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When Steve sees the envelope he isn't sure what to think. It takes him a moment to even register who Eddie Munson is. In Steve’s circles, he’s usually referred to as “The Freak”.
Munson is practically a permanent fixture of Hawkins high. A smear in the background, here to blemish Steve’s senior year since he flunked his own. If it's not Munson then it's some other oddly dressed weirdo. There's always people like that. The outcasts, the dregs, the ones you ignore. Except Munson. He’s pretty hard to ignore when he’s standing on lunch tables and being generally obnoxious. It's probably why there's so many rumors about him. Well that and being one of the only sources for drugs in town, Munson squeaks out of most beatdowns; what people can't punch they talk shit about.
People say all sorts of things. Satan worshiper. Nerd. Loser. Trash. Creep. Dangerous. Freak. Steve’s not sure how he can be a nerd and dangerous at the same time but he doesn't give it much thought. He's never even spoken to the guy. Tommy always got the weed on the rare occasion they wanted to smoke.
That's why getting a letter from him was weird. It came in the mail. The mail. Mixed in with bills and coupons. It has a stamp, a little American flag. There is no reason for the guy to reach out to Steve, especially through the postal service.
Dear the King of Hawkins,
I'm sure every day is a sunny one when it's spent on a throne and under a crown. The way you walk these halls no one would believe otherwise. Everyone around you–drawn to your wealth, your looks and confidence–are just subjects turned fools. Led equally by charm and wrath. I wonder what it would be like to be favored in your court? To sit at your side, shoulder to shoulder, instead of distanced by so much more than just space? I can only piece together a flawed fantasy. A distorted image made from the glimpses I get from outside the castle gates. Assuming I’m even considered part of the kingdom, that is.
What the fuck is this. Steve snickers, did the freak send him a sad hate letter? Maybe to everyone in school? Tommy was going to have an absolute riot when he showed him, maybe they can compare letters.
I hope you at least know my name, Hawkins being as small as it is. You've never once looked at me like you actually see me. I know because I can't stop looking at you. Even though you're an entitled asshole, I happen to agree with what anyone with eyes can see. You are so beautiful I think they need to make a new word for it.
Alarms start ringing in his ears. He scans that last line over and over. No matter how many times he reads it, it doesn't change. He checks the front of the envelope to make sure it's really from Munson.
I wasn't surprised when you received your royal title. You’ve always had a way of commanding attention. Inspiring people to follow you blindly with enduring loyalty. I noticed it when I first moved here. I joined the 5th grade class halfway through the school year and everyone already knew each other. I was alone and scared shitless. I know you don't remember but that first week you invited me to a game of tag on the playground. You were genuinely nice, funny even. You made me feel like I could actually have friends here. Then Tommy returned to school after having the flu and we never talked again. I still remember your grin though, you had a tooth missing on the bottom row. Sometimes I see hints of that kid now, usually when you're talking up girls. I've got this sadistic urge to see your smile with a few teeth missing, just to compare you with your younger self. Which is entirely plausible with the fights you get into, but I fear the temptation to kiss you better will be too much.
He's right, Steve doesn't recall that at all. He's trying in vain to remember, but his memory has never been great and he's coming up blank. Can't even imagine Munson as a little kid, probably without his signature long hair. Nobody describes Steve as nice and actually means it. He skips over the word kiss because it’s giving him a terrible stomach ache. He drops into a chair and sets the letter on the kitchen table so the sweat on his palms doesn't smudge the paper.
Ya know, while I agree with the king stuff, I much prefer “The Hair”. Talk about temptation. Your hair haunts me. It makes my brain stutter, I want to simultaneously pet it softly and pull it out of your skull. I get why people used to give locks of hair as mementos. If I had a piece of yours, I'd twirl it around my fingers, imagining what I could do to the source. I want to see those brown waves messy, tug on them until your head looks like a bird nest. I want to see your hair spread out on my sheets. I want to find strands of it on my jacket, in my van, and clogging my shower drain.
It's hopeless, this infatuation. Fucking terrible in all honesty. You're a distraction I can't afford. I'm pretty sure I failed history last semester solely on the fact that you chew pens. It's a cruel combination; wandering attention and a vivid imagination. With the amount of times I've pictured you stretched around my cock, fingers, and tongue I can almost recall you clenching down on me like a real memory. I imagine opening you up real slow until you're begging for it with tears dripping down your face. The background changes like flipping through channels on a TV. Over the hood of your stupid car, Mrs. O'Donnell desk, the picnic table behind the school, anywhere that has a surface really. I probably imagine us most in my bed though.
Steve’s stomach twists and revulsion burns his throat. It's fucking gross, Munson is a guy . And why the hell would Steve be the receiver in all this? Unwanted, graphic images play behind his eyes. He can't help it, the letter is descriptive. He can feel cold metal on his stomach and wood chafing along his back. Taste phantom salt from tears. He reaches up to run a jittery hand through his hair but aborts the gesture midway when he thinks about Munson wanting to do the same exact thing.
He considers just ripping up the letter without reading the rest but sick curiosity stops him. Like peeking out between fingers to watch a scary movie.
If it was just lust I could handle it. Teenage hormones and all that. But it's deeper than that, more than sex, I want you to look at me like everyone looks at you, like a king. It's horribly cliché but I want you to call me baby and hold my hand. Most of all I want to show you that someone cares about you because I'm worried you don't know that. There's this look on your face when no one else is watching, like you're not here but you want to be. Like you're waiting for something that's not coming. I think it's loneliness. Heaven knows I've felt it enough to recognize it. Maybe that's why I'm still harboring this torch for you even though it’s pointless. I wish I had the chance to make you happy, to take care of you and erase the word abandonment from your vocabulary. Even now, through the crowd, in the bleachers, the other side of the cafeteria, across the entirety of this shitty town, you're not alone because I'm there loving you every second of the day.
Yours,
Eddie Munson
A drop of liquid falls onto the paper, right next to Eddie’s signature. It knocks Steve out of his mental spiral and he reaches up to wipe at his eyes. He didn't even realize they were leaking tracks down his face.
you're not alone because I'm there loving you every second of the day.
What the fuck is this. Eddie “the freak” Munson is in love with him? What's more upsetting is Steve’s gut reaction; he doesn't deserve it. This level of devotion. He suddenly sees himself from an outside perspective. He's not a good person. There's an inherent reason why his parents are gone most of the time, his friends are mean and shallow, and he jumps from girl to girl. There’s something lacking in him that drives people away, unless he–what were Munson's words?– leads with charm and wrath .
How does Munson know he's lonely when Steve didn't even know? It's mortifying to put an actual word to the feeling. That his efforts to surround himself with people, the “right” people, have apparently meant fuck all. He must look so pathetic to Munson, a deadbeat loser, who sees through him like glass.
What’s the guy’s deal? Why did Munson even send this? What does he expect from Steve? He wrote the words himself. Hopeless. Pointless . There's no ask to meet up, not even a request for an answer. He just drops this bomb into Steve’s life and expects to make a quiet exit? Just wants Steve to know he's loved for the sake of it? That’s dramatic even for the freak. The guy spends too much time doped up if he thinks he's going to flay Steve open and get away with it.
Yours,
Eddie Munson
Steve traces over the word Yours, with a finger. He’s going to get answers.
—-
It’s easy getting Munson alone. It's a well known secret that he conducts business in the woods behind the school. Monday, after the last bell, Steve follows the gravel trail out back. Hawkins High gets obscured by trees. The sounds of people and cars fade into the noisy quiet of the forest. Steve’s only been walking for a few minutes when a weathered picnic table appears through the greenery, with a figure sitting on top. Steve tries not to think of how that same picnic table was mentioned in the letter, but It's hard when the envelope is clutched in his right fist like a weapon.
Eddie Munson is hunched over a notebook, scribbling furiously. He can't even sit normal. Nose nearly touching the paper, ass on the table, and combat boots planted on the bench. He's like a big nerdy bat. The tendons in his arm flex as his hand flies across the page. His hair hangs around his face, surely blocking the light with how much it's glowing in the afternoon sun.
Munson is mumbling to himself, mouthing words too quiet for Steve to hear. He stops and looks up when crunching leaves announce Steve's approach.
Munson straightens up and a sarcastic smile spreads across his face, “What can I do for you, your majesty? Just so you know, demands been pretty high lately with finals around the corner, so prices are gonna reflect that”.
Now that he’s closer, Steve tries to nonchalantly glance at the notebook the other is engrossed in, maybe expecting to see a draft of another love letter or Steve’s name in hearts. Instead, It's filled with notes and doodles of flying creatures. Munson snaps the notebook closed. His gaze hardens and the smile on his face turns fake and unnatural. Even more than it was before.
It's strange seeing Munson so guarded when there’s proof that he's anything but in Steve’s right hand. It’s actually kind of pissing him off, the way Munson is acting. Like Steve’s bothering him. Like he’s not in love with Steve and doesn’t imagine doing unspeakable things to him.
Without preamble Steve holds up the clearly opened envelope, “we need to talk”.
It takes a second for Munson to read the front of the envelope. Blood drains from his face and his eyes go wide enough that Steve can see the uninterrupted circles of his pupils. It’s satisfying seeing Munson shocked speechless and his posturing crumble into something genuine.
There’s a moment of stillness then Munson lunges for the letter. It takes all of Steve's years in organized sports to react fast enough to jerk his hand out of reach.
They both freeze. Munson darts his eyes between Steve and the letter held tight in his hand. Calculating and desperate, like a cornered animal.
“Hang o-” Steve starts, then Munson dives for the letter again. This time Steve puts a hand out, pushing at Munson’s chest to keep him at bay. Munson thrusts forward still reaching for the envelope, but Steve is unmovable. He wonders if they’ll wrestle for the damn thing.
“I made copies!” Steve blurts. It's a lie he didn't. Although maybe he should have.
Munson deflates and shoves away from Steve with a curse. He spins away to face the trees, then just as fast turns back with a shaky smile and his hands up in surrender, “Okay, you fucking got me man, it was just a stupid joke”.
Steve fiddles with the edge of the envelope, Munson’s gaze fixed on his hands. “You're pretty desperate to get it back for it being a joke”.
“You were never meant to read it! None of them were ever in a million eons supposed to be sent”, Munson said through gritted teeth. He looks at the letter like he still wants to snatch it and run.
“You didn't mean to send it?”, Steve asks. Munson shakes his head. “And…there’s more? like this one?”. Steve needs to check the mail. Maybe he missed the others.
As if reading his thoughts, Munson barks a mocking laugh. “To other people. Shit, I didn't write five letters just for you, Harrington”.
A hot flush colors Steve’s face and chest, initially the heat of embarrassment then burning into fiery irritation. So this isn't some planned confession, Steve was never meant to find out. Opposed to the contents of the letter, apparently Steve isn't that special if Munson’s writing about everyone around town. Now Munson is treating him like some kind of idiot when he’s the reason Steve is here in the first place.
“Well I did get it and I fucking read it”. His heartbeat knocks a grating rhythm in his eardrums. He hates when people make him feel stupid.
Munson opens his mouth but Steve talks over whatever he’s going to say.
“Do you think just because you watch me you know anything about me?” You’ve always had a way of commanding attention. Inspiring people to follow you blindly. “Do you actually feel this way?” I wish I had the chance to make you happy. Steve is shouting now and he can't stop.
Munson starts backing away and Steve follows him each step. Why is he acting like Steve is the irrational one in this situation?
“What's wrong with you, huh?”. It doesn't make sense; that Munson can love someone so different. Someone who hangs out with people that despise him and aren't afraid to show it. “Th-this isn't right!”, Steve’s voice breaks and he shakes the envelope for emphasis. Munson is clearly horrified that Steve knows. He’s ashamed ; looks like he’d rather have the earth swallow him up than admit he has feelings for Steve Harrington.
Eddie plants his feet and widens his stance. He matches Steve’s volume. “Shut up! Just get on with it!”.
Steve blinks. “What?”. He realizes that Munson looks afraid, downright terrified.
Eddie gestures with his hands, even though they're trembling, “Punch me. Beat me up. Show this faggot his place. C’mon!”
Steve flinches from the cutting hostility. Munson’s face twists into a snarl. If looks could kill, Steve’s funeral would be closed casket.
“Oh is King Steve too good to hit the Freak? Go read my letter to the whole basketball team. Rally the troops! Just know If you kill me in the woods there goes the only plug that will deal at your fucking parties”. Spit flies from Eddie’s mouth. “Spread those copies to the entire school, Hell, send some to your rich neighbors, I’ll be the laughingstock of Loch Nora! I don’t fucking care!”.
Steve stands there in shock, any anger he felt ebbed and disappeared under the tsunami of rage from Eddie. Eddie breathes rapidly, chest heaving. When Steve doesn't respond, Eddie backs away and runs out of the clearing.
—
Eddie doesn't show up to school the next day. Or the day after that. He skips the whole rest of the week. Steve knows because he searches the lot every morning for his van, then looks for him again at lunch. Both his usual parking spot and his seat in the cafeteria remain empty.
Eddie’s notebook is burning a hole in Steve’s backpack, getting heavier each day. After their fight in the woods, Steve had found it crumpled and forgotten on the ground. It’s filled with notes and drawings that are clearly not school related. Steve didn't understand any of it, but it was obviously well used; evidence of how upset Eddie was that he left it without a second thought.
Steve was hoping to return it to him with a casual, hey sorry it seemed like I was threatening you in the woods. Can we go back to how you're in love with me? Or something like that. But evidently Munson has decided to fail this year too just on absences alone. Steve doesn't want to admit that the ache in the bottom of his stomach is guilt. If anyone is at fault, it’s Eddie. He’s the one who wrote the letter, who tried to play it off like a joke, and then overreacted.
The terrified look on Munson’s face won't leave his mind though. Munson really thought he was going to beat the shit out of him. He thought Steve would flaunt the letter, pass it out to people like a flyer. That’s not even remotely close to the truth. Over the past few days Steve has grown rather protective of the letter. It would be on his person 24/7, but he doesn’t want to risk someone else seeing it. Even the thought has his hackles rise. It’s currently tucked into a book he’s never read–shoved to the back of his desk at home. With the amount of times he pulls it out to reread, he’s worried he’s going to wear out the paper. He considers actually making copies but disregards the idea soon after. He likes that the original is handwritten. It has history. He can clearly imagine Munson mumbling while writing it, hunched over and so absorbed that the world moves on without him.
Each time he smooths out the letter he discovers something new. A line he never noticed. A phrase that resonates with new meaning. He even finds himself reconsidering the more explicit parts. Initially It was a morbid fascination, like poking a bruise. The more he went over the words, the greater his curiosity. He is begrudgingly fascinated. It's hard to conceive wanting something bad enough to beg another man for it. The thought isn't as off-putting as Steve would want to admit. Why couldn't Munson be a girl? He’s got the hair for it. If a girl showed this amount of interest in him, Steve would be ecstatic.
It leaves him with burning questions. Enough that he kind of wants to yell at Munson again and demand answers, but it's doubtful he’d be any more successful the second time. Steve needs to adjust his approach. Something non threatening. Meet Munson on his turf. Somewhere he feels safe but gives them privacy. To talk freely, of course. As a gesture of goodwill, he couldn't ask for a better one than returning Munson’s notebook, if the guy would fucking come to school. Steve never paid attention to the other man before but now his absence itches at him like a rash. Something ugly and red spreading under his clothes, making him want to shed his skin and don someone else’s.
With Eddie absent, Steve watches the guy’s friends instead. There were a handful of them. All sporting that signature demon face T-shirt. They keep a quieter presence without Munson there to climb tables, but they still stick out. All outcasts in their own way. Steve is a bit dissatisfied to learn the group of boys are just like any other teens. Not really that freaky or that dangerous. They talk, laugh, copy each other's homework, and help each other pick up books when they’re shoved to the ground, which happens a lot. More than Steve thinks is necessary. Steve is also dissatisfied that he can name the owner of every shoving hand but not one of Eddie's friends.
Friday afternoon, Steve walks behind two of Munson’s group in the hallway. He keeps a reasonable distance, just close enough to hear most of what they're saying. Steve doesn't get most of it. Something about lyrics to a song, then fantasy costumes? maybe? He perks up when he hears Eddie’s name.
“Eddie cancelled practice tomorrow. Says he's sick”
“Shit, do you think he's on another bender?”
“I don't know. I'm checking on him today. Supposed to bring him homework, not that he's going to do any of it”.
When life hands you opportunities. Steve pauses to take out Munson’s notebook and jogs to catch up to the two boys. They stopped by a cluster of lockers. Their talking cuts off immediately when Steve turns the duo into an unwelcome trio.
“Hey, you guys are friends with Eddie Munson right?”, Steve asks, a friendly smile on his face.
They both freeze and look like they're going to make a break for it. Except for the shorter, curly-haired one. He looks like he wants to punch Steve then run. Curly glared, “Why do you want to know?”
Steve holds out the notebook. “He dropped this the other day, can you give it to him?”
Both of their gazes fall to the notebook. Curly snatches it from Steve’s hands. He flips through it then snaps it back shut. “Shit, these are his campaign notes”, he says more to the taller one than to Steve. His glare grows twofold. “How did you get this?”
“Found it. It has his name in the cover”.
After an uncomfortable beat of silence, the taller one responds, “He’ll get it”. Steve nods and doesn't budge.
“Can you let him know I found it? Steve Harrington? and, uh, tell him I said…hi”.
“What the fuck?” the tall one mutters. He's right, that was weak.
“Oh! and let him know, I hope he comes back to school soon”. He claps his hands in finality, business accomplished. He gives the tall one a chummy pat on the back and nods at Curly, “thanks guys. Lifesavers”. Then he walks away with a smile. Steve gestured the fuck out of that goodwill. Now he just needs to see Munson.
–
Saturday night finds Steve at the trailer park. It's the only place he knows to look for Munson outside of school. He doesn't know which trailer is his but he drives around at a crawl until he spots the signature van. After looking for it all week it felt like some kind of victory seeing it now. He parks down the road, in between neighboring homes. He smooths out his hair on the walk up. He wasn't sure how to dress for the occasion so he erred on the side of nice. Not his date polo but his second best one. He knocks on the door.
It takes a minute for the door to open, then it slams shut almost immediately. Steve stops the door from latching with his palms, leaning in with all his weight to leave a scant inch of space.
“Wait-wait, wait! hold on. I just wanna talk!”
“Nah. Nope. There's nothing to say. Leave me the hell alone”, Eddie says from the other side of the door, still trying to push it closed.
“Come on, please? I came here to apologize”.
The pushing stops but the door doesn't open. “...That's it? Great. Noted. Real awesome coming to my house for that. Not alarming at all. If that's all, you can go now”, Eddie says.
If this was a week ago, before he got the letter. Munson's animosity would have had Steve shrugging, giving up and going someplace he's actually wanted. Which Steve would have pretended was his empty house or selfish friends. But now he can’t just leave. Not when they left things so unsettled and Eddie still thinks Steve will attack him on sight. Not until he’s able to see why Eddie likes him. There’s something lovable about Steve, something worth worshipping that this jaded, prickly, “freaky” guy has clued in to.
“I’m being honest, hat in hand or whatever. You got your notebook right? Your friend gave it to you?”, Steve says.
Steve hears Eddie mumble under his breath, “like you would ever wear a hat”. A sliver of Eddie's eye peeks out. “Yeah, Gareth brought me my DM notes”.
Steve is going to assume he’s referring to the notebook. “And he said it was from me right? That I'm the one who gave it to him?”
“He said Steve Harrington had a fit of delusion”.
“That’s a dramatic version of what happened. The whole thing was very civil, although your friends could work on their small talk. Doesn't matter. It was a token of good faith…Just let me say my piece and I'll leave okay? Promise”.
The door opens a few more inches. Munson looks rough. He looks pale and tired, eyes tinged red. His hair hasn't been washed in a few days and he smells like cigarettes and sweat. He gestures impatiently, “well? Hurry up”.
Even through a mostly closed door, Eddie’s presence riles him up. Steve's senses are drawn back like a bowstring, ready to snap. He looks at the old planks of the porch, the bugs flying circles around the outside light, and the tv glow shining through the windows of the trailer next to Munson’s. He doesn't want to just say his piece and leave. He needs more time. He’s desperate for an invitation inside, like a vampire trapped outside the threshold.
“Can I come in?”, Steve asks innocently.
“No”.
“You want me to talk about ever y thing out here? where anyone can hear?”, Steve makes no attempt to lower his voice, even raising a few octaves.
Eddie darts his eyes around, looking torn. Steve slumps his shoulders, tilts his head and softens his gaze. Like when he's convincing a girl that the night is not quite over yet.
“Please?”, Steve says. “It’s cold out here”. Steve shivers with his arms crossed, really hamming it up. Eddie’s not exactly buying it but his resolve crumbles all the same. Steve blows warm air on his hands for good measure.
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fuck, fine. For a few minutes”.
Eddie opens the door, leaving room for Steve to slip inside. He looks around greedily. Take out boxes on the table. A collection of mugs and hats on the wall, dishes in the sink. It's not enough. Not nearly enough. Eddie walks towards the living room, clearly expecting Steve to follow, but the couch and tiny TV have no appeal. Steve turns the other way and heads deeper into the trailer.
“Hey! Wait- shit ”.
The ajar door is clearly the bathroom. The other door is closed. Steve enters.
Yes. This is better. Eddie is everywhere in here. Clothes, posters, drawings, CDs, music. There's not a square inch that's not a time capsule of the man angrily coming into the room behind him.
“Okay Harrington, what the fu-”
“You play?” Steve interrupts, going over to the guitar on the wall.
“ Yes , don't touch-”
Steve is across the room flipping through records, “I don't recognize any of these”.
“That's no surprise-”
Steve moves to the desk, he picks up a tiny plastic figure, half painted and holding what looks like a staff. It's plucked from his hand and a fuming Eddie places it back on the desk.
“As charming as it is that you're inspecting all my possessions with your destructive jock hands, I've got a busy night. So get on with your so-called apology, Harrington”. Steve is starting to really hate the way Eddie says his last name. Eddie looks at Steve expectantly and for how much he’s thought about getting here, he didn't really think about what to say. Sorry I’m acting weird. Your letter is making me rethink my entire life.
Steve runs a hand through his hair. “I haven't told anyone about the letter. I didn’t show anyone and I'm not planning to, so… just come back to school okay?”.
Eddie sighs, “I know you haven't told anyone, my friends would have said something”.
“So why have you been skipping?”
Eddie gives him a look. The unspoken you loud between them. “I figured there had to be some sort of retaliation waiting for me. Then yesterday Gareth came by to get on my case, said you acted all friendly, returned my notebook and patted Jeff on the back like he was wearing a letterman jacket. I would say that is some grade A level mind games but I don't think you've got the strategy for that.”
“I really don’t. I’m not planning anything, I'm not even angry about the whole thing”.
“You seemed angry last time we talked”.
“I know. I wasn't mad at you , just flustered and feeling a lot. I’m sorry for taking it out on you. I shouldn't have cornered you and yelled, given our history. Well, me and my friends’ reputation…”. The word friends felt strange in his mouth. “I was under the impression that you sent the letter on purpose”.
Eddie laughs, short and sarcastic, “Ah! Uh, no. I wasn't going to send the king of Hawkins High a love note. Besides, It’s an old letter”. Eddie is looking off to the side and Steve is sure he’s lying.
“It's dated recently”, Steve points out.
“The sentiment is old”, Eddie corrects with a meaningful look. He leans against the desk, clicking his rings together. “I appreciate the apology”, he says the words slowly like he’s surprised to be saying them. “I’m also sorry, I guess. That you got involved. My uncle found the letters and thought they needed to be sent. You, Steve Harrington, are being strangely chill about the whole thing so…thanks for not ripping me a new one. All things considered this is probably a best case scenario situation”. Eddie jiggles his leg up and down. “Still, Its really fucking weird your at my house and in my room, so lets just forget this whole thing happened and go back to status quo. Get rid of the letter, I don't care”. He pauses, then backtracks. “Actually give it back. I'll burn the damn thing myself”.
The letter sits heavy in Steve’s jacket pocket. He isn't giving it up for the world. “I already destroyed it. Paper shredder”, he lies.
“Great”, Eddie moves to the door, not quite gesturing Steve out but implying it. “Glad we cleared this up. Bridged water. You'll never hear a peep out of me, I'll keep my distance like the plague”.
There was no going back to the status quo. Not for Steve. Desperate for a reason to stay he says, “Actually, before I go”, Steve sits down on the edge of the bed and Eddie's eye twitches. “Smoke me out?” Steve asks.
Eddie raises his eyebrows, “usually blackmail requires collateral. You said you shredded the sucker”.
“No! No, this isn’t blackmail. I can pay for the weed. It's a peace offering or olive branch or whatever. Like, dinner after successful negotiations” Steve babbles.
“Fucking-”. Eddie pulls at his hair then squats down with his head in his hands. He mumbles and curses what seems like an entire conversation to himself. Finally, he cups the back of his neck and tilts his head back to look at Steve. “Okay, okay, just let me fucking get myself together. Shower and shit, cause I'm pretty sure I'm still high from earlier. If you're still here, I'll smoke you out. Then you leave”. Eddie gets up and turns on the stereo to a station that’s more noise than music. He starts shoving clothes to a pile in the corner, kicking papers under the bed, and collecting cups and dishes.
Steve stays quiet, content to just sit and watch. He unlaces his tennis shoes, slips them off and scoots further onto the bed. He gets comfortable, back against the wall and legs crossed. Eddie shoots quick glances at him all the while as if waiting for him to give up and leave. After about 15 minutes of Eddie darting back and forth across the room, clearing the center of the floor, he goes to a dresser and pulls out a pair of sweats. Then he swipes a shirt from the clothes pile, smells it and adds it to his arms. He's out the door without a word. Steve hears the shower turn on in the bathroom.
Without Eddie taking up his attention Steve has enough awareness to wonder if this is a bad idea. He’s not sure what his goal is anymore. The questions he thought he wanted answered, the why and how seem less and less important. He’s more curious about Eddie himself.
I hope you at least know my name, Hawkins being as small as it is. You've never once looked at me like you actually see me
Steve wants to see– is starting to, he thinks. Like individual brushstrokes of a painting, he’s surrounded by little pieces of the guy, making up a picture that's much different from the portrait Steve thought he knew. In all these brushstrokes of Eddie–the music, the clothes, the clutter–where does Steve fit in? What evidence of Steve would Eddie want in his room? Steve’s clothes on the ground? The beemer’s keys on the crowded desk? His laughter in the air?
Steve physically shakes his head. What is wrong with him? He can admit he’s not adverse to Eddie’s presence but the direction of his thoughts were strangely domestic . Eddie could be fun to hang out with, sure. He’s someone Steve wouldn't have to posture in front of. Someone who truly likes Steve despite his everything .
The shower turns off and a minute later, a freshly dressed Eddie is nudging into the room rubbing a towel over his wet hair. He looks better. His cheeks are flushed from the heat and he's moving with a renewed confidence.
“Alright. Let's light up”. Eddie pulls out a black lunch box and drops down on the bed, causing Steve to bounce up and down. There’s a good couple feet between them.
Steve shifts until they mirror each other. Crossed legged and facing one another. Eddie takes in their new position with a raised eyebrow but doesn't comment. He starts rolling a joint between them. Steve grapples for something to break the silence, “So…do you smoke often?” he asks.
Eddie snorts and shoots Steve an exacerbated look. “Every now and then. When I need to relax. Contrary to the saying, I don't usually get high off my own supply”. Eddie lights the joint and takes a deep hit then passes it to Steve. Steve tries to do the same but coughs up smoke violently.
Steve pounds his chest, cheeks hot. “Fuck that burns”.
Eddie takes back the joint. “Go at your own pace, big boy. Don't try and keep up with me”.
“I don't smoke very often. Only at parties, if beers are low and well, you know”, Steve says. If Eddie was there dealing. “I never really got the appeal, I just get sleepy or like, nervous”.
“You're an anxious smoker? Why did you want to get high?” Eddie asks. When Steve just shrugs, Eddie lets it drop and continues. “Well in my opinion there’s an art to a good high. I've seen my fair share of Hawkins elite parties and no offense, but it's no surprise you didn't have a good time. Here-”, Eddie jumps up and starts making adjustments to his room. “The key is a good environment. Like lighting”. Eddie turns on his desk lamp and turns off the ceiling light. The room turns soft and warm. Eddie pulls out a record. “Music, of course. Something a little more mellow for your chaste ears”. Eddie throws a small smile his way making it impossible for Steve to take offense. Low wailing guitar fills the room, heavy and soulful.
Eddie flops down on the bed again. “Also great company, but you'll have to make do with me, Mr. Homecoming king”
“You're the best smoking partner I've had so far” Steve says without thought. The weed already loosening his tongue. Tommy always wanted to fight someone or argue about something.
Eddie freezes for a moment then shifts back into the spot across from Steve. They pass the joint back and forth, Steve taking noticeably smaller hits than Eddie.
“What do you like to do? Like, hobbies and stuff?” Steve asks.
“You’ve tried touching most of it. I play lead in Corroded Coffin, my band”, he points at a homemade sign on his wall, “extremely talented and equally undiscovered. I listen to metal, I play dungeons and dragons, read fantasy, watch horror and now I get to add to the list–get stoned with Hawkins finest”.
Steve nods along, trying to keep it all in his head like he’s going to be tested on it. Which his foggy brain is finding almost impossible. “And where do you see yourself in the future?”
Eddie laughs, loud and surprised. “Is this a job interview? What position am I being considered for?”. Not quite an interview but Steve's not about to tell him it’s questions he'd ask on a date. Eddie answers anyways, “I see myself as far away from Hawkins as possible. Hopefully making music. Definitely happy. What about you? Got a fancy job lined up after you graduate?”
“I don't know” Steve answers honestly. His thoughts are slow and syrupy. Steve studies Eddie’s mouth so he doesn't miss a single word, worried any distraction will break his concentration.
Eddie searches Steve’s face, “well what do you want to do? If you could do anything?”
Steve gives the question considerable thought. “RV”
Eddie squints, confused, with an amused tilt to his mouth. “You’ll have to explain that one”.
“I want an RV, ya know a home on wheels. With someone in the passenger seat, and some little nuggets running around and maybe a dog. Just traveling around, seeing the country. The whole lot of us”. Steve blinks. It sounds like he wants to recreate the Scooby gang. “It’s dumb, isn't it? Just forget I said that”.
Eddie shakes his head, “not dumb dude. It's unexpected, but it makes sense. You get to be around a bunch of people all the time. Dream come true right? You’d never get lonely”.
There's this look on your face when no one else is watching, like you're not here but you want to be. Like you're waiting for something that's not coming. I think it's loneliness.
The atmosphere grows thick. It’s the first time they get anywhere close to mentioning the contents of the letter, not just speaking about the thing as a whole. And now Steve can't stop thinking about the others. The other letters and the people who opened them.
“You said you wrote more letters” Steve starts cautiously, “who else did you send them to? Other people at Hawkins high?”.
Eddie looks on guard in an instant, “privacy dude”.
“C’mon boundaries are kinda shot already, right? I can't tell anyone, no one would believe me”. Steve implores with his eyes, voice reassuring. “I’m probably like the only person you can talk about it with”.
Eddie shoves a light hand against Steve's shoulder, “oh my god, put away the pout. Okay, fine. I sent one to a kid I knew before I came to Hawkins, back in Michigan. One to Gary Sanchez who moved to California after 8th grade. One to a guy I met in a club in Indianapolis. That one didn't get sent cause I don't have a name or an address”. Steve really wanted to ask follow up questions to that but Eddie kept going. “And two to people right here in Hawkins. You, obviously, and…”.
Steve leans forward.
“One to Chrissy Cunningham”.
“ What? ”. Steve gasps. That’s the last person he would expect. So Eddie likes girls too? Steve feels an uncomfortable pressure in his gut. It makes sense. Chrissy was cute, preppy and sweet as frosting.
Eddie threw back his head and laughed. He pulled a strand of hair over his open smile. “Fuck. Your face, man! The letter was platonic. Still embarrassing as hell though”. Eddie’s eyes drifted, unseeing. “Chrissy and I knew each other years ago but we drifted apart, for obvious reasons. She had the same idea as you and came and found me. We actually reconnected, might be the only good thing that came out of this whole mess”. Eddie’s gaze turned thoughtful when it landed back on Steve. “And maybe finding out Steve Harrington is actually a good guy”.
Steve beams. “You know, you're actually pretty cool too”. Steve wonders aloud, “How come we're not friends?”
Eddie’s brows come down. He’s taking the question seriously. “Short answer. We’re products of Society. Long answer-”.
Eddie was right. This was by far the best high he’s felt. This bedroom felt like a separate place. Away from Hawkins. No one else but Steve and Eddie. Harrington, Munson, The Hair, The Freak–All lose their meanings. And Eddie keeps looking at him like he's trying to memorize Steve. In quick glances that he only catches the tail ends of. It must be contagious because Steve starts doing the same thing. He notices Eddie shaved when he went to shower. His eyes are really dark, almost black in the dim lighting. The lines around his mouth stretch and flex when he talks or smiles. Eddie isn't bad to look at, kind of interesting actually. Steve has kissed girls for less. That thought spears into Steve's brain like a harpoon.
“-as long as there's a first and a last, they keep us compliant-”.
Munson is surprisingly nice and despite what his school records show, he’s smart. He's not “cool” in the conventional sense but Steve is starting to question what that word means. Eddie makes him feel light-headed and captivated, even when he’s ranting about society or politics, Steve lost the thread a while ago.
“-Did you follow any of that?”
Steve nodded, “I think so. The Breakfast Club wasn't that far off and Reagan is the worst”. Eddie hides his face and chuckles helplessly as he peeked at Steve through his fingers.
“How far have you gone with a guy?” The question was out before Steve could remember the difference between talking and thinking.
Eddie narrows his eyes. “Why do you even want to know that”. Suspicion thick in his tone.
Steve fumbles, “girls talk about guys and guys talk about girls. So we, as guys, should be able to talk about guys, right? Go against the system?”
“That's…progressive” Eddie concedes. He lies back on the bed. “Okay, but it's gonna be a pretty short conversation”. Steve lies back too, wanting to be on equal levels and stares at the ceiling with Eddie. “I kissed Gary behind the arcade at his 13th birthday party, then he punched me and moved a year later. Haven't really tried anything with a Hawkins resident since then. When I turned 17 I got my hands on a fake ID, been going to clubs in the city ever since.” Eddie leaves it at a polite silence but Steve nudges him with his elbow. “and hook up with people Dude! do I have to spell it out?”. Steve elbows him harder. “-like hand stuff. Blow jobs. Sometimes”.
This time, Eddie can see Steve is dying to ask a question. Eddie rolls his eyes. “Sometimes I give them and sometimes I get them. Jesus, it's like you straights can't possibly think about sex without an innie and an outie. Where's the imagination?”
Steve doesn't like Eddie calling him a straight, it seems…restrictive. “Easy to say when you have a way better imagination than most people”, Steve says.
“What makes you say that”, Eddie asks.
“The letter…was pretty imaginative”.
Eddie swallows audibly. Steve turns his head and Eddie turns too. They meet, their worlds sideways with Eddie’s pillow between them. Seconds slow and their breathing matches up with the low guitar riffs and the sound of crickets outside the window.
“You don't have to imagine it anymore, my hair spread on your sheets”, Steve says quietly. Eddie is frozen, eyes wide. “So? how does it look?”
Eddie’s gaze flicks to where Steve's hair is fanned out on his pillow then back to his face. They're close enough that Steve sees Eddie’s pupils swallow dark brown as they trace down Steve's nose to his lips. He can feel the other’s gaze like a sunray, warming everything it touches. Steve’s stomach is tingling, the butterflies inside a whirling hurricane. Steve shifts a centimeter closer, his lips parting the tiniest amount.
Eddie sits up so fast, something pops in his body. “What is this?” He asks, almost out of breath.
“What is what?” Steve asks. He sits up too, a little miffed the mood changed before he could even determine where it was going.
Eddie gets out of bed and starts pacing. His hands fly into the start of five different gestures but doesn't commit to any of them. The result is an erratic flapping. “You- the-, are you flirting with me?”, Eddie asks, in a momentary burst of bravery.
Steve’s not quite sure because he’s usually more successful. “You would know if I was flirting with you”, Steve says coyly with a smile that is nothing but flirty.
Eddie thrusts a finger at Steve, “Okay, that! that right there. What are you doing? And don't say apologizing or making peace or whatever cause you did that and you’re still fucking here. In my bed, asking about my sex life and putting your stupid hair all over my pillow”. Steve feels rightly cowed at Eddie’s earnest agitation.
Steve places his hands in his lap. “The letter-”
Eddie groans, fed up. “Just fucking forget the letter, man!”
“I cant”, Steve says, serious and honest.
Eddie shakes his head, a sarcastic smile making the lines of his face harsh, “this is bait right? Some sort of plot to humiliate me. You gonna invite me to prom next? ‘Carrie’ me?”.
“Carry you?”.
“The movie. Carrie- nevermind. What are you doing here ?”, Eddie gestures around to everything. His room, the trailer park and their current moment in time.
Put on the spot, Steve is the most unsure he's been the entire night. “I'm just getting to know you better because, because-”
Eddie interrupts Steve’s floundering. “Because you found out I'm obsessed with you. That’s it, right?”. Eddie doesn’t give Steve the chance to answer. “You like having an admirer. Someone hopelessly devoted to you. Well, sorry to disappoint, but you're tugging on the wrong leash. Stop messing around with me and go the fuck home”.
Steve shakes his head frantically, “No! I'm not messing with you. I-I like you”. Steve realizes it's true as soon as it leaves his mouth. He likes Eddie.
“Oh come on, you've never looked twice at me! You don't even like guys. You like being loved. Everyone does. Stop whatever this is, Steve. Its really fucking cruel to be honest”. Desperation is not a good look on Eddie Munson. The guilt Steve feels at Eddie’s crestfallen face rivals when he scared him in the woods.
Steve stands up, plants himself directly in front of Eddie, and forces eye contact. “It’s not just that. I’m not- I think there's something here?” Steve groans, “I didn't mean to say that like a question. Sure, I didn't think of you…that way and the letter opened my eyes. But Isn’t that the point of grand love confessions? Even accidental ones?”. Steve hopes he’s making sense. “I'm looking at you now. So can we just…can we?” Steve trails off, words failing him.
Eddie laughs harshly. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Do you even know what you're asking for? This isn't real, Steve. You're lonely, going through a dry spell and shacking up with the first person who's showing interest. You couldn't even handle touching a gu-”
Steve closes the distance between them and kisses Eddie mid sentence. Eddie should know by now that Steve doesn't back down from challenges. He’s stubborn. Especially when he knows he’s right.
Their mouths click together carelessly, Eddie’s being open and unexpecting. Steve pushes a hand into Eddie’s hair to hold him still and the fumbling turns to rhythm in an instant, like a pair of scissors hitting paper just right. Steve’s never been good at talking but he’s always been good at this . He tries to tell Eddie just how well he can handle touching a guy without any words at all.
It takes Eddie long seconds to respond and when he does he moves hesitantly. He follows Steve’s movements and his mouth opens just enough that Steve can tell he brushed his teeth earlier. He tastes like smoke and mint. Besides their equal height and the faint smell of shaving cream, it's not all that different from kissing a girl. Steve sucks on Eddie’s bottom lip and slides his tongue against it. Eddie’s breath hitches and Steve remembers the point he’s trying to make. Steve pulls back and their mouths make a wet sound parting.
Eddie is breathing rapidly, he tenses like he's ready to jump back at the slightest movement so Steve stays completely still. “Look at that, I’m not running or screaming. Would actually be down for an encore if you are. Do you believe I'm not messing around yet?”, Steve says.
Eddie gives him a smile, an odd one that's somehow proud, sad and a little patronizing all at the same time. “Okay, granted you're more open minded than I thought but where do you see this going? Seriously, you read the letter and we both know the sentiment is not old. This isn’t…casual for me. And no matter how many times I’ve fantasized about being Steve Harrington’s gay awakening, I think just being an experiment would really fuck me up”.
Steve narrows his eyes, he waves an irritated hand, “Dude I’m at your house. On a Saturday night. I basically stalked your friends cause I couldn't see you”. Steve pulls out the letter from his jacket pocket and flaps it. “I lied about shredding the letter, the only times I don't have it on me is when I'm at school or in the shower. I can’t stop reading it, pretty sure I have it memorized by now. I put on cologne to come here. Like I left then drove back to my house to put it on. This is not casual for me either”. At the time, Steve had argued with himself that he just wanted to smell good in case he started sweating or something. He didn't question why he would start sweating in the first place.
Eddie is watching Steve the entire time, a reluctant smile spreading wider. After Steve finishes, a wild, manic laugh bursts from Eddie’s chest and he bounces on his heels. “Is this that famous Harrington charm? Never thought I'd see the full force of it”.
“ No ”, Steve says, laughing at himself. “It’s absolutely not. I’m normally way smoother. This is me off my game. I don't usually have to convince people who already like me to give me a shot”.
“Are you sure about this? Not just the heat of the moment?” Eddie asks, his hands hover like he wants to reach out.
“I’m sure” and he is. Steve isn't a dweller, prefers not to be a thinker when he can help it. Now that he can name the intoxicating mix of emotions churning his stomach and scorching the sides of his head– attraction, yearning, fascination –he wants to dive in head first.
“Great, cause I’ve been dying to do this” Eddie says. Ringed hands reach up and gently settle on either side of Steve's neck. Eddie leans in, gaze boring into Steve’s, looking for any sign of hesitancy. Steve smiles encouragingly and Eddie closes the last of the distance. Their lips meet like they’re accustomed to it. There is no gradual build-up, just instant urgency. Opposite to his mouth, Eddie’s fingers rub soothing, lazy circles right where his hair starts at the base of his head. Steve’s brain goes quiet and floaty, Eddie being a more thrilling high than any weed. Eddie’s hands creep further into his hair while he distracts Steve with the edge of teeth against his lip.
His own hands come up to grip Eddie's sides. He’s warm through his T-shirt. Steve’s fingers claw the fabric, he tests Eddie's waist with roaming squeezes. Eddie's hand tightens in his hair, tugging Steve's head back and making his mouth open wider. His noisy exhale rumbles into a groan when Eddie sucks a kiss into his neck.
The small part of his brain that can still form thoughts reminds him you're making out with Eddie Munson in his room and a tremor starts in his leg causing him to sway on his feet. Steve pulls back to breathe, “Bed? Cause I might pass out if we keep standing”.
Eddie nods but tries to keep their mouths together which makes their lips drag awkwardly up and down. Steve chuckles and backs up, leading Eddie by pulling on his shirt. They can't stop laughing as their mouths bump and jostle. The back of Steve’s legs hit the bed and they fall together, bouncing and knocking into each other. The laughter dies as they still. Steve is sprawled out with Eddie half over him braced by hands on either side of his head.
Steve tugs Eddie down and they're chasing each other's taste again. Beyond the horizontal make out Steve is starting to feel out of his depth. The kissing is great, fantastic even. Eddie’s enthusiasm makes up for any lack of technique and Steve is gaining a new appreciation for messy . But his dick is echoing his heartbeat and he wants to get moving to the next step but he’s not sure how or even what the next step is.
So Steve reverts back to what worked for his 16 year old self; wandering fingers until he's redirected. They've ended up on their sides. He presses his palms against Eddie's chest, dragging his fingers across the flat planes. It’s different from the softness he's used to. He can feel Eddie’s ribcage expand with his lungs and his heartbeat vibrating the bones and skin. Steve wants to duck down and listen, maybe hear the roiling ocean that is Eddie, but he can't tear his mouth away from the other’s. Trading indulging one sense for another.
A hand palms Steve's chest, mirroring his own. When he scratches down Eddie’s back, fingernails scrape down his. He pushes his tongue in to map the texture of the roof of Eddie’s mouth, then Eddie’s tongue is tracing his teeth. When Steve's pants become unbearably tight he bucks against Eddie, then Eddie is pushing back against him. Realization bleeds sluggishly into Steve's awareness. He pulls back and Eddie stops immediately, stilling everywhere.
“You're copying me”, Steve says.
“What?”
“You're following what I'm doing. I do something and you do it right after”. Steve tilts his head, the question unspoken but asked all the same.
Eddie looks sheepish. He turns his face into the pillow as if to hide, “I know you said you're sure about all this but I don't want to mess this up by doing something you're not comfortable with. I was thinking you could set the pace. I’m just happy to be along for the ride”.
“Ugh, don't”
Eddie huffs in surprised amusement, “Pardon? Don't make sure you're comfortable?”.
Steve flicks Eddie’s shoulder. “ I mean -I told you I have the letter memorized right? You said-”, and now Steve wants to hide his face too. “You said, you want me begging for it, crying and”, Steve's cheeks are on fire, especially with how Eddie is hanging on his every stumbling word. “ urgh you said you’d open me”. He says the last part in a whisper. A thought occurs to Steve. “You still want to, right?” Maybe the fantasy of Steve is better than the real thing.
Eddie flicks Steve back looking outraged. “ Of course I want to. That's up there with, playing Madison Square Garden and flipping off Principal Higgins, on Eddie Munson's outlandish dreams and aspirations list”. Eddie thumbs along Steve’s chin. “I don't want to scare you off”.
“You're not going to scare me off. I want it-or I want to try it at least. I trust you to show me what I've been missing”, Steve says.
A new light shines in Eddie's eyes. “Alright, but if we're going to do this then some ground rules. We can stop anytime. Like if either of us even breathes wrong we say something and that's it, full stop. No questions asked”.
Steve rolls his eyes, “I know how consent works, dick”.
“I know you do but-”, Then Eddie changes ever so slightly. Something in his tone and the way he tucks a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear, “If I'm gonna be making you beg, making you cry, you might not feel like you can. You might feel like I’d be disappointed if you say stop. Understand? Is this getting through all that hair?”. Eddie tugs meanly on the strand he just adjusted.
Being talked down to is not something Steve would have thought he was into. But when it's Eddie–probably only because it's Eddie–it’s kind of exhilarating. It’s not the condescendence but more about the attention, the concern for Steve. Like he’s Eddie’s responsibility, whether Steve agrees or not. He’s starting to see what Eddie means. The urge to make Eddie happy and just listen to anything he says is making Steve’s mental barriers fade away. For the first time, Eddie is living up to the “dangerous” label.
Steve takes a deep breath. “Okay, I get it. I'll say stop if I need to”.
Eddie rewards him with a toe curling kiss and he rolls them until he's on top. He sits up and pushes Steve down when he tries to follow his lips. “Take off your shirt so I can see you”. That's easy enough. Steve's worn less in front of more, at swim meets and locker rooms. He takes off his jacket and slings of his shirt and lays back. Then he loses his sense of ease. Eddie is looming over him, still dressed and looking at him like he's the cause and end of all his misfortunes.
“Hands above your head”.
Steve clasps his hands and raises them to the space of pillow above his head. He’s not sure how effective this is if they're not tied but he keeps the skepticism to himself.
“Keep them there”.
Eddie trails fingers on Steve's face then neck. It's odd, leisurely and measuring. It reminds him of going shopping with his mom, when he was too young to leave home. She would run her hands over clothes, jewelry and furniture, tsk and make a comment on lack of quality then move on. Steve hopes Eddie won’t find him lacking.
Fingers prod his chest and pull on the hair there. Steve sucks in a surprised breath. With the pad of a finger, Eddie barely brushes over the very tip of his nipple. Steve jolts. What the fuck. It was so sensitive, like a lightning strike. Eddie is watching him the entire time, analyzing his reactions with those dark eyes. Is this what he looked like when he watched Steve from afar?
“You like your nipples played with?” Eddie asks casually as he brushes against them again.
“I didn't think so until now” Steve answers, shaky and breathless.
Eddie tugs on a pink nub between his knuckles and passes quick flicks over the other. Steve yelps and squirms, feeling the sensations directly in his cock. His hands shoot down to squeeze Eddie's biceps. Eddie stops immediately and leans back.
“Stevie” he admonishes, his voice heavy with disapproval.
Steve blinks. He’s confused then remembers his hands and where they're supposed to be. They're back so fast above his head that they make a thwack sound on the pillow. His heart is beating wildly against his ribs. The scolding tone catching him off guard.
Steve can practically see the energy thrumming through Eddie, surging every time Steve does something good . Eddie returns with slow circles around his nipples, sensual after the hard flicking from earlier. Until, at the completion of every circle Eddie scrapes a fingernail over them. Steve is writhing at every rotation. Eddie bends down to swipe a tongue across his chest. Then he starts sucking bruising marks on any skin he can get to. Steve tries to swallow the sounds trapped in his throat but they get ripped out of him when Eddie uses teeth. Steve cries out at the sting. They both pause at the noise. Steve, embarrassed, and Eddie like Christmas came early.
“Don't even think about holding back. I want to hear your noises or I'll stop” Eddie warns.
Steve groans. “ argh so many rules”
Eddie smiles, “say stop anytime Stevie”.
“No”, Steve says. He loves being called Stevie.
Eddie kisses along his neck. Although, kissing isn't the right word. Eddie rubs his lips across Steve's skin, bites down and sits with flesh between his teeth. He flicks his tongue, tickling Steve. He stifles giggles and resists jerking away.
“Fuck. I can't believe I get to see you like this. Not very kingly of you is it? You like being a plaything for the Freak don't you?”
Steve shivers, if that's what's happening then yeah he likes it. This is nothing like his time with girls, which is usually straight to the point, and now Steve suspects he's been doing sex all wrong. It should always feel like this, overwhelming, untethered, like there is no foreplay or main event. Just physical intimacy for the pleasure of it.
“Answer me when I ask you a question”.
Was there a question? Steve struggles through his slurry of a brain. “ Yes , I like it”
Eddie places a hand over Steve's dick and he thrusts into the contact. He’s hardly done anything but Steve feels so close already. He needs friction, touch, anything. He’s leaking and can't think of anything past the pulsing head of his dick. Eddie taps an erratic rhythm over the seam of Steve's jeans and he breaks, “Eddie, can you touch me? Under my clothes?”. He tacks on a quiet “please” as an afterthought.
“I’m not sure I want to yet”, Eddie says. He’s way too composed for how out of it Steve is.
“I’m dying here”, Steve whines.
“Dying? And people call me melodramatic. Maybe I want to keep teasing you? Maybe I won't let you cum at all.”
What . Eddie wouldn't really do that, right? Steve shifts against Eddie’s hand that’s just sitting on his cock. “I-you can't l-leave me hanging”.
“I can do whatever I want to you, sweetheart”.
Fuck . Eddie looks serious. Like he would leave this room right now without going any further and Steve didn't want that at all. To his shock, his throat tightens and he feels his eyes fill. He’s so turned on, so at the mercy of Eddie and he’s threatening to leave .
Eddie’s eyes widen and he pets Steve's hair in what he thinks is a gesture of comfort until Eddie whispers soothingly, “Let it out. I’d love to see the slut of Hawkins cry”.
A broken sound chokes his throat and a tear leaks from Steve's eye, “fuck, okay, okay, I'll be good okay? so don't leave. Tell me what to do, Eddie. Eddie, please ” his voice shakes.
Eddie stills. Then his persona breaks. He lurches forward, moving his mouth against Steve's frantically. “Fuck, fuck your so fucking hot . Okay I'll touch you, since you want it so bad okay? Stop whining, I'll give it to you, you crybaby”. Eddie tears at Steve's zipper and yanks his jeans off completely. Steve’s dick is straining against the front of his briefs.
“Of course you wear briefs”. Eddie snaps the waistband and his erection twitches. They watch the transparent spot on the white cloth grow bigger, turning pinkish from the flushed skin underneath.
Steve realizes that he hasn't even touched Eddie past kissing and he's worried this whole thing has been extremely unfair. “Are you getting anything out of this? don’t you want to get off too?”.
Eddie laughs. “Are you kidding me? Steve Harrington is under me . Letting me say stuff to him that I thought would only live in the deep, filthy parts of my mind. You're crazy if you think I'm not getting off on this”. He runs a finger over Steve's dick and Steve groans.
“Shit, ugh Eddie I don't-I can't-”. Steve has to cum. He truly thinks his body will catch fire if he doesn't, but he also wants to at least see Eddie. “can you take off your shirt too”. He feels pathetic asking.
“Yeah, lemme jus-”, Eddie whips off his shirt. Steve has seen shirtless guys before, never giving it a second thought, but seeing the shape of Eddie’s shoulders and the line of dark hair leading under his pants is making Steve’s mouth fill with saliva. Eddie's got tattoos on his pale skin that Steve would love to get a closer look at but Eddie’s hands come to rest high on Steve's thighs and he can't think anymore. Eddie’s fingers play with the hem of his underwear and get so close to his dick that they brush his balls, making Steve keen.
“Do you wanna come-”
“ Yes ” Steve pleads. It's the only thing he wants.
Eddie grins. “You didn't let me finish. Do you want to come on my fingers?”
Steve's brain stops. Does he?
“It's not a trick question. It's up to you, I’m happy either way”. Eddie's fingertip brushes the base of Steve’s dick.
“I want to try” Steve says.
“ Shit . Cool, alright. Lube, need lube. Where-” and suddenly it's Eddie again. The jittery guy who is all movement. Mean, horny Eddie is appealing but this version Steve can't help but find endearing. He wants to see more of both. Eddie rummages under his bed and returns with a small bottle.
He jumps back on the bed and takes off Steve's briefs without any teasing. It seems like Eddie is finally feeling as impatient as Steve’s been this whole time. Steve’s dick bobs between them. Red and twitching like it has a mind of its own to beg for attention. “Damn”, Eddie palms himself, "I'm gonna come before I can even do this”, he says to himself.
He gives Steve a stroke. The first real touch to his cock and Steve is lifting off the bed to try and follow it but Eddie just keeps a warm hand around him. Not moving. Before Steve can complain, Eddie circles his rim with a wet finger. Steve’s lungs tighten and all his senses are directed to that one place where Eddie is caressing back and forth, taking his sweet time. It’s strange being touched there. Eddie inches in and Steve stops breathing altogether.
“It's gonna feel different, but you'll get used to it. You're doing great, darling”. Steve just about swoons. Eddie’s finger sinks deeper then stops, waiting for Steve to adjust. Eddie starts a gradual pace, in and out. His knuckles brush against his sack and, finally , Eddie strokes him with his other hand. At first the intrusion was uncomfortable, but with Eddie’s soothing words and his hand sliding on his shaft, a fluid, devastating pressure builds. Steve starts moving his hips and panting along with the pace.
“How does it feel?”, Eddie asks, softly. Steve whimpers, past forming anything verbal.
Eddie hums, “I’ve thought about this so many times. Prepping you so I can use you however long I want. We could be here for hours, just me pumping away and you squirming around”. Steve makes a protesting sound and Eddie shushes him. “Don’t worry, I won’t this time cause you deserve to cum. I want you to see how much use I am to you ”. Then Eddie speeds up the slick glide of his thrusting and crooks his finger. And Steve cums.
He yells it at the ceiling, long gasping wails that are wet enough to be sobs. He clamps down on Eddie’s single digit, in tandem with the pulsing squirts from his dick. He hears Eddie curse but it comes to him a million miles away cause the world around him is gone. Countless, rapid heartbeats later, He floats back down to his body and time starts ticking again. Eddie pulls out his finger and Steve hisses at the sensitivity. Cum paints Steve's belly and clumps his chest hair.
Eddie kisses him desperately. “Fuck, so hot, so hot I gotta cum oh my god my dick fucking hurts”. Eddie bullies his pants down enough that his dick pops out. He’s so hard and red that Steve aches in sympathy.
Steve bites his lip. “Can I help?” he asks.
“ Yes, give me your hand, quick”.
Steve reaches for the other’s cock but Eddie stops him and wraps his hand around his. He directs Steve to swipe the cum still on his belly. Then he places their slicked hands on his cock, cum squelching between their intertwined fingers. “Fast and hard. It won't take long”, Eddie grits out and he's right. After a handful of strokes Eddie is cumming and Steve watches with wide eyes. Eddie’s eyes slam shut and his mouth opens around an uninhibited moan. His entire body trembles and flexes with the force of his climax. His cock kicks with gushing cum and Eddie adds to the mess on Steve’s torso. It ends much too soon and Steve knows he’s going to need to see a repeat, as many as he can get. How else will he memorize how Eddie looks in this moment?
They catch their breaths then Eddie wipes them down with a shirt nabbed from the ground.
Eddie smiles shyly, “how are you feeling?”, he asks.
“Sleepy”, Steve answers, sitting up. He knows he should probably be collecting his clothes now but it feels like he just ran hours of laps. His bones are jelly and his brain is still sluggish in piecing together anything more than bodily sensations.
“Same. That was…well, it was intense. Crash here tonight”, it's not framed as a question but Eddie waits for his answer anyways.
Steve is more than happy to agree. He lets out a happy sigh, collapsing back into the bed. “Good, I don't think I can drive, let alone move”. Steve must've dozed off because between one blink and the next, Eddie is bugging him with a glass of water then offering clean shorts to sleep in. The atmosphere is quiet. Probably the most comfortable it’s been between them. When they're both ready for sleep, the lights turn off and they pull up the covers. They turn to face each other like.
Steve smiles, relaxed and dopey. “So, that was fun”.
Eddie laughs, “fun enough that you wasted your Saturday night here?”.
“Way better than my usual Saturday night”. Steve answers honestly.
Eddie’s smile fades and his face takes on an expression serious enough that Steve shakes off the sleep that's coming like the tide. “What about the letter got to you? What made you even want to talk to me rather than punch my lights out”, Eddie asks, voice soft and secret in the darkness of the room.
Steve takes a deep breath. He doesn't even try to play it cool, just says what’s been on his mind since he got the letter. “You said you would take care of me, that … you loved me every second of the day. You want evidence of me in your life. My parents don't even want evidence of me in the house. I like that you're able to see something in me that’s worth loving. I thought you were wrong at first, like really? me ? But you make me want to prove myself that I’m worth it. And if I’m wrong about me then maybe I was wrong about you too an- ”. Eddie cuts him off with a tender kiss, healing something Steve didn't even know was hurting.
Eddie whispers against his lips. “I would've sent you that letter sooner if I knew this would happen. I would have sent a thousand letters. Would have signed my name on your locker, on your lawn, spray-painted it around town”.
Steve laughs, sleep making his eyelids droop. “I think I would have liked that”
“I'll take the best care of you” he thinks he hears Eddie whisper. There’s a brush of lips against his forehead. Steve's chest feels light and full as he drifts off.