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Whenever the sky opened up during those heat-exhaustive days of the long summer months, it was never a polite affair. Rather, the rain would come pelting down in slick, relentless sheets, and seemingly with a desire to make its presence widespread and known—plinking against the windows, pummelling onto the grass while soaking moisture into the dirt, and creating a misty sort of haze over the small town that only added to the lingering layer of what was already there. Summer rain was rarely welcome, but it would arrive all the same, often lobbing a wrench into whatever plans had already been established for the blistering day—and this was precisely what had occurred during the evening at hand.
The sound of footsteps just outside—along with a quick, echoing knock—pulled Jonathan from his thoughts, and when he opened the front door, the sight of Steve’s limp hair, yet eager grin, was enough to make him tolerate the licks of wind and scattered rain droplets that’d rushed in alongside the boy.
“So, I brought…Howard the Duck, and the biggest pack of jelly beans I could find.” Water dripped from his brow, and it left small, coin-sized splats upon the old flooring; Jonathan stared at it for a moment, before fixing his eyes upwards again and meeting Steve’s impassioned own.
“A creepy, anthropomorphic duck movie.” He raised a brow. “And jelly beans.” He fought an admirable battle, but then lost against the weak wave of laughter that’d spilled forth from his lips.
“Well, it seemed right up your alley, babe.” Steve flashed something teasing as he stepped fully inside, but not before shirking off his muddy shoes and leaving them by the door—which Jonathan was appreciative of, because his mother would definitely have had something to say about tracking all that gunk in once she’d returned from her late-night shift in a few hours’ time; Will was spending the night at the Wheelers’ place, as he so often did these days—the frequency of it was growing into a state of peculiarity that Jonathan had elected not to comment on, for the interest of being quite aware that it’d be unwise to weigh this stone in his hand from where he stood in his own precarious house of glass.
The house of glass, in question, that had currently decided to dip his head low in order to leave a warm, rain-damp kiss along the side of his face, smiling brashly into it for a moment before he went to go fiddle with the VCR. For this night, the original plan they’d made had been to ride up in Steve’s car to a drive-in flick, an idyllic backdrop against the gossamer summer night, but this was before that torrential downpour had begun its rapid descent—which brought them to now, the only two in the shadowy lighting of the Byers’ residence while the ridiculous movie began to play. Though perhaps, Jonathan mused from where his head was lolled against one of the couch cushions and his legs were propped up on Steve’s lap, the inane quality of the film had been his intention all along, because although it had drawn a few small laughs from them as the runtime reached about a quarter in, it certainly wasn’t anything that kept their attention raptly focused on the glowing screen ahead.
Fretful dialogue spewed from one of the character’s lips at some inconsequential point, but Jonathan’s eyes were not there. Rather, they had shifted from the screen and were now focused upon Steve, so intently that he could’ve watched that scene playing out anyways, solely by watching its reflection as it was cast within the clear sheen of his eyes. The bag of candy was cut open between them, and Jonathan tracked it as Steve’s hand reached into the bag, scooped up a small handful of the multicolored confections, and dropped it into his mouth—he did not know why, but he felt his fingers sharply clench the fabric beneath him as Steve’s throat casually bobbed from the moment he’d swallowed.
“You know, it took a while for it to start making any damn sense, but I kind of don’t think that I hate it.” Steve loosely gestured ahead as the movie’s scene continued to unravel, but he might as well have said nothing, because there was a low, static hum stirring up strong within Jonathan’s head that quickly began festering into something more—a clammy, indiscernible sensation prickling upon his skin that made him feel as though that constant, plinking rain had followed them inside; he parted his lips for a response, but found that he could not bring forth a proper response, and in a split second—because he was always so attentive, always so protective, always so good—Steve’s entire focus had shifted towards Jonathan, the movie disregarded. “Hey, you alright?” His voice had dropped, and it was all Jonathan could do to level out his own into something unaffected and calm.
“Mhm.” Clothes sticking to his skin, heat crawling up from within; his stomach gave a sharp nosedive as the movie continued to play on in the background, that indistinct mumbling quickly lost into the oblivion of his mind as all he could focus on was the way Steve had crept closer, the way his touch was edging further up his thighs—a slight quiver beneath his jeans. “This movie is so stupid.” Barely a whisper, voice thick with something, something else.
“Couldn’t agree more.” And then Steve had leaped forward, closing that miniscule distance between them as Jonathan gasped into the rushed kiss, feeling sharp exhilaration all throughout while Steve brought a hand to his lower back and guided him onto his lap. “So pretty.” He murmured whenever they broke in brief, stilted breaths, running his hands from Jonathan’s thighs to his hips, grinning something strong when he’d duck them beneath his shirt, securing a hold in the divot of his waist while Jonathan had shivered from the sudden, bare contact.
It was an overwhelming, fiery-hot intensity that rivaled the rushing, swirling downpour of the rain still falling outside—but despite it all, despite everything, Jonathan bit down what was simmering to a boil, because it was not enough. And Steve had been so earnest, he’d been so patient at the start of it all, promising that he didn’t care however long it took for Jonathan to be ready for that final push towards connection, promising that no matter what they did, or how far they went, he’d always be content. But it was the dog days of summer now—that inexhaustible heat melding with the moisture lingering outside to create a maddening blur that was driving them all a little crazy, a propensity to gather the courage they might’ve once lacked in cooler, more reasonable times. So then, Jonathan removed Steve’s hand from his waist and carefully lowered it to the top of his jeans, breath stuttering as he felt his knuckle curve around the waistband, just barely brushing against his stomach yet making him feel as though he were burning up with desire. A small sliver of space was between them as Jonathan memorized the rhythmic rise and fall of Steve’s chest, his finger swirling at the concealed skin while his eyes went wide with a new, flush emotion—a brief flicker of ecstasy, coupled with a mild disbelief. Jonathan swallowed, and he was sure that Steve could hear it as soundly as the beating of his heart—they were just so close as they sat there in the barely illuminated darkness atop of the small couch.
“Are you sure?” Quiet, yet steady—his grip seemed to tighten, and Jonathan nodded his head. “Jonny, you gotta use your words here.” A shift, his voice seeming to be on the precipice of breaking, undercut with a slight tremble, like he was eager, like he was so, so eager, but wouldn’t allow this for himself without first knowing it to be true. “You have to help me. I need to know what you want.” He brushed a strand of loose, hanging hair behind Jonathan’s ear. “I have to know, baby.”
“I want you to touch me.” Jonathan was breathless as he spoke, feeling his body contort with waves of want, and suddenly he found that he never wanted to move from this position on Steve’s lap. “Fuck—I want, I need—” His voice came stuttering out, words a breathy mess. “I want you inside of me. Can you, ah—please.”
“Of course, beautiful. Why’d you think I picked such a stupid movie?” But Jonathan did not have the time nor the wherewithal to match these words with something of shocked disbelief, because in less than a second he was in the air, legs furiously locking around Steve’s waist as he felt that familiar swooping sensation once more. “But not out here. Don’t wanna make a mess on the couch. Besides—” He placed his lips along the side of Jonathan’s face, warm and bright and right. “First time. Should be something a little more special than that.” Jonathan nipped at him without heat, but Steve just laughed and drew slightly back, stumbling through the house until they were in Jonathan’s bedroom, where he deposited him on the bed and began stripping off his layers.
Jonathan watched as he did this, caught Steve’s eye briefly while he was shirtless and fingering the button of his jeans, flushed rather hotly, and promptly directed his eyes elsewhere. But to do such a thing was difficult, because no matter how intensely he bored his eyes into the plain ceiling above, he only saw what he’d gotten a quick glance of mirrored on the broad, flat expanse. Broad, like the smooth, glinting surface of his chest, his mind unhelpfully supplemented. Though, these swirling thoughts were interrupted as that familiar face was now hanging over him, eyes aglow—almost automatically, he felt an urge to shield himself from this. Rumpled and damp, they had surely become—but all of Jonathan’s clothes were still on. A sharp contrast indeed, as his eyes flickered below and he saw, with widened eyes, that he truly had taken everything off. He felt as though he could not talk, and even if he did, it wasn’t likely that he’d say anything all too intelligent—but this was alright, because Steve had taken it upon himself to press up into his jaw once more. He tasted like artificial sugar, and his mouth was probably a little blue or red from the candy’s dye, but Jonathan found that he could not care less. Not here, and not like this—when Steve was kissing him with an intensity like he really was something that’d be awful to lose.
“Too many layers,” Steve groaned, shifting lower to nose and trace his lips along his neck while his fingers fumbled with the fabric still resting hot upon Jonathan’s supine form. “Gonna take these off—that okay?”
“Yeah,” Jonathan managed to say, mind a numb haze of clouded pleasure and bliss—but sifting through all of that, even with the good that just kept building and building to something like he’d never experienced before, he writhed just a tad as a trace hint of reality came seeping in like tainted water; faded as they were, he’d still seen those scars—wrapping around Steve’s neck and licking healed-over gashes upon his torso—as soon as he’d tugged off his shirt before he came clambering back to be close to Jonathan again, and though it was a little painful to see them, and remember the horror he and all the others had gone through that day, it struck something else within him, and perhaps it was just that—scars, implications, reminders; to look at it from the perspective of someone who had not been there, he cherished those scars upon his skin because they were proof that even when Hell had dug its ironclad claws into Steve Harrington, he’d grit his teeth and fought back, fought to stay alive, fought for this, and sure, Jonathan had some of those scars of his own, what with his own past of fighting whatever the fuck crawled out into their world, but they weren’t the only ones, no, Jonathan had other scars, yes he did, and they were ones that not even Nancy had seen, shrouded in the darkness during those few times they’d been intimate. “Yeah, just…” Half of him wanted to tell Steve to kill the lights, to allow this to happen, but only under that familiar veil that just made everything so much easier to control—he didn’t want to explain to him, he wasn’t quite sure if he even knew how, that no, those thin scars upon his thighs and below his chest weren’t from any despicable creature besides himself when he’d been younger; younger, yet still with the weight of shielding both Will and his mother from the violent lashings of his father before he’d left, and coping with the aftermath in the only way he’d known how; they weren’t recent, hadn’t been for a while now, but they were still there and they would always be, and Jonathan could not help the thought that perhaps he’d be considered disgusting for it.
“Hey.” Steve’s voice was quiet, measured, and he lifted his head from Jonathan’s neck to peer at him intently, head slightly tilted in a manner that Jonathan faintly, absurdly thought to be reminiscent of that of a dog. “I want to make this good for you. In any and all ways. Tell me what’s going on up there.” He cracked a micro-smile and Jonathan huffed while he collapsed his head back onto the bed.
“Just…I don’t know. I think it’s fine.” And when Steve was looking at him like that, all big, wide eyes and flushed skin, Jonathan was sure that it would be fine, and that he was thinking nonsensically for nothing. “Don’t be surprised when I’m not as fit to the bone as you, though.” He ran a hand along Steve’s arm, fingers stopping just short of a bicep while his lip curved up. “Jesus.” He didn’t know how to phrase what had really been on his mind, but maybe he didn’t quite have to—he had a growing feeling that it wouldn’t be as much of an ordeal as he was making it out to be.
“That is such a ridiculous thing that I’m not even gonna acknowledge it,” Steve murmured, shaking his head. “But I will take all of these goddamn layers off now, though.”
And Jonathan felt his hands pass over along his skin, working swift but gentle as a quick rush of gooseflesh encompassed his bare form; so there he was, all of him on display, all of his years reflected upon the pale of his skin, the miscellaneous, scattered scars in odd locations, the dip of his waist and the random moles that never saw sun, and he almost wanted to cover up those jagged edges and misaligned parts so that Steve would not see, so that perhaps they could continue what they had and Jonathan would not maim it by allowing him to see something so true and raw and bare and exposed upon himself, but as he shifted his arms to do just that, there was a light touch that brought his movement to a stop. A fixed stare, something unreadable in Steve’s eyes as they traveled all along his body—Jonathan felt a fierce flush threatening to arise.
“You’re so beautiful, Jon.”
It was not the response that he’d been expecting, and perhaps his face betrayed as much, because Steve had then disappeared from sight, dipping his head low and now staring up at him, poised in a position between his thighs as he casually lifted them to rest on either side of his head.
“Can I show that to you?” They were both breathless, the only sounds coming from the movie that still droned on in the living room and that ceaseless rain pattering against his window, and it was so tranquil that Jonathan nearly felt weightless, nearly felt calm, and he did not quite know how Steve was intending to show this to him, if he had any sort of lofty plan or ordeal he wanted to carry out before actually entering him, but he decided that, even if it was just for now, maybe it would not be so bad to relinquish some control for a bit; he murmured a breathy yeah, and he smiled faintly as he saw Steve’s features light up in response. “Gorgeous. Gonna eat you out so good, princess.”
“I’m not a girl—” Jonathan began with an air of humorous incredulity, but then he did not finish that sentence, because Steve’s tongue had laved over him from below, licking a stripe around his hole, and he realized that no coherent words were currently capable of falling from his lips—no sounds, other than a sharp, breathy gasp as his fingers dug into the blankets beneath them.
“Tastes so sweet,” Steve’s hot breath was ghosting over his entrance, and it was good, it was all so good that Jonathan felt he could really do nothing more besides lay there and take it all as it came, and that would be okay to do, perfectly alright to lose himself like this, when Steve was taking care of him in a way that he’d never received before. “God, you’re a fucking masterpiece, you know that? So good, so—you taste so amazing.” Jonathan felt himself twitch as Steve continued to ravage him from below, gasping and murmuring nonsense into him while he licked and washed his tongue over the same tender area like he was a starved man, ridiculous really, but Jonathan was certainly not in the interest of complaining, not when he was rapidly turning into a flushed, unintelligible wreck within his own bedroom. “Do you like that, baby?” Steve dug his fingers into Jonathan’s ass, rough fingertips pressing into him and a stilted, choked gasp fell from his chest once more, and Jonathan did not think he’d ever been this high before. “Talk to me, Jonny, come on.”
“Mhm-hm,” he managed to utter, chest heaving as he felt sweat glisten and prickle upon his bare skin, gathering there in beads of moisture like he’d just been caught up in that summer storm around them. “Yeah, yeah. Oh my God—Steve!” He cried out, loud and high; when Steve lifted his head from between his quivering thighs, his lips were shiny with something like gloss, and Jonathan’s heart stuttered in his chest at the sight—Steve looking at him like that, satiated from a full meal yet still seemingly starving for something more, a firm desire shining within his eyes as he licked his lips from their glossy coat of Jonathan.
“You’re all ready, baby,” Steve murmured, and Jonathan felt as his fingers replaced where his eager mouth had once been, circling that tender area while he dipped a few inside; but before anything else, his eyes had been drawn to his thighs—which he seemed to have a neat fixation on, now that Jonathan was really focused on it—and when he surely saw those old, thin lines, those remnants of a past so convoluted and wretched that there were still some aspects he’d yet to tell Steve in their full entirety, all he did was drop his head and press his lips along those pale swatches of skin, murmuring something that Jonathan could not make out.
Not for the first time that evening, Jonathan was grateful that they were the only ones in the house—grateful, because nothing could mask the cry that’d pierced the tender air around them as Steve had slowly, but then surely, slid home inside of him. Pleasurable bliss, simultaneously dialing up his senses to infinity yet rendering him so utterly numb—beautiful, beautiful ecstasy shooting throughout his veins, he’d never felt so whole in his life, and he brushed a hand over his lower stomach as Steve began to rock into him. Steve was not small, yet all of him had managed to fit inside of Jonathan, and it was like being filled with something that was just so strong and so perfect that he could not think of anything else. He couldn’t speak, but perhaps words weren’t even necessary at all, because Steve was staring down at him like he’d never seen anything else worthy of such rapt focus. And Jonathan would be lying if he said that this did not make his stomach do yet another steep dive. Steve’s fingers curled themselves around a fistful of Jonathan’s hair—not pulling the strands, but holding them tight—and he choked out a shuddering gasp as his pace increased, and he was murmuring rapid-fire nonsense ramblings along the thin curve of Jonathan’s neck as he continued to fuck him until the bedframe was scraping against the wall, and Jonathan’s fingers were scratching lines along Steve’s back.
“I’m gonna—can I—fuck, Jonathan, Jesus fuck—” His eyes shut and his teeth were grit tightly, but these were things that Jonathan only took faint awareness of, quite nearly fucked out of his mind as he was; he hummed, trying to make a sound that wasn’t a pitchy, breathless moan, and continued digging his nails along Steve’s skin. “Gonna come,” he murmured, voice muffled and raspy as his teeth scraped against Jonathan’s neck, body trembling. “Can I—please, let me—can I come inside you? Can I just—fuck, God—”
“Do it,” Jonathan messily murmured back, lips barely moving, hair a sweaty halo beneath him on the bed; he shifted a hand down towards his own, stroking it with shaky fingers and not at all surprised that it was overwhelmingly hard—Steve seemed to notice this, and quickly shifted to entwine one hand with Jonathan’s, pin it beside his head, and use the other to stroke him fast and slick; he sharply turned his face into the bed as he bit down something louder, a stilted sob coming out, instead.
“Wanna see you,” Steve mumbled, letting go of Jonathan’s hand to bring it towards his jaw, tilting his flushed, mess of a face back towards him—fingers still working below at a deft, practiced pace while he continued driving himself into his hole. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous. Let me hear you, baby—let me hear you.”
Jonathan felt his thighs give a sudden hitch as they tightened around Steve’s neck, as well as the pointed, guttural cry that resounded into the warm, heat-damp space around them. Unconscious tears might’ve been searing their way down his face now, but he could not distinguish the line between pleasure and pain—it was all just so good—and Steve began murmuring nonsense against his skin while he dipped lower to place his lips to those glimmering trails etched along the side of his face. He came—he was sure he must’ve, at this overwhelming point—and he took slight notice of the sticky sheen covering Steve’s hand in return. Another cry fell from his breathless lips as his eyes tracked Steve bringing those fingers to his mouth. Not long after, Steve had bowed his head over Jonathan and pressed his grip tighter into the soft divots of his hipbnes—those dark, limp locks tickling his skin—and he felt something rush hot and fast inside of him, something that seemed to curl up in his chest and make him feel sated and full.
They stayed entwined together in the comedown, Steve still deep inside of Jonathan as he stopped propping himself up with his hands and fully collapsed on top of him—wrapping his limbs like a tree around him. He pressed a shaky, slick kiss to the side of Jonathan’s face, letting his lips linger there for a moment before traveling down further to those dark, reddened marks he’d left around the pale strait of his neck. Jonathan, meanwhile, shut his eyes and allowed the residual waves of pleasure and content to wash over him even now, humming as he threaded his fingers through Steve’s hair.
“Love you so much,” Steve murmured, grazing his teeth and gnawing slightly at that sweaty, damp skin that was still heaving up and down, caught as they were in this particular moment. “You’re beautiful, Jonathan Byers. You are—” he lifted his head higher, and when he leaned down to kiss him tender and slow, Jonathan faintly thought that he tasted like himself, and what a sensation that was. “Beautiful, and I love you.”
“Well, that is very good, because it seems that I love you too, Steve Harrington,” Jonathan breathed, continuing to carve his fingers throughout those endless, dark strands. “Such a handsome boy.” He trailed his free hand along Steve’s jaw, brushing hair from his eyes so that he could see him clearly—even as that lovestruck, goofy grin spread across his face. “My handsome boy.”
“Always yours.”
And when Steve leaned in for another kiss, and Jonathan shifted to wrap his arms around his neck—buzzing below from where he was still inside—he let himself believe it. Let himself believe, and, for once in his life—let himself trust in this.