned over him, with his breath hot and damp against his ear —
Something in Steve stirred. Something that felt huge and scary and simple all at once, that he never wanted to put a name to because it had always been easier to pretend. Something that when he inevitably ended up talking around it in some rambling conversation with her made Robin narrow her eyes and say his name soft and slow liked she’d done a million years ago, drugged to their eyeballs on the floor of a groady public women’s restroom.
And add it all together, right? Add the cooped up, stir-crazy fear and loathing of Hawkins, and the miasma of terror that they knew but no one else really, truly did, and shake it up with whatever the fuck had been building in Steve since time, like, immemorial or whatever the fucking nerds say. Why was anyone fucking surprised that he was about fifteen minutes and one bad interaction with a clerk at the Big Buy from cracking like a goddamn egg?
He was primed, right, in this moment to, like, freak a little. And Munson had to know. He had to.
So when Steve made a face, and so when Eddie quietly, snidely asked him if he was ragged up and that was why he was being such a bitch lately, he blushed, sure, he elbowed the other boy hard and mean but he also just pushed that shit down. Just — just for now.
But he thought Munson was probably waiting for it too, same as he was waiting to snap. In any event, he seemed wholly unsurprised when Steve grabbed him hard by the wrist before he could try to follow the rest of the crowd up and out of the basement to go about their lives and pretend they weren’t, in three days time, about to embark on yet another monumentally suicidal side quest.
No one else noticed. Mike and Dustin and Will were too busy chattering about something or other, and Hopper and Joyce and Nancy were continuing to strategize, and Lucas and El were whispering about how they were going to sneak El into the hospital to see Max that evening. They turned to Robin, who was lingering just behind them, giving Steve a brief but hairy eyeball, and asked for her help and then she was gone too. The basement was quiet for a heart beat, two. The bookcase above opened, ten seconds passed, and closed again. Steve exploded.
“Man, what the fuck is your fucking deal, Munson?”
He stared at him, eyes wide and hands up like he didn’t understand why this attack was coming and where from. But he also had a little smirk at the corner of his mouth, tugging lightly at the scar tissue that bisected his left cheek. It made Steve flush a little hotter.
“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, sugar,” he was saying. “I got a lot that could answer that question.”
“Don’t — don’t play dumb,” Steve said. He pointed a finger at him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“‘Fraid I don’t,” he said. “You wanna shade some light on what exactly has your panties in a twist now?”
“That!” He pointed again. “That shit! The, the names and the girly shit! I don’t — I don’t wear —”
Eddie whistled, long and low. He’d easily extracted himself from Steve’s grip, before, and had settled himself back against the table with their maps and shit after. Now, he pushed himself off and ambled towards Steve who was standing, hands in fists at his sides, in the middle of the room. He wasn’t quick about it, Eddie, all smooth long limbs and the slightest stutter in his gait because the tendons in his left leg always got tight when he’d been sitting for too long.
He was smirking in full now, saying, “Aw, big boy, is that it? Can’t take a little locker room teasing all of a sudden?”
Steve swallowed. He could. He could. It was just — it was Eddie, and —
“I can take locker room teasing,” he said hotly, shoving down the rest of his thoughts. “You’re just being an ass on purpose.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” he scoffed.
“You are! You are! And it’s ridiculous,” he said. “You’re ridiculous. Everyone has to take a jab at me for being bitchy when I’m the only one acting normal in this situation! And, like, you’re also being a bitch.”
“Yeah, but I don’t take it out on everyone —”
“Yeah, just fucking me —”
Munson was nearly toe to toe with him now. He said, “It’s just so fun to see you get all twisted up and sour. Anyway, I thought it’d be fun for you. Little mean girl enrichment, but oh how the times have changed, I guess. You can dish it out, huh, but you can’t take it.”
“I can take it,” he said. His face was flaming red, it had to be, Eddie was smirking like the cat that ate the canary, and they were going in goddamn circles here but Steve couldn’t stop it. Fuck, he was starting to think he didn’t want to stop it.
“Yeah, sugar?” Eddie asked. “I don’t really think so. I think you’re all pent up and bitchy ‘cause of it, because you haven’t been able to take anything. Like, Jesus, when was the last time you were on a date and got some?”
He clenched his jaw. “That’s besides the point —”
“Is it? Because from over here it really looks like you haven’t gotten fucked hard enough lately and you’re taking it out on the rest of us.”
Something possessed Steve in that moment. He wasn’t sure what; honestly, he was prepared to blame Vecna, because he didn’t even splutter in outrage before snapping out, “Well, too bad I’m on my period then, huh, and you can’t take one for the team and screw the attitude outta me.”
“And why the fuck not? Personally, I’ve never minded making a bit of a mess,” he retorted and then —
Well, then they were kissing.
He wasn’t sure who moved first. Mortifyingly, he was pretty sure it was him, hard and fast with too much teeth, but he wasn’t going to admit to it; and, anyway, Eddie was giving it back just as hard. He pulled Steve into him with a rough, forceful movement. His fingers were like claws against his hips, his thigh as he hiked it up over his own hip, around his waist. Their combined weight sent them careening into a wall, but they never broke apart, making out hard and fast and sloppy as the rough brick of the basement dug into his shoulders. They ground, mindless, against each other, and Steve distantly thought he should push him away. He should stop him. He should stop this.
He didn’t, couldn’t.
Steve could hear himself moaning and he pressed back into Eddie, panting into his mouth. He opened his own wide, an invitation, one that Eddie took without hesitation. He pressed his tongue into Steve’s mouth, ran it along the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth, shoved it down his throat.
God, he was hard against him. Eddie was hard against him. He was too but he felt that in a far off kind of way, as if estranged from his own body except for in all the ways that he could feel Eddie’s. It felt so good, dirty and raw and forbidden, pressed up against him, and Steve arched into it. Christ, he felt big too, and he felt sort of helplessly turned on by it, his mind whirling a mile a minute because Eddie’s dick was hard against his hip and it was huge and Steve wanted it in his mouth.
The desire shocked him, made him pull away gasping.
And for all that Eddie had been mean and pushy and rough with him, teasing and biting, he stopped. One of those hands tight on his hip drifted up to his face, ghosted along his cheekbone, as he asked, sweet and soft, “You okay? Is, is this okay?”
He swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. It was okay, it was so okay, but it also wasn’t, scary and monumental. Steve shook his head, then nodded, body at war with his mind but also in sync, and so then he tried to lean in to kiss him some more but Eddie used the hand still on his face to keep him back.
His eyes were big and searching. His fingers on his face were demanding but also gentle, drifting to tuck some of his hair behind his ear, and he said, “Princess —”
Steve felt his fucking dick jump in his briefs. God, he was wet. He could feel how he was leaking, hard and desperate just from some kisses and rough handling. He wondered, shuddering, if Eddie could feel it too, against the thigh he had wedged between Steve’s legs.
“—you gotta tell me this is okay,” he was saying. “I won’t — you gotta tell me you want this too, or I gotta, like, go live in the fucking woods or —”
“I want you,” he said. He was surprised to find he was unsurprised by this, that he meant it whole-heartedly and fully. He didn’t just want this; he wanted Eddie. Every part of this moment — they’d been led there by snide remarks and rolled eyes and middle school pigtail pulling. God, they’d been flirting, he thought, for months now probably and Steve had been too bullheaded and scared of his own shadow to stop it. He wanted Eddie.
“Want you,” Steve said again. Eddie’s breath catches and he leans into his touch, into the whole of him, his embrace, his body. “Want you.”
Things happened fast after that.
It was a short journey from the wall Steve was pressed up against to the pullout couch that doubled as Eddie’s bed in the corner of the room — penance, he said solemnly once, for all the years his poor uncle slept on one — but somehow in that time he lost his shirt and shoes while Eddie got stripped of his jacket and flannel. The tank he was wearing beneath it had the armpits cut out practically to his waist, and seeing the dark hair at his pits and the way the skin of his ribs blurred in alternate colors of dark ink, pinkish healing scar tissue, and pale skin really did something to him. Probably, he thought, the same thing his chest hair did to Eddie himself, if the way that he promptly abandoned their hot and heavy kissing so that he could bite and lick at his furry clavicle, moaning lowly.
When the back of Eddie’s knees hit the pullout, he sank backwards, smoothly taking Steve with him. He settled him in his lap, Steve’s legs spread wide over him, their hard dicks pressing together for a moment before Eddie pulled him up higher and closer. He was mouthing along the column of his neck now, journeying up to the hinge of his jaw and back down again. Steve stuck his hands in his hair, pulling.
“God, yeah, sugar,” Eddie slurred into his skin. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
“Eddie,” he whined. “Eddie, c’mon, man.”
“What? What do you want?”
“I don’t, I don’t know, shit, I —”
He pulled Eddie back by the hair, arching his neck, and leaned down to kiss him. He tasted like Lucky Strikes and Yoo-Hoo, and the patchy stubble from where he swore he was growing out a beard chaffed on Steve’s cheeks. But the burn was good, too, and the taste of him was wild and unfamiliar but somehow not and, Jesus, the way his tongue slid against his own was hot and masterful. He wanted everywhere.
His hands were on Steve’s hips again, rocking him slowly against his body in time with the motions of his own hips, like he didn’t trust him to keep whatever rhythm was set. Which, fuck, that was kind of hot, the idea of Eddie taking control like this, the idea of Steve being new to this. He was, in a way, he thought, and something shamefully and bright burned through him.
“Eddie,” he whined again and, yes, God, he was whining. He hated it; he loved it.
Those long fingered hands, cool and clever, slid up Steve’s sides. “Use your words, princess.”
“Fuck you,” he ground out as he ground down.
“Maybe, maybe not.” He bit his lip, moving his hands along his ribs until both of them were on chest. He cupped them under his pecs, pushing them up and in until the barely there swell of them turned into something more, something obscene and hot. Eddie said, “Think I wanna take my time with you first, play with you. How’s that sound? Can I play with you?”
He breathed out hard. “Fuck.”
“Good boy,” Eddie said, and then he ducked his head down and sucked one of his nipples into his mouth.
Steve jerked against him with a little high pitched shout, and he could feel Eddie grin around his mouthful. But he could barely pay attention to that, stuck wholly on the sensation of him suckling on him more than anything. He’d never — he — like, he’d played with a girl’s nipples before, right? Sometimes they liked it, sometimes they looked at him like he grew another eyeball or something, but no one had ever done it to him before, obviously. But now Eddie was sucking at him, getting them hard and peaked and then pulling back to lick, kittenish, at them, and Steve was practically panting now, hands tightening the grip in Eddie’s hair.
“God, wanted to do this for forever,” he said, gently tugging at one nipple with his teeth before moving to the other so it wasn’t left out. Steve stared down at it, spit-slick and tight in the cool air, the hair around it matted and wet too. Eddie, hard at work on the other, had his eyes closed almost blissfully. He was murmuring, “Always walking around with them all hard under your t-shirts, I swear you do it on purpose. So fucking pretty. So fucking pretty. Thought they were pierced, once, and fuck you’d look so hot with them pierced, baby.”
“Yeah?”
“Never be able to keep these hot little titties out of my mouth if you did,” he said boldly. He leaned in, looking up at Steve through his lashes, and sucked meanly at him, soft tongue and hard teeth. He said, “Hard pressed right now, in fact. Get it?”
He stared down at him, cotton-headed with lust, until Eddie ground up into him. He’d slid further up Eddie’s body as they’d been making out and he had been using his pecs as a veritable chew toy, and it left him at apparently the perfect angle to rock the hard length of his cock between Steve’s denim clad ass cheeks. The part of his brain that was still trying to convince him this was wrong was telling him it shouldn’t feel good, it shouldn’t; but that part of Steve was getting quieter and quieter as other parts of him shouted it the fuck down, and so instead of pulling back, he pressed into it, rocked back, and fucking moaned.
Eyes darkening, Eddie snapped his hips up again and he made the noise again, moaned again, and gorund against him.
“Yeah?” he asked. He gripped Steve by the back of the neck like an unruly kitten and returned the other to his hip, encouraging the obscene motions of their bodies once again. “You like that, princess?”
Then, all at once, he let him go. Steve pitched forward, whining, confused, but it didn’t last long, because Eddie let him go so that he could tuck his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans, cup his ass cheeks firmly, and pull. Christ, he spread him apart and ground himself up again in one smooth, filthy motion. It had the dual purpose, too, of getting Steve’s chest back at Eddie’s mouth because as he basically fucked him through his jeans he captured one of his, fuck, one of his tits back in his mouth and started sucking like he was trying to give it a hicky.
Helpless, Steve just gripped Eddie’s hair and let his body be used. Awful, high pitched noises, needy, dropped from his mouth but they just seemed to spur the boy under him to go fast, harder.
It took him probably a good two minutes of this blinding pleasure to realize Eddie was talking in between sucking on his tits and grinding into him. He could barely hear him over the terrible sounds he was making, but when he did — shit, when he did, it lit him on fire from the inside out.
“Knew you’d like this, knew you fucking needed this,” he was saying. “Such a pretty little fucking brat, just needed someone to take you in a firm hand, huh? Just needed someone to hold you down and fuck the brat right outta you. Bet you didn’t even know you needed it, did you, baby? Didn’t know you needed someone to play with this tight little hole here.” His hands pulled harder on his ass and he swore one finger managed to circle his asshole through the denim, making him whine and buck. “God, can’t believe no one’s even thought about slipping you a pinky while they blowed you. Such a tragedy. Such a travesty. No wonder you’re such a bitch, all pent up because you won’t let anyone fuck you. But it’s gonna be all mine, now. Fucking lucky. Can’t believe it. So fucking lucky, gonna fuck you all sweet and docile, it’s going to be so fucking good, princess, I promise.”
And this was it, right? This was the moment Steve should stop it. Like, there were a million other moments, before this, but this was the big one. This was what should make Steve scramble out of Eddie’s lap and run far, far away. He was talking about fucking him. He was talking about putting his dick in him. It was gay. It was so gay. But —
Jesus fucking Christ, he wanted it. Steve wanted it. He’d known he wanted Eddie, he’d accepted that, but wanting to get fucked? Wanting another man to hold him down and put it in him? He felt hot all over, turned on and freaked out, and he wanted it. He was pretty sure he’d never wanted anything as bad as what Eddie was teasing him with right now. And that was some fucking shit, right? Because he’s been with girls. He’d been with lots of girls — shown them a good time with his hands, his mouth, fucked them until they’d come on his cock twice. He’d laid on his back and watched them bounce on him, tits heavy, mouths red and wet. And he’d — it —
Like — it had felt good. But it had never left like this.
All those times, he realized, everything from the last eighteen goddamn months — longer, probably, God so much longer — all of it just coalescing in his mind now. All those time he’d felt like it was a chore, or something. Like he was doing something to check off a list, not like he was about to die if he didn’t get his way immediately. (Namely, right now? HIs pants off, his dick out, and as many of Eddie Munson’s fingers up his ass as he could get.)
He flashed now to a random conversation with Robin, maybe eight months into this shitshow. She’d gotten up the stones to ask him to ask Bauman for a titty mag — easily one of the top three embarrassing moments of Steve’s life but hey the things you do for your sister from another mister or whatever — and they’d been looking at it together. She’d been too nervous to look at it by herself for the first time, face tomato red when she’d asked, claiming that Steve should be used to it since he grew up a jock, which was harsh but accurate, so he’d agreed, even started narrating things when she’d gotten too overwhelmed to look.
“It’s weird,” she’d said. “You’re being all weird and clinical and it’s like you’re, you’re, you’re narrating a, a, a wildlife show or something!”
“Well, it was your idea! How do you want me to read it? I mean, would you rather I pop a boner while looking at naked chicks together in your childhood bedroom. Sorry, but pass. I’d rather die, Bucks!”
Of course, this had prompted her to look directly at his junk and say suspiciously, “I mean, you haven’t gotten laid in forever” — and, okay, what was with people and their obsession with his sex life, he was realizing — “so shouldn’t you be popping one? You’re a boy, I’ve been laid to believe naked women do things do you that are beyond your anatomical control.”
“Well, I do have control,” he’d retorted, which —
He'd chubbed up almost immediately when Eddie talked about making a mess with him, he was pretty sure. And, if he was being honest — like totally and utterly, brutally honest — every time he was with a girl, he’d had to work his way up to it.
Steve even tried to picture it now, superimposed some random girl — Phoebe Cates, Jennifer Grey, Brooke Shields, someone — over Eddie. He tried to picture himself in her lap, all spread out and open, while she talked to him mean and sexy about fingering his ass and —
Nothing, he thought. Nothing at all.
But when it was Eddie — when it was Eddie, beneath him, talking to him, kissing him, fingering him —
Oh.
Well.
Okay, then.
He was — well.
He was —
Was he gay? He had a fleeting thought he could be like Bowie, but then he tried to think about Phoebe-Jennifer-Brooke again and, yep — nothing.
So. Like.
Was it pretty embarrassing that all it took was some mean back talk and Eddie Munson about to stick his fingers up his butt for Steve to realize he was probably never into girls in the first place? Sure. But also, he realized, as more memories and thoughts and conversations whipped passed his mind’s eye like some fucked up movie montage, it had also definitely a thought that’s been circling the drain of his brain since Robin told him about Tammy, so maybe he needed to cut himself some slack.
Still. Robin was gonna laugh herself fuckin’ sick over this one.
Plus, it was definitely something he could freak out with her about in a bigger way later. He had more pressing concerns at the moment, namely: Eddie’s fingers cautiously petting against the button of his fly. Let it never be said that Steve didn’t have follow through when he wanted something. Sure, he might be late to the game, but he was there and he was going to enjoy it, right?
He lifted his hips into it minutely and said breathily, “Yeah, yeah,” which was all the permission Eddie seemingly needed. That, and the way Steve moaned when his dick basically tried to escape from its denim prison on its own, the needy weight of it all but unzipping his jeans for them. Eddie, of course, seemed delighted.
Fingers ghosting along the head of his cock and the wide, dark wet spot on his y-fronts, Eddie said, “Look how wet you are, baby — all that for me?”
“Fuck you,” Steve said through gritted teeth because clearly yes it was.
Eddie swatted lightly at his thigh but otherwise didn’t chastise him this time for his, yes, his brattiness. He seemed too distracted with trying to get Steve naked which, like, he wasn’t gonna stop him, so. He allowed himself to be pushed back to his feet in front of the pullout, Eddie scooting forward to pull down his jeans and to briefly plant his face directly into Steve’s crotch, breathing deeply. It made him burn all over; and he felt like he might self-immolate when he took a step further and licked at the wet spot, teasingly pulling the fabric inches from the tip of his dick and suckling at the fabric daintily.
He stared up at Steve like he’d done when he’d sucked his tits, and then with a little smirk started lightly bobbing his head. His hips flinched and flexed, begging wordlessly to have his cock taken into that warmth instead. Instead, Eddie’s smirk grew and then he all but ripped Steve’s briefs down his legs, didn’t even get the damn things all the way off before he was getting manhandled back into Eddie’s lap.
There was a long, breathless moment. Steve felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with his in fact sheer nakedness. He felt vulnerable and raw and also powerful, stripped to nothing but skin as he kneeled above Eddie. He was still dressed, impossibly hard looking in the confines of his tight jeans, but he looked naked too, in his eyes — the same way Steve was.
“Kiss me again please,” he begged, and Eddie surged up into him. He cradled the back of Steve’s head with such beautiful gentleness, their bodies pressed wantonly together. Steve rocked his naked dick against Eddie’s hip, his hard cock catching now and again on the edge of his tank, leaving little snail trails of wet pre-cum against his belly every few thrusts. They kissed, languid and slow and sweet, even as their bodies pressed so filthily together. And then — then one of Eddie’s fingers pressed against his hole.
It was unexpected but welcome, the shock of strange pleasure sharp and electrifying against the base of his spine. It was too dry and cold — Eddie’s hands were always so fucking cold — but Steve pressed back against it all the same. He wanted to know what it was like; he wanted to feel it; he wanted Eddie to take what he wanted from him and give him back more times a thousand.
When he pulled back, it felt like the moment, that gentle, eager touch, had lasted both forever and less than a second. Steve nearly threw a temper tantrum in his lap until he saw him lifting his hand so that he could spit onto his fingers.
“Breathe, baby,” said Eddie, and then he took one of those spit-slick fingers against his hole and pushed.
His finger didn’t so much pop in as it sank, Steve’s body willingly giving in so that Eddie could make a space for himself. It hurt, a little, and felt more weird than pleasurable at first, but Eddie was kissing him again. He was dragging little sucking kisses down his neck, over the knob of his shoulder, against the sharp line of his clavicle. He trailed his lips and tongue down his sternum, and then back up again, swallowing the stilted moans of pain and pleasure gurgling from Steve’s throat.
“Yeah,” he was saying, that one finger twisting and writhing and petting within him. “Yeah, you’re taking it so good, baby. Taking it like a fucking champ. You want another one? You want me to play with this tight fucking hole until you can take my whole fucking fist.”
“Eddie,” he gasped. “Eddie —”
“You’d look so hot,” he was saying. “You look so hot, and I just got the one in you. And fuck it’s sucking me in, huh, this hole wants me so fucking bad. It needs this, needs me to just open it up and make a fucking mess. God, I wanna get you leaking. You’re already so wet, I bet you’d love it, huh? Bet you’d love if your hole was all stuffed full and leaking with jizz too. So pretty, seeing all that white run down your thighs, fucking filthy with it —”
“Eddie,” he gasped again, and another finger bullied its way inside. He all but shouted, the sound torn from his throat, and he thanked pretty much every god above him and the ones below too that everyone had plans for the evening, that the station above them was empty as Eddie worked him over and open with spit sticky fingers. It burned and it was too much and Steve was writhing back into the feeling, whining and begging for more wall his hips rolled fitfully into it the sensation and away. He wanted a third finger; he wanted his fist; he was going to be ruined forever, always wanting Eddie Munson’s fingers fucking him open. He would never be satisfied again, without it. He needed it, he needed it, he needed it —
He was sucking on his tits again now. God, they felt puffy and raw from his cruel mouth, looked it too when he blearily looked down to see him at work. His mouth, cherry red and full, his eyes closed in his own bliss, and his bicep flexing and working as another finger was pressed into his too tight, dry hole.
Steve reached behind him and grabbed Eddie’s wrist, unsure if he wanted to stop him or force his fingers as far deep as they could get. Eddie’s eyes popped open at the feel of him and before he could say anything, Steve gasped, “More. Eddie, more.”
He pulled his fingers out of him and spit on them again. Steve dove forward and sucked them, spit and all, into his mouth before he could reach around him and out them back. They both moaned, Eddie’s eyes blown wide and dark, and Steve mumbled around his fingers, “More, please.”
“God, I’ll give you everything,” said Eddie. His fingers left Steve’s mouth with an obscene slurping sound, soaking wet now, and he pressed three fingers back into his hole. He sighed, threw his head back, and rode his fingers. Eddie leaned up, kissed the column of his throat, bit at his Adam’s apple, muttering, “God, take it, baby. Take it. So good, so fucking hot riding my fingers. God, I wanna fuck you. Would you let me fuck you like this someday, sugar? So tight and barely wet enough to get my cock in you but I bet you’d love it, me fucking you all raw like that.”
Shit, he thought, indistinct. Between them, Steve’s dick was proud and red, almost purple at the head, straining and soaking fucking wet. Briefly, he touched himself, just ran the palm of his hand over his cockhead, and Eddie mouthed at his chest, smirking down at him as he touched himself.
“Like that, huh? Should’ve figured. Probably would blow your load instantly with my cock in you raw. Think I could give you those six nuggets if I try hard enough, princess?”
“Only one way to find out,” said Steve through gritted teeth, his voice high and breathy. God, Eddie fucking him raw. “Wanna sit on this fat cock, c’mon. Fuck me with it. Fuck me, Eddie, take my virginity, fuck me, gimme a baby —”
It took him a second to realize Eddie’s fingers had stopped moving, that he was still beneath him. He looked down and he was just staring up at him, eyes the widest they'd been yet, a little shocky looking, all pupil. His throat was working like he’d been convulsively swallowing. He said, a little shakily, “What?”
“You heard me,” said Steve, because he had to have. And also, like, he fully started this shit! Steve was not gonna be shamed for this, right? “Want you to take my virginity and, and give me a fucking baby, c’mon, Ed, please. Don’t, don’t make fun of me, I —”
“I’m not making fun of you,” he said slowly. He seemed to be getting some of his equilibrium back, and his fingers started to stroke again which was bad for Steve’s concentration but great for literally everything else about this moment. Eddie said, “Just didn’t think a slut like you could be a virgin.”
“Don’t think it counts if it’s only girls,” said Steve, rocking back into his fingers, trying to make him go hard and mean again. God, it hurt but the burn was so fucking good. “Don’t think it counts if — wanna get fucked by a man. Wanna get my hole fucked open by, by you, then it’ll count. Wanna, wanna lose my real virginity, Ed, c’mon, please, fuck me.”
Later, he would never be sure how he ended up over the arm of the pullout. It happened as fast as that first kiss, the second; it happened as fast as being up against the wall making out and then straddling Eddie on that same pullout; it happened as fast as his shirt coming off and his dick getting out. One second he was getting fingered in Eddie’s lap, talking about his virginity and having a baby, and the next he was over the arm of the pullout and Eddie’s tongue was in his ass.
Jesus, Eddie’s tongue was in his ass. He was moaning, as he was doing it, gasping into Steve’s hole in between long, sweet licked of his ass, fucking the thick, wet muscle of it in and out. The sound was frankly offensive, and so goddamn hot, the slurping mess of it under Eddie’s moans and Steve’s own insane noises, high-pitched, wanton things, sounds he’d never heard himself make before. He was babbling, crying wordless and demanding, pushing himself hard back into Eddie’s face as Eddie moaned more and speared his tongue deep into him.
Two fingers joined his tongue as Steve cried out, rutting his dick frantically against the arm of the sofa even if he was getting some kind of contact burn from the godawful brocade. Eddie grabbed his hips tight, yanked him back until he was no longer touching it. He bit his asscheek, fucking growled, “You don’t come until I’m inside you,” and then he stuck two fingers in him, scissored them wide, and spit into his hole.
He cried out again. He was, actually, pretty sure he was fully sobbing at this point. His cock was so hard it hurt and his ass felt gaping, raw, and Eddie was sucking at his rim. It was messy and hot and fast. It was dirty and wild. He felt like he was losing his goddamn mind and he was certain he was never sleeping with anyone else ever again. Like, how could they compare to this madman eating his fucking ass? God, he didn’t even think — like, who did that? Who fucking did that? Eddie Munson, that was who, he thought hysterically and pushed back again into the hedonistic feeling.
Distantly, there was the sound of a zipper, and Steve sobbed once more. “C’mon, c’mon.”
“Just a second, sweetness,” he said, then reached down to work his hand up and down Steve’s cock once, twice, before his grip disappeared.
He couldn’t get a good look at it, really, for his vantage point of being ass up and chest down on the arm of the couch. But what he could see was maybe a little alarming and also mouth watering. He was shocked that Eddie had ever skipped gym because, with the heat he was packing, Steve knew guys who would be running around with it out and hard proudly every class. Thick, uncut, and heavy, he watched Eddie rub his spit and the slickness from Steve’s own dick on it before he lined it up. And if he thought that was dirty-filthy-good, well — nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of him actually putting it in him.
The sweet, hard burn of his fingers had nothing on the feeling of him as his thick, wet head pushed through the tight ring of his asshole. God, he thought, how could he still be that tight? Maybe Eddie was just that fucking big. Which, like, duh, he saw, Eddie was hung, but Jesus it was enormous carving its way inside him.
Mouth dropping open in pleasure, he bore back against him but those long, cold fingers on his hips halted his pushiness. He said, “Easy, sugar, you gotta take it easy. Be good. I wanna hurt you but I don’t want hurt you,” and kissed the top of his spine.
Steve figured he could maybe give it to him, let him take it slow, just for now, and Eddie cooed, “Yeah, just like that, princess, let me in.”
But, like, just for now.
Eddie worked that fat dick of his slowly into Steve. It felt like he was screwing into him at a frankly glacial pace and the care he was taking was almost doing the opposite of soothing Steve. He wanted to push back into it, he wanted to take it — wanted to be ridden hard and fast and put away wet. But Eddie wanted him to be good, to take it easy, just for now, just to start.
Eventually, he was fully seated inside him. Steve was burning up: his ass, his whole body. Eddie was kissing his spine again, running his hands up and down his sides. He was desperate to know what he looked like: wished, madly, that they had done this upstairs, so he could turn and see the reflection of them, joined together like this, fucking. He wanted to see himself bent over the arm of a sofa, naked and covered in bite marks, his nipples puffy and raw and abused with pleasure, his legs spread wide so Eddie could make a home between them. He wanted to see Eddie over him, fully dressed with his fly down just enough that he could get his cock out, one hand tight on his hip and the other hand running slowly, slowly, slowly up his spine until he had it curled into the tangled, sweaty hear at the base of Steve’s neck and pulled —
“So beautiful like this,” Eddie said, pulling Steve’s head back by the hair, forcing his back into an arch as he clung to the arm of the sofa as he fucked his frankly monster dong in and out of Steve’s hole. “Taking it so good for me, like a perfect little cocksleeve.”
Steve shuddered.
“Yeah? You like that?” he asked. “We’re both learning so much about you today, huh, sugar? I mean, who would’ve thought that the Steve Harrington would go so dumb for a little cock in him.”
“Not little,” he slurred.
Eddie had pulled out until it was just the tip of his dick in him; he slammed back in and Steve fucking yelped, his cock leaking so badly it made a noise as the pre-cum splashed to the floor.
“No, it isn’t, is it?” said Eddie, almost philosophically. “And you’re taking it so good, baby.” The hand on his hip drifted from its rough grip to cradle his belly. “Think we can see it in your belly, sugar? Huh, princess? Think we could see this fat cock in here if we really looked?”
God, he wanted to see it. With the way Eddie had his head pulled back, he couldn't really see anything other than his own hands and the barest hint of his dick as it bobbed with the motion of Eddie’s steady, hard thrusts. But he wanted to see Eddie’s dick moving in him, wanted to see his thick, uncut cock rearranging his fucking guts, pushing his navel out like it really had put a baby in him. Fuck, he thought, what the fuck was wrong with him? He really was losing it.
But it was so goddamn hot, Eddie running his hand over his stomach and pressing down, biting at the hinge of his jaw before whispering in his ear, “Yeah, there it is. Feel me, princess? Feel me so deep inside you? So fucking hot like this, giving yourself over to me. Let me fuck you like this. Do you want your reward, sugar? You want me to cum inside this tight cunt?”
Steve, probably predictably, came almost instantly.
It was hot and heavy and fast, his cock jerking painfully in the open air as he came nearly violently. He felt cum on his chin, and all the while Eddie was fucking him through it as he sobbed his name, begging for more more more. He was rubbing the cum into Steve’s chest where it landed, turning his face with that cum covered hand now so that he could kiss him messily and hungrily, lick at the cum he left streaked on his chin, as his huge dick pounded relentlessly into Steve. He was given no quarter, the pleasure curling his toes and being pushed to another peak as his cock touched some spot in him that was electric, pulsing. He thought he was coming again.
“So fucking hot,” Eddie was panting into his mouth, licking into him. It had to be painful, the way Steve was tightening reflexively around him, but he didn’t stop, just fucked harder. “Liked that, did you? Liked me talking about this tight cunt? It’s so good. So tight, so hot. God, it’s so good. I could fuck you forever.”
“Promise?”
“Promise, princess.” His hips slapped against Steve’s ass, again and again. “Said I was gonna give you a baby, too, right? So I gotta, fuck, I gotta keep giving it to you. Don’t think it takes on the first try, so I gotta keep filling you up, huh? Gotta keep pumping this cunt full of jizz, make it leak outta you —”
“Make a mess,” he slurred.
“Yeah, baby.” His voice was a little strained now but the motion of his hips did not let up, the thick pressure of his cock inside him grinding deep. He’d finally released his grip on Steve’s hair, and he collapsed forward, a limp little rag doll for Eddie’s pleasure as he gripped his hips and fucked into his ass over and over. “I’ll fuck you and fuck you and fuck you, keep you all messy and wet, because I know what bratty little sluts like you need. Need cock to keep you all sweet and happy, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Steve. “Yeah.”
Eddie pounded away at him until Steve thought he was going to black out, his body wrung out and strung out on the pleasure that was still insisting on zinging through his body even though his dick was limp and spent against his thighs, dribbling. He whimpered, wishing, a little, he was a girl, that he had a cunt so he could just come again and again and again on Eddie’s cock. Because, fuck, he was still going, fucking into him with a single-minded focus, his earlier dirty talk shifting into something wilder now, something almost unconscious as he chased his own peak and kept trying to push Steve’s body further and further towards — something, fuck, he didn’t know what.
“That’s it, baby, just take it, take my cock, so good, so fucking good, c’mon, c’mon, let me have it, let yourself go,” he was saying as he screwed himself into Steve, his hips starting to lose rhythm now but determined,. “Wanna, fuck, wanna, wanna see you come again, please, come on my cock, baby, come on my dick again, princess.”
“Can’t,” Steve whined. “Can’t, I’m not, not hard, can’t come.”
“You can,” said Eddie. “You can, baby, one more time. Just let go.”
He gripped his hips tighter and slammed into him, once, twice, three times. The head of his dick hit that spot inside him, again and again and again, and something felt like it was coming over him, or in him. A huge wave of feeling, he thought, cresting inside his body, something tidal. His toes were curling at the overstimulation and then Eddie hit it again, reaching down to press something just below the base of his balls and —
“Fuck,” cried Steve. “Fuck, I’m, Eddie, Ed, I’m gonna, fuck, I’m gonna come —”
Fingers pressing hard against that spot and his dick relentless, Eddie kissed him sloppily, said, “Yeah, yeah, you are, c’mon, come for me.”
And, impossibly, Steve did. He looked down at himself with hazy eyes and saw that his dick, while still soft, was spilling cum from the tip like a leaky faucet. It was obscene and hot and unreal, as Eddie rabbited his hips into him and then froze. Then, heat filled him, heavy and fast, and Steve, well, Steve —
Steve blacked out, just a little.
When he surfaced from whatever coma-like state Eddie’s cock had sent him into, he was back on the sofa, still naked, and once again straddling Eddie. His head was against the curve of his neck and, bent like this, he could just see him from the corner of his eye as one of Eddie’s hands lazily pet his hair in between drags of a joint that hung limply from his red, kiss bitten mouth. He’d lost his tank, at some point, and hadn’t done his jeans back up; Steve could feel his dick — soft, now, but still huge — against his thigh. He also still had his fingers up his ass.
It wasn’t like he was still fingering him, he thought, thought they moved from time to time, idly petting like the hand in his hair. It was more like he just wanted to keep feeling Steve like this, feeling where their bodies had coupled and become something new, for however long it had lasted. It was, in fact, somehow hotter than coming harder than he ever had in his life, twice, and still being fingered afterwards. It was more possessive than that, but also thoughtless and sweet.
He tucked his face further into Eddie’s neck. He smelled like sweat and sex and weed. Steve murmured, “Robin’s gonna kill you for smoking in here.”
Eddie snorted. “Think she’ll hate me a little more for swiping your v-card.”
“Nah,” he replied. He closed his eyes, breathed. “Pretty sure she;s gonna throw me a yay you’re finally gay party or something. Like, for that.”
The fingers in him froze and he frowned.
“Don’t stop,” he whined and, tentatively, they started up again, with a little more purpose, now. He sighed happily, and Eddie snorted again.
“Yeah, there’s my little slut,” he said. He sounded surprisingly unsure, despite all that led them here, and Steve snorted now himself.
“Yep,” he said. He turned his head so he could still rest it on Eddie’s shoulder while pouting at him. “And I hope you know you’re stuck with this slut. I don’t fuck just any guy when I’m on my period.”
“No,” said Eddie, almost soft, secret. “You don’t fuck anyone on your period.”
“Just you,” Steve said. Then he leaned up to kiss Eddie, long and slow, with probably an excess of tongue, before saying, “So, you got a plan for those fingers, or what?”