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grandwretch · 1 year

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chapter 14 of once bitten, twice shy xiv. heaven’s on fire

read it here on ao3

"Tina's having a party Saturday night," Steve said. Eddie didn't answer, but it was a comfortable silence. A long exhale crackled through the phone, and Steve imagined smoke curling across Eddie's features and smiled. "Most of the old guard are gonna be there before they all head back to school for the fall. I know it's not really your scene, but we've hit almost every other Hawkins party this summer, and–"

"I don't mind going," Eddie said, and Steve sighed, grateful for the interruption. "I'm surprised you want to, though."

"Is there a party Steve Harrington doesn't want to go to?"

"Yeah, okay," Eddie snorted, showing about as much respect for Steve's reputation as he would Duran Duran– a reputation he wholeheartedly believed mere months ago. "You know what I mean, though, baby doll. You can't stand those people. I literally watched you jump into a pool so you didn't have to talk to Fischer in July."

Steve squirmed. The warmth of Eddie's concern and his own distaste for introspection mixed in his chest, making him restless. He fell back against his pillows, staring up at the smooth, perfect ceiling. He wished it were the popcorned chaos of Eddie's; These things were always easier to say when Eddie was holding his hand.

"I miss going out with you," Steve said, first, because it was the easiest to admit. "We haven't been anywhere but the diner since the club."

Eddie hummed. "Lotsa places to be other than Tina's place, with whole grades' worth of people you can't stand."

"I know," Steve said, because no one knew more than him how confusing his brain could be. "It's– I didn't really like parties before you, you know? They were too loud and crowded, but they were part of the job."

"The job," Eddie huffed, laughing the quiet way he did whenever talking about being 'King' like it was something he could put on a resume.

"Shut up, like you were any better, skulking around in the shadows outside."

"I was selling drugs, Stevie. For money. You know, like a real job?"

"You could sell drugs indoors, Munson, you're just dramatic," Steve said for the 500th time. Eddie's dismissive sniff told Steve he could go back to making his original point, now. Rolling his eyes with a grin, he continued, "Anyway, asshole, like I was saying before you interrupted me, the power of your love cured me of my hatred for loud bass and shitty alcohol."

Eddie's giggle was a thing of beauty, even over the Munsons' shitty receiver.

"I like people seeing us together," Steve confessed. "It makes us feel real."

"It is real," Eddie said, all warmth and sweetness.

"I know. And I know we can't tell people, but I still– I want them to see us. Them, specifically. That's all I've ever wanted."

To be seen with someone who owned him, someone who belonged to him. To feel safe and real and alive, with someone he loved to cover his back. To regain a little of what being King of the Hill had felt like, without the blood on his hands.

"Well shit," Eddie sighed. "My boyfriend wants to show me off to his high school buddies. How am I supposed to say no to that?"

They would have to go as 'friends' of course, but even showing up with Eddie Munson as a 'close friend' was enough of a declaration to send shivers down Steve's spine.

Tina's house wasn't far from Steve's, so they walked. Neither of them felt like getting drunk surrounded by assholes, but this way they could leave whenever without worrying about being boxed in by some rich asshole whose car cost more than his tuition.

Eddie's words, not Steve's.

Enough of that Harrington respectability had hung around to make Steve scoff at the idea of rocking up to a party on foot, but when they finally stepped through the threshold of Tina's childhood home, he was incredibly grateful for the escape plan. Steve had expected people's eyes on them, had asked for it, even, but he hadn't expected their gazes to stick so well. From the moment they arrived, they were the center of attention, but not... not in the way that Steve was used to. Not even in the way they had been this summer, an oddity of thought, something novel to have around the party to liven things up a little. No, these were people who knew Steve better than he wanted but not half as much as they should, and their intent felt like grime on his skin.

He was already regretting asking Eddie to take him here. It would have been infinitely better to spend the night curled in Eddie's arms on the couch, watching some stupid movie he didn't have a chance at understanding. At least there, they could touch without it raising someone's eyebrows.

"You good, Harrington?" Eddie asked, and dared to clasp a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"Yeah," Steve said, and glanced around a living room that played a leading role in most of his nightmares. "Let's get this over with."

Eddie was kind enough not to say, 'I told you so'.

A few people said hello as they made their way into the thick of the party. No one who Steve had been particularly close to, really-- Mostly people who had been freshmen Steve's senior year, or former second strings who never really got up close and personal with King Steve. He didn't know if it was because of his previous reputation or his current one that kept his old cronies away, but whatever it was, Steve was grateful for it.

The last time he had been here, he had been on the precipice of his own decline. He had met Billy here, Steve remembered with a start-- He had become so used to remembering Hargrove in conjunction with the old Byers house and the mall that he'd almost forgotten. It had been planned, Steve thought, now. Tommy and Billy had wanted to catch him off guard, introduce him to his own replacement somewhere he wouldn't be in control, although he doubted either one of them had been smart enough to notice just how out of control Steve had been that night.

He wasn't in control now, either, Steve thought with a wry look Eddie's way. Whatever little social capital they had in this moment was all in Eddie's hands. Sure, Eddie liked to tease him for still being the preppy jock archetype, but Steve had all but fallen off the social map before their whirlwind summer. Eddie had a charge or two under his belt now, yeah, but amongst the right people that never mattered. Being a violent shithead had never ousted anyone before, and it certainly wouldn't be enough to completely exile the one guy in town who still knew where to get the good stuff.

Steve knew his classmates very well. They might have their quibbles with Eddie's verdict, might even be ready to kill him again Monday morning, but when they wanted to get high, all those 'ideals' fell away.

After Eddie waved the fourth potential customer away, citing a night off, Steve grinned. As annoyed as Eddie looked right now, being the tag-along was much preferrable to the fucked up psuedo-political machinations he would have been subjected to in high school. No one was approaching them to curry favor, or try to jockey for position. They just wanted to get loaded. Blessedly simple.

"I know you have a joint in your pocket," Steve said, throwing what he hoped was a casual arm around Eddie's shoulders. "You don't wanna make a quick buck? Take your girl out somewhere nice?"

Eddie shot Steve an unimpressed look. "My girl owes me a quick buck or two, actually, leaving me with you all night."

Steve shrugged. "She'll make it up to you."

With a hum, Eddie said, "If she knows what's good for her," and Steve couldn't suppress the shiver that trailed along his spine.

It was almost fun, flirting in secret in a room full of people. Sure, it was wildly dangerous, and Steve was sweating so hard he could already feel his shirt sticking to his skin, but Steve had long since stopped having a normal reaction to 'danger'. Besides, they were tucked away against the staircase, loud music neither of them enjoyed drowning out their conversation. No one would look twice at two assholes who peaked in high school talking trash about some girl. It made Steve feel skeevy and dirty, but he couldn't hide the giddy grin as his stomach swooped when Eddie looked at him, heavy and knowing.

"You gonna ask me to dance or what, Munson?" Steve said, instead of kissing him.

Before Eddie could answer a voice rang across the room, calling Eddie's name.

Steve could feel his body snap to attention, every muscle going tight with adrenaline. Even before he could pinpoint the direction the voice was coming from, he could feel his body shift into fight. He didn't like people just walking up to Eddie, not after the months of harassment and all the work it had taken just to get Eddie through the rest of the semester alive. The anxiety had faded with time, after a summer of simplicity, but with one unfamiliar voice wrapped around Eddie's name, it was back.

Eddie's hand wrapped around Steve's wrist, stilling him, as Steve's gaze settled on the person approaching them. He had missed her in the crowd at first, expecting the tall, imposing figure of one of Jason's erstwhile rivals-- She was the opposite, small and petite, though... Well, Steve thought, glancing down at her leather fingerless gloves and boots the size of his head, perhaps no less imposing for it.

Though she had called Eddie's name, her eyes were on Steve, and they didn't seem impressed. He recognized her from somewhere, he thought, but he couldn't remember from where, and in Steve's experience, that usually wasn't a great sign for his chances at making a friend. It had worked maybe once, with Robin, and it had taken a shit load of Russians and almost dying to make that happen. Every other time had gone to shit very quickly, with the other person pulling out a dozen offenses that Steve couldn't even remember-- Which was the entire problem.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Munson," she said, though her eyes still were locked on Steve-- Specifically his clothes, Steve noted. He frowned down at the pale blue polo. He knew it wasn't exactly cool, but Eddie had said it made his skin look nice.

Eddie had actually said it made his skin look "like buttery silk touched gently by the sun," but that was embarrassing even in Steve's own head.

"Beverley Hanlon," Eddie said, and Steve's frown deepened at the sheer affection in his voice. Eddie was allowed to have friends, he told himself sternly, even very pretty ones you've never met before. "Aren't you supposed to be in Boston somewhere?"

"They let me out for good behavior," Beverley joked. At least, Steve thought she was joking. Probably. Tina didn't seem the kind to let a convicted criminal into her house... without Steve smuggling them in. "I was visiting home for the summer and Paul dragged me here. Said it would be good to catch up with old friends. I told him none of my old friends would be caught dead in this place, but here you are."

"Here I am," Eddie said with a lazy grin. "Stevie, this is Beverly-- One of the founding members of the Hellfire Club. Bev, this is Steve."

The unimpressed gaze made its way back to Steve. "We've met," Bev said flatly.

"Yup," Steve said, entirely unlike a man who remembered that happening. "You were... the grade ahead of me, right? Ed's class."

"Yup," she repeated, popping the 'p' mockingly. "Front row seat to an entire three years of the Steve Harrington experience."

"Right," Steve said, his stomach twisting. "It was good seeing you again. Um, Ed, I'm gonna-- Do you want a drink? I'm gonna get a drink."

Eddie's frown made the pain hit just a little deeper, and the concern in his eyes did nothing to balm it. The last thing Steve wanted was to make a scene in front of one of Eddie's friends, especially one who already hated him, but Eddie was too good to just let it lie. His voice dipped into a whisper, hand tightening around Steve's wrist. "Baby..."

Part of Steve wanted to give in, wanted to be soothed, but a larger part of him felt even worse for it. It felt overwhelming, suddenly, to have Eddie call for him so gently. Beverley's presence made it worse, her judgment a physical thing on his skin, and it hurt to be loved and know she didn't think he deserved it. He couldn't take it, and he didn't want to explain it. More than that, he didn't want to ruin Eddie's opportunity to reconnect with a friend. God knew he needed more of them, needed more than Steve could give to him.

"I'm gonna get a drink," Steve repeated, pulling his wrist from Eddie's grip.

The route to Tina's kitchen was almost muscle memory. It had been years since he'd shown up to one of these, but before the fall of King Steve, they had been an often enough affair that Tina's house was as familiar to him as Tommy's or Carol's. Her parents' hadn't changed much over the years, the same decor like landmarks on the walls. Steve took a turn by the overlarge cuckoo clock, the one he'd almost smashed with a bottle sophomore year, slipped through the doorway in the green wall, and--

Oh.

Tommy Hagan stood in the kitchen, staring down at a plastic cup on the counter in front of him. Steve hesitated just long enough for Tommy to look up, their eyes meeting across the room.

In an instant, Steve was in the last moment he'd seen Tommy, standing sore and dirty in the Warzone. As bad as he and Tommy had ended, Steve had never considered that his... old friend might be one of the idiots brainwashed by Jason's prejudice. Not even when Vickie's ex-boyfriend was there, home from college, did he think any of the people from his grade would be stupid enough to listen to some dumbfuck kid.

But there Tommy had been, just as Steve had left him.

The fight had been quiet, but had torn Steve apart in a way that the demobat's couldn't reach. Every healed wound was reopened, every argument relitigated, but Steve had gotten the last word.

"If you want to keep pretending to get the approval of people who would kill you if they knew who you were, go ahead, Tommy," Steve had said, "but I'm fucking sick of it."

When they had gotten back into the RV, Steve's hands were shaking. That was the last time he would ever see Tommy Hagan, he told himself, one way or another.

But apparently fucking not.

It was too late to go back to the party. Tommy had seen him now, and there was no way Steve was going to give Tommy the pleasure of backing down.

Steve forced himself to enter the kitchen properly, the door shutting behind him. Tommy's eyes never left him, but he forced himself to look down and away, focusing on the bottles of alcohol on the counter. He reached for a bottle of whiskey and a plastic cup, something simple to sip at while he pretended the vast gap between Steve's high school career and Eddie's didn't still scare the shit out of him. This night would be good, and if it couldn't be good, it was at least going to be easy. Steve wouldn't let it be anything else.

"Hey," Tommy said. Steve didn't flinch. Tommy had never let Steve have anything easy; He hadn't expected Tommy to start now.

"Hi," Steve said. He didn't look up until he was done pouring himself a shot. When their eyes finally met again, Steve let himself smile. It wasn't a nice smile, but it felt right on his face, felt good like a knife slipping easily between the ribs. "How's Carol?"

It wasn't his subtlest slight. Tommy barely flinched, but he had never been great at hiding his emotions from Steve, and the frown was evident in the corners of his mouth, of his eyes.

"We broke up," Tommy said, after a moment, and Steve-- Well, that was almost a surprise. He had half expected them to make each other miserable forever, to be old and grey and mean as fuck and convinced they were in love simply because they didn't know anything else. He used to imagine himself as a part of it, too, with dread deep in his stomach. Used to imagine the relief he would feel on his deathbed, finally escaping them.

"Good for Carol," Steve said, and, mouth dry, threw back his shot. Tommy watched him as he poured a new one.

"I thought about what you said, last time," Tommy said, and Steve couldn't help but laugh a little, shaking his head. "No, really, Stevie--"

"Don't. You can't--" Steve's hands shook as he put the bottle back down on the counter. "You don't get to try and fucking win me back. That wasn't the point. I don't-- I don't want you to choose me anymore, Tommy. I got tired of waiting."

"Then what was the point?"

"For you to stop being fucking angry all the time!"

"Oh, like you're one to ta--"

Steve cut across Tommy's words with a hiss. "You joined a fucking lynch mob." Tommy paused, his eyes going wide. Something in Steve's chest broke at that, still a sucker for those big eyes. He had a fucking type, apparently, and it wasn't just Eddie and Nancy-- It was everyone, everyone he'd ever loved, big-eyed broken hearts that Steve wanted to hold together with his own bloody hands. "You were going to kill someone because you were too chicken shit to have someone think you might not be 'normal'. Like it's normal to be so mad at life you kill a guy for listening to music you don't like."

Tommy didn't answer, just downed his own drink. Steve reached for the sours, making some concoction that was more whiskey than mix. He couldn't do this. He couldn't fucking--

"So are you here with him?" Tommy asked. Steve looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. "With Munson. You're here with him?"

No. No, Steve was done. Something about Eddie's name in Tommy's voice made Steve's brain go static. He wasn't playing this game anymore. Had no need for it. This fucked up ritual of posturing and pretension in someone else's kitchen wasn't who Steve was anymore. He fucking refused to spend the rest of the night sad and sick at his stomach, unable to reach the cool, untouchable facade of Tommy Hagan.

"Is this how you felt that night, with Billy?" Steve asked, instead. Tommy didn't speak, which was really the only answer Steve needed. "Right. Cool. Fuck this. Bye, Hagan."

He left the whiskey on the counter behind him.

Steve returned to Eddie's side just as frantic as he had left him, and it took every ounce of practiced repression that Steve had not to throw himself into Eddie's arms. At least Bev's eyes were kinder, now, though in some ways that made it worse. Steve didn't want to know what lies Eddie had decided to tell her about their relationship, about Steve's descent into dork-hood, about spring break. Mostly, he wanted to cry, but he settled for pressing a little too close into Eddie's side, their arms flush from shoulder to elbow.

"You alright, princess?" Eddie asked, his voice dropped low enough that Steve knew the name was meant to gentle, not to tease. God, Steve loved this man.

"I'm fine," he said, eyes darting to Bev and then back away. "Ran into Tommy in the kitchen. Didn't feel much like drinking anymore."

For a moment, Steve could see it becoming an Issue, Capital I, in Eddie's eyes. They hadn't really talked about Tommy, or his involvement with Jason's group of dipshits, not like they talked about Nancy. Steve had assumed it was all pretty obvious, from the letter jacket to the girlfriend, obvious and pathetic and embarrassing. But apparently Eddie had assumptions of his own, because Steve watched his eyes slide slowly to the direction of the kitchen, watched them go dark with determination. It wasn't anger, just a surety that Steve recognized from the mirror, the mental equivalent of planting your feet in the dirt and daring someone to move you.

Eddie looked at the kitchen like it contained an enemy, not the most pathetic man that Steve had ever known.

"Not that big a deal," Steve said, softly. "Don't worry about it."

"Right," Eddie said, and after a beat, turned back to Beverly. "Sorry, what were you saying about parking?"

The conversation picked back up like Steve had never interrupted, although a little softer now, with spaces at the edges like they were both waiting for Steve to join them. He didn't feel the need, didn't feel like the energy would be worth what it took to craft himself into a functioning person.

He kept close to Eddie, instead. Too close to be written off as just friends, honestly, close enough to get them both killed if the wrong person looked at them twice. And people were looking. Of course they were; Steve Harrington's arm was wrapped around Eddie Munson's waist, fingers tangled in the chain that spilled from his lover's pocket. How could they not look? Even Beverly seemed shocked, like even all her years of freakery at Eddie's side hadn't prepared her for the depth of Steve's need. Steve only pressed closer, the metal on Eddie's belt biting into his skin. He didn't care.

Neither, it seemed, did Eddie, which was more of a surprise. Steve had prepared himself to be pushed away. Had already begun placating the longing thing in his chest that it wasn't a true rejection, that Eddie was only doing what was smart. That he needed to get hurt to keep them safe. But Eddie never moved from his side. Never said a word about it, either, just slung a nonchalant arm over Steve's shoulders.

It was so fucking stupid, wasn't it? Stupid of Steve to stand this close, and hold so tightly. Stupid of Eddie to let him. Tears stung at Steve's eyes. He'd never been loved enough to be loved stupidly before. But Steve had enough of logical affection. Nancy and Tommy were so, so careful with him, but never in the ways that mattered. They measured their love into bits and pieces, rationing it out when it was safe. When it was allowed. Not Eddie, though.

Eddie held him in full view of the entire fucking town, if Steve needed it badly enough.

"Do you know that guy?" Beverly asked, loud enough that even Steve followed her eyeline.

Tommy stood against the far wall, far enough away that he couldn't hear their conversation, but close enough he couldn't be ignored. His gaze burned on Steve's skin. He didn't look disgusted or angry, not like Steve would have expected a mere six months ago, but there was an intensity to his eyes that Steve didn't like. He pressed himself further into Eddie's side.

"Tell me to go talk to him," Eddie said. Like he was letting Steve call the shots. Like he was asking for permission. "It'll be quick, I promise."

"Just get me out of here." Steve's hand slid up from Eddie's hip, fingers bunching the hem of Eddie's shirt in his palm. "Somewhere we can be alone. Please."

For a moment, it looked like Eddie was going to argue. Steve tried to beg silently for him to understand-- There were at least a dozen people looking at them right now, Tommy the least to worry about. Steve had leverage on Tommy, Steve knew things about Tommy that would kill his reputation with more than just their friends. Tommy couldn't say shit without Steve taking him down with him. They both knew that.

But if Eddie started shit in public, there was nothing Steve could do. In fact, it would only be more damning. Steve tried not to think about what the neighbors would tell his parents, if it were rumor that Eddie and Tommy had fought over him.

Common sense won out. Eddie shrugged and turned to Bev with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Hanlon. We gotta step out for a second. Maybe I'll see you around."

Bev shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Eddie. You guys have a nice night..." She met Steve's eyes. "It was nice to meet you, Steve."

"You too," Steve lied. It was too bad, he thought as Eddie led him away. It would have been nice to actually have a good time with one of Eddie's friends. He'd yet to meet one who didn't hate him on sight, but it was always nice to dream. Maybe the next time would be easier, if Beverly stuck around until school started back. Gareth still hadn't deigned to be in the same room with him a second time.

Leading Steve up the staircase, Eddie tangled their fingers together. The second floor was empty, enough to give Steve the bravery to cling onto his boyfriend. There was a bathroom on this landing, Steve remembered, a bathroom where--

"In here," he said, without thinking. "Can we just-- In here?"

Without answering, Eddie pulled him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

"Okay," Eddie said, voice shaking. "Do you want to tell me what--" He was cut off by Steve flinging himself into Eddie's arms. It was clumsy, more like a tackle than a hug. Steve's shoulder hit Eddie square in the chest, sending them both stumbling back, knocking into the wall and sending towels and loofahs tumbling off the rickety rack beside them. Eddie's arms came up around Steve before the impact even registered, just as tight as Steve was clinging to him. "Hey, hey. It's okay, Stevie. It's okay. He's not going to touch you."

Steve laughed wetly, his tears seeping into Eddie's t-shirt. "It's not-- Fuck Tommy Hagan. I don't care about-- Fuck, Eddie, I don't care about him." Eddie said nothing, just stroked one hand down Steve's spine, waiting. Steve took one shuddering breath before continuing, "I just don't understand why it has to be so fucking hard all the time."

"I'm sorry." Eddie's voice was soft, but there was a guilt there that was all too familiar to Steve. He forced himself to pull out of Eddie's embrace enough to make eye contact.

"It's not your fault," Steve said, sliding one hand around to rest on Eddie's chest. "It's never your fault, when I-- when I get like this. I promise."

Eddie pushed a messy lock of hair back into place, away from Steve's forehead, and smiled sadly. "It'd be easier, though, if you weren't worried about being in love with the Freak."

"It wouldn't," Steve said, pushing closer again. He stooped low enough to rest his forehead on Eddie's collarbone, curling against him. "You're the only thing that's ever been easy."

"This is the second time I've made you cry at a party," Eddie said, but there was a smile in his voice now. Steve nudged his nose into Eddie's skin and sighed.

"I made myself cry, both times," Steve reminded him. "We're not even fighting this time. I just got into my own head about meeting your friend, and then--" He swallowed. "Well, Tommy."

"I wish I could make it easier for you," Eddie said. He dipped his head to press a kiss to Steve's clothed shoulder. Steve smiled and leaned into the contact, loving the warmth filling him up from Eddie's easy acceptance. Every day, Eddie's lack of judgment when it came to Steve's quirks made his brain quiet enough to manage.

"This makes it easier," Steve said. He cradled Eddie's face in his hands, tilting Eddie's chin up so Steve could litter his face with kisses. "Being yours makes it so, so easy."

"You're trying to butter me up." Far from sounding put out, Eddie's arms wrapped back around Steve's waist, pulling him roughly against Eddie's chest.

"Trying to seduce you, actually," Steve said, lightly. Nothing banished the shadows from his mind like touch. Just Eddie's skin against his could cure him, Steve thought, if the world didn't demand distance between them just to get through another day. He tried to forget that separation waited in the wings, tried to pretend that the entire world was here, inside this bathroom. Swallowed down his tears and hid a smile under the curve of Eddie's jaw. "Is it working?"

Eddie sighed, but he was already backing Steve up against the sink, crowding him into the porcelain. Steve clung to Eddie's shoulders as Eddie's body forced him off balance, his back curving over the sink, towards the mirror, the facsimile of a dip.

"One of these days, Harrington, I'm going to put a stop to these little distractions of yours." Despite his protest, Steve could hear Eddie's interest in the scratch of his voice, could feel it in the way Eddie's fingers gripped at his body.

Steve angled their faces together, humming against Eddie's lips in mock thought. "You can certainly try."

With a growl, Eddie kissed him.

Steve wondered if he would ever get used to the way Eddie kissed him. It was ridiculous, he thought, as Eddie licked into his mouth, that Eddie could take him apart this way with so little effort. They had done very little together but kiss for weeks now, even their public hangouts culminating in an hour or two of necking. It wasn't like Eddie was the first person to ever kiss him. Eddie wasn't even the first man to ever kiss him.

Fuck if Eddie couldn't set him on fire, though.

"You drive me fucking insane," Eddie groaned as he dragged his open mouth across Steve's cheek.

"Yeah?" Steve's voice shouldn't be so breathless, he knew that, but hearing his own voice wrecked like that only made his chest pull tighter.

"Using all my best moves and you're a mile away." Eddie pressed impossibly closer, his teeth digging gently into the meat of Steve's cheek, just enough for Steve to feel the pressure and shiver against him. "What are you thinking about, huh, Stevie? What's got my sweetheart's attention?"

"Thinking about you," Steve promised. "Always thinking about you, Eddie."

Eddie's hand slid into Steve's hair, gripping at the fine hairs at the nape of Steve's hair until they stung enough to make him gasp. "I'm right here, baby. Don't go floating away on me yet."

Steve didn't bother replying, just pulled against Eddie's grip, trying to connect their mouths again. Eddie tutted, the kind of condescending that sent shivers down Steve's spine. "None of that, now," Eddie said. He no longer needed his hands to keep Steve in place, his body keeping Steve's solidly pinned against the porcelain of the sink. His free hand was much better used trailing a thumb down the exposed tendon in Steve's neck as Eddie surveyed Steve with flashing eyes. "You gonna tell me what's got you so eaten up inside, Stevie?"

"I told you," Steve whined. He was getting better at talking about his feelings; At least, he was trying. Steve honestly thought he was miles ahead of where he used to be. Sure, he still started fights now and again, but it wasn't out of sheer desire to never let himself any emotion but anger. If anything, he was a little too in touch with his emotions. He felt like they were spilling out of his mouth constantly, with or without his permission. At first he'd thought it was a result of the adrenaline, the way he was always confessing something embarassing after life or death situations. Or before them. But no one had tried to kill him recently, and it still seemed like Steve was admitting one mortifying secret after another.

"You've hinted," Eddie challenged. "You haven't told me what really happened. If he... I don't know how you two ended. But if Tommy is a problem.."

There was a moment, where Eddie was trying to find the words to say. Steve could already hear them, though, the same words Robin had tried to ask-- Had tried to ask about Eddie, too, recently. He wondered what it was about him that screamed victim to the people who loved him, what made them always assume he had been hurt in some terrible way. It was sweet that they wanted to protect him, but a part of Steve was a little sick of it, too. He wasn't a child. He could handle asshole exes.

"It wasn't like that," Steve said, and at the dubious look in Eddie's eyes, he shook his head, laughing a little at the ridiculousness of the situation. "No, seriously, Ed. Tommy and I got in fights, yeah, especially at the end, but I was just as mean as him. I hit harder, too. Sure, he hurt me, but it wasn't-- It was like Nancy and I, really, except worse. We couldn't talk, and it wasn't that we didn't want to, we were just fucking terrified of saying what we actually wanted. That wasn't Tommy's fault." It hurt to admit, but Steve was fairly sure that the nebulous mess of his and Tommy's relationship was just as much his fault as anybody else's. Sure, Tommy had been the one to constantly choose Carol, over and over, but Steve hadn't exactly asked to be chosen. He had been content, even pursued Nancy out of some need to complete the perfect image the three of them had already begun. He had been the one to fall in love with someone else, too, no matter how much it stung when Tommy threw it in his face.

"So why are we hiding in a bathroom then, baby?" Eddie asked.

Steve bit his lip, a smile quirking the edges of his lips despite himself when Eddie's eyes flicked down, distracted. He took a second to gather himself, almost wishing he had the strength to push Eddie away for this conversation. "You're not going to like it," he said.

"Wow, I'm not going to like what's making my boyfriend cry? Shocker."

"It's about spring break," Steve said, and watched the teasing smile fade from Steve's face with a sick feeling in his stomach.

"Tommy was..."

"Yeah. Yeah, he came home for break, and-- And he and Jason hadn't exactly been close, you know, with Jason being so new and all, but he had looked up to us, and he was always so eager to do what Tommy said, and Tommy isn't exactly great at breaking from the pack. I mean, you saw how he was with--" Steve's throat tightened. "You know, with Billy."

Eddie's lips pursed. "Beginning to sense a pattern there, yeah."

"I don't know what's worse," Steve said, "the idea that he never really knows how bad they are or the idea that he just doesn't care."

There was a long moment as Eddie took a deep breath, and then he said: "Stevie, baby, you know that doesn't have anything to do with you, right?"

"I think it--" Steve laughed, wetly, tears caught in his throat. "I think it has a lot to do with me, actually."

"No--"

"Eddie. Tommy was my best friend for years. I was in love with him. And he's-- He's a terrible fucking person. I cut him loose and the next guy he's cozying up to is Billy fucking--" Steve could feel himself start to spiral again, even in the firm press of Eddie's body. "Did Lucas ever tell you what Billy tried to do to him? He was gonna run him over. Even worse, maybe, that night he showed up to my house. And Tommy fucking introduced me to him like it was going to make me jealous. And it did. I was jealous of a man who wanted to kill little kids."

"Steve," Eddie tried, but Steve was galloping away without him.

"And then Jason Carver. Tommy was gone, he was out of here, but he couldn't even make it one week without throwing in with the asshole who was going to kill you. They were going to kill you, Eddie."

"I know, baby. I know."

"Tommy was going to kill you, and he-- He loved me. He did, he loved me. And he was going to kill you, Eddie. So what the fuck's the matter with me?"

"I--" Eddie looked lost, honestly, and Steve's heart broke a little. He wanted Eddie to tell him he was crazy, wanted Eddie to make it all go away, but even Eddie couldn't untangle the chaos of Steve's thoughts. "There's nothing wrong with you, Stevie. You can't take responsibility for something he did two years after you stopped talking to the guy. Like, what, you're gonna blame yourself for everything he does for the next ten years, too?"

"You don't get it. It's like... It's like, Tommy only chooses the worst people. Just, the worst fucking people Hawkins has to offer. So-- so why was I one of them? What's fucking wrong with me that the only person to ever want to own me is--"

"I'm gonna have to stop you right there," Eddie said, his voice the kind of gentle that spoke of intent. "Because I think you're confused, baby. You don't belong to Tommy, do you?"

Confusion brought Steve's rising panic to a halt, had him looking up at Eddie with a furrowed brow. "No? No, obviously not. I wouldn't--"

"Steve." Just a little firmer now, Eddie's gentle hands cupped Steve's thighs and lifted him up just enough that one of Eddie's thighs could slide between them. "Who do you belong to, baby?"

"Oh," Steve gasped, the air rushing out of him. "I--" Eddie seemed to be content to wait, but there was no amusement in his eyes, just the intense stare of a man waiting for the right moment.

Steve swallowed. "You?" he tried, then flushed when a grin broke over Eddie's face in approval. Still, whatever lurked in Eddie's eyes wasn't exactly happiness. It was a little darker than that, a little hungrier, a little meaner. Steve knew he should probably be worried, at least be a little more attached to the panic that had seemed so all consuming, but the sight of what Steve hoped might be possession in Eddie's eyes had him flushing with excitement instead.

"That's right," Eddie said, and pressed a kiss to Steve's cheek as if to prove it. "You're all mine. No one else gets to have you, because no one else can take care of you right, can they, sweetheart? No one else knows how to treat my Stevie. Especially not Tommy fucking Hagan."

"Yours," Steve promised, heart in his throat.

Eddie hummed in agreement, nosing his way lower to mouth at Steve's jaw. When he'd had his fill of the scratch of Steve's stubble against his tongue, he said, "And I only have the best, right? Don't I deserve it, baby boy?"

"You deserve everything, Ed," Steve breathed, clinging to Eddie's shoulders.

Sighing, Eddie dug his fingers into the muscle of Steve's thighs, the slight ache the perfect punishment for Steve's racing mind. "Then my baby should be the best, right? You're the only one I got, sweetheart. And I don't know what you were like, when Tommy Hagan tried to make you his. Doesn't really matter, either, because you're mine now, and you're the best fucking thing this town has to offer. That's all I know. Fuck everything else."

Steve pulled at Eddie's shirt, his hands going so tight he could feel the bite of his nails in his palms even through the thin fabric. He didn't know what to say, couldn't find a way to make his logic work without insulting Eddie or his choices-- Logic that made about much sense as Eddie's did, if Steve was honest with himself; Both of them were arguments Nancy would scoff at, circular and emotional and, frankly, stupid. But it made Steve want to cry anyway, because Eddie wanted the very best, and Eddie wanted him.

"Prove it," Steve said, because otherwise he would sob and he wasn't sure if he would ever stop.

"Prove what? Use your words, big boy. I know you can."

Pulling a little harder, Steve bullied Eddie back just enough to look him in the eye. "Prove that I'm yours. That I'm-- that I'm the best."

Eddie shifted his weight, throwing Steve even further off balance. There wasn't a word for what Eddie was doing now other than looming; With no real height difference, Eddie had made himself one, using every trick he knew to make himself large and imposing. Steve's entire field of vision was swallowed up by Eddie, all black cotton and leather. Eddie leaned in close, smiling that wolfish grin.

"Yeah, I can do that for you, baby," Eddie said, his hot breath against Steve's lips.

And then Steve was being consumed.

It was impossible to think when Eddie kissed him like this, and although Robin had tried to wheedle details out of Steve, he had always failed to put into words just how Eddie made him feel. The simple fact of the matter was that Steve would never be able to properly describe it, because that required his brain to be coherent enough to remember anything. Even in the moment, Steve didn't have words for what he was feeling. There was no fancy language or purple prose that floated through his head, no inner monologue, just the vague recognition of hot and wet and sheer animal instinct.

Steve felt very, very sorry for all the girls who had once called him the best kisser in Hawkins, because this was so much better than anything he'd ever managed in high school.

After a moment, Eddie began to back off, and Steve recognized the move. It seemed that getting Steve riled up was half the fun for Eddie, and it only took a couple days for Steve to see a pattern begin to emerge. Eddie would kiss him until he could scarcely breathe, much less think, and then pull back. What was once tongue and teeth would become chaste and gentle, patient, and then Eddie would hold it over his head as Steve went crazy trying to get Eddie's tongue back in his mouth. It was mean, and Steve would be more irritated by how obviously Eddie got off on it if it didn't feel so good for Eddie to hold him down and make him take what Eddie was willing to give.

Steve's cock began to thicken in his pants, far too turned on for some juvenile necking at a bathroom. Mostly sober, even. Steve had a reputation to keep up, steady boyfriend or not, and while he knew Eddie wasn't exactly going to talk about his performance in the locker rooms, getting a stiffy every time he got his mouth on Eddie's was the antithesis of cool. It wasn't hot, either. It was lukewarm. Tepid. The kind of baby shit Steve had stopped doing in the 10th grade. With that in mind, Steve broke the kiss to catch his breath, and groaned when Eddie took it as a sign to attach his teeth to Steve's neck, instead. Squirming, Steve tried to angle his hips away from Eddie's. Unfortunately, it only made more clear the firm press of Eddie's cock against his thigh. Eddie didn't seem as concerned, focused intently on the hickey he was leaving on Steve's pulse point, but suddenly Steve was able to think of very little else.

It was dizzying, just the idea of Eddie, thick and hard. It was hard to get an idea of what he looked like by touch alone, but Steve had more than enough imagination to make up for it. Steve's mouth flooded with saliva as he pictured it, what it might feel like warm and heavy in his hand, on his tongue-- Fuck, if Steve thought the fantasies were bad when Eddie touched him, then they were even worse when Eddie kissed him. If he'd had even a fraction of strength left in his limbs, then Steve might have pushed Eddie away and sunk to his knees on the tile floor. That, at least, would keep the issue of his new hair trigger cock out of the equation for a little while. But pinned against the sink, Steve had little to no leverage, and as Eddie laved down to his collarbone to start work anew, he wasn't sure he really wanted to.

What he needed was a distraction, really. As he clung to Eddie, whining high when teeth closed around the tendons in his throat and tugged gently, Steve tried to think of anything else. Anything else. The world that had seemed so upsetting before now seemed a thousand miles away, and he struggled to sift through the memories of just a few moments ago. Tina's party, he made himself remember, and the ugly couch with the ratty upholstery they kept in their basement. The awful orange tile backsplash in their kitchen. The burn of the vodka down his throat. The music, so loud he could still hear it now, bass thumping up through the floor and into his bones, the distant whine of an electric guitar.

With a giggle, Steve realized he recognized the song. Vaguely, of course; It was the kind of recognition he had for the soaps Mrs. Buckley watched while he helped her with dinner, viewed through the fog of apathy. It wasn't one of Eddie's songs. In fact, the only reason Steve remembered it at all was that it had once inspired a ninety minute diatribe against the evils of 'glam metal', one which had only settled after Steve had revealed that, actually, he thought Slash was kinda hot. Eddie had been so aghast at Steve getting the band wrong that he hadn't been able to continue to besmirch them, and that had been the end of that. The giggles continued, as Steve remembered the betrayed little looks Eddie had sent him for the rest of the day.

"Something funny, buttercup?" Eddie said, biting harder at Steve's throat.

Steve hummed just to feel his skin vibrate against Eddie's teeth. "They're playing your song," he said, every syllable falling into laughter.

After a brief moment, Eddie snorted and pulled away. He was so fucking beautiful, Steve thought, with his pupils blown and his smile sharp. He was beautiful everyday, of course, but mostly like this, when he was looking at Steve like he was something to eat. "If you're listening to the music, I must not be doing a very good job," he muttered, eyes narrowing.

Doing too damn good a job, Steve didn't say. The brief distraction had rid Steve of the fear of coming untouched like a virgin, but his dick still throbbed insistently in his pants. "Guess not," he said, barely holding himself back from panting.

"Yeah, okay, Harrington." Eddie patted him on the hip. "Hop up."

"What?"

Rolling his eyes, Eddie once again grabbed Steve by the thighs, but this time he lifted, sliding Steve up and back to perch on the lip of the sink. Steve blinked in surprise. He'd known Eddie had some strength from that moment in the boat house, and had never forgotten that the man could apparently throw him around anytime Steve asked for it, but he hadn't expected to actually be... well, picked up and thrown. Not that there had been very far to go, but... Fuck.

Steve could feel himself flushing as Eddie pushed his legs apart, stepping into the cradle he made there. "Now I've got you where I want you," Eddie said, smug and self-assured, and Steve could only reach up for a kiss.

Despite Steve's enthusiastic appeal, Eddie refused to let Steve take charge. Any hands that reached for sensitive areas were batted away, and when Steve's kisses delved too deep, Eddie grabbed him by the hair and pulled him away. It was torture in the worst way, not least of all because Eddie was doing all he could to be as tempting as possible. Every moment, every kiss and caress, every roll of his hips was choreographed and perfectly placed. Steve had never witnessed anything like it. Never had someone perform for him like this-- Because that's what this was. Eddie was seducing him like it was a performance, like Eddie was on stage and working the crowd. Steve had never gotten a lap dance before, but he'd heard of them, from the guys who weren't afraid to pay for the seedier shit. This wasn't the same, some no-touch tease of a thing with a girl whose name you barely knew, but Steve figured the appeal was the same. Sex and a show, someone sexy wrapped in leather and all their attention on you. The beat of the song vibrated through Steve's bones, no longer from the stereo downstairs but because Eddie was fucking him at 124 beats per minute.

Because he was being fucked. The fact they both still had their fucking pants on was doing nothing to change the way Steve felt like he was being fucking taken apart, or the fact that Eddie had him pinned and desperate. Even though it dulled the edge of pleasure, Steve could still feel the jut of Eddie's cock against his own as Eddie rocked into him. He'd had his fair share of dry humping, girls and guys alike, and it had never felt like this. It was supposed to be distracted and silly, something horny teens who didn't know better gave into, but this was...

This was Eddie, stupid and messy and unplanned in someone else's bathroom, and Steve felt like he was drowning in it.

"Doing okay, princess?" Eddie asked, panting open-mouth against Steve's ear.

Steve threw back his head and moaned. Before he could even recover, Eddie's teeth were around his Adam's apple, digging in softly.

"I'm gonna fucking come," Steve said outloud, the crown of his head bumping against the mirror behind him. Before he said it out loud, he hadn't realized how true it was. His underwear was wet with precum, and it dragged minutely against the head of his cock with every thrust even as it did its best to escape the fabric. Every shift against his sensitive skin brought just the barest edge of pain, and Steve wasn't sure if his balls were drawing tight because of it or in spite of it, but he was hurtling towards the edge regardless. Steve's toes curled in his shoes, another reminder of how much better this would all be if he was just fucking naked. Eddie showed no signs of stopping, his head dropping to Steve's shoulder as he focused entirely on the cant of their bodies together.

"God, yeah," Eddie groaned, just loud enough for Steve to hear. "Let 'em hear you cum, baby. Let the whole fucking party know you're up here getting railed like the slut you are."

There were several things Steve wanted to say that-- He wanted to protest being called a slut, wanted to tease Eddie that if he wanted to 'rail' Steve he was going to have to do a little better than this. What Steve's brain wanted to do had very little to do with what his body was doing, however, because his cock fucking loved it. He felt himself twitch against the fabric once, twice more at the sheer thought of someone downstairs hearing him come apart, and then he was spilling into the already sodden fabric of his pants.

Clinging onto the last bit of common sense left in his dizzy little brain, Steve didn't cry out as his hips jerked, artless, against Eddie's. He buried his face in Eddie's neck and choked his way through it, teeth gritted against the sob rising in his throat.

Eddie dropped the performance in the face of Steve's desperate embrace, his own grip becoming softer. "There you go, sweetheart. God, my pretty baby," Eddie crooned, dropping kisses against whatever bits of Steve's skin he could reach. As Steve tried not to squirm his way off the sink during the aftershocks, Eddie continued his soft litany of nonsensical endearments.

"What does it say about me," Steve panted into Eddie's neck, "that I've been having sex for four years and that's the hardest I've ever come?"

Laughing, Eddie cupped the back of Steve's head, smoothing down the wayward hair there. It was a sweet gesture, caring in its absentminded way, and Steve pulled back enough to stare up at Eddie, delighted.

"I think it means you have a really sexy boyfriend," Eddie said, smug as anything.

With a roll of his eyes, Steve said, "I think my sexy boyfriend should let me return the favor." Then he hooked his pointer fingers into Eddie's waistband and waited for the smirk on Eddie's face to fade into shock.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asked, as Steve's wandering hands made their way to his fly. "I just wanted to get you out of your head, baby. You really don't have to--"

Steve shoved his hand into Eddie's pants, never breaking their gaze while he wrapped his hand around Eddie's cock. "I've been thinking about sucking your cock for months now," Steve said. "Please believe me when I say I really, really do need to, actually."

Eddie glanced down at the tile below them, wincing at the off-white color. "I'm not letting you suck my dick in this bathroom." When Steve scoffed, he looked up, eyes squinted with displeasure– As if Steve weren't literally rubbing his thumb over the head of Eddie's dick. "Stop being a little brat. You deserve better."

"I deserve your cock in my throat," Steve grumbled. He was a little pleased, in spite of himself. Not many of his previous partners had put much thought into what Steve did or didn't 'deserve'. If Steve offered, it was accepted, and more than half would gladly push him down to his knees where he belonged. It had never upset him, because Steve liked it– being on his knees, being pushed around, it was all exactly where he wanted to be. But there was a little thrill in the idea of Eddie making sure it was good and safe for Steve, too.

Not as much of a thrill as Eddie making him choke on his dick, but still.

"Do I have permission to at least make you come with my hand?" Steve said. Enjoying the teasing, he kept his voice mockingly nonchalant, as if Eddie's dick in his palm was something that happened everyday. One of Eddie's eyebrows arched, a skill that inspired as much lust in Steve as it did blistering jealousy. It should be illegal for one nerd loser to be so fucking sexy while Steve still had trouble walking down the street without causing a minor disaster.

"You can certainly try," Eddie said.

Steve didn't like the amused tone in Eddie's voice, the one that said Eddie doubted very much that Steve could make him come with nothing but a dry hand. He knew it was only playing, a more intimate version of their friendly arguments, but mixed with the recent overprotectiveness it made Steve's hackles raise like an angry cat. He wanted to make Eddie's eyes fucking roll with pleasure, if only to prove to himself that he was still in full control of himself and his... various skills.

Carefully, Steve finally released Eddie's dick from the confines of his boxers, trying not to show how excited he was for the first glimpse of his boyfriend's dick. It was honestly nothing special, if Steve was being honest with himself, average sized and curved enough to make every stroke smooth. Still, the fact that it was his boyfriend's dick, flushed purple and hot in his hand, was enough to make Steve's mouth water. It was the prettiest dick in the world, he decided, and then quickly vowed to never say anything that embarrassing out loud.

Eager to get started, Steve spit into his hand and resumed the slow, long strokes that he'd teased Eddie with before, pausing to play idly with the head now and again.

Eddie shifted his weight, leaning into Steve. "You can go a little faster, you know," he said. Steve could hear the feigned, practiced boredom in his voice, and the slight strain underneath.

Don't bullshit the bullshitter, Steve thought.

It was easy to return the unconcerned energy. All Steve really had to do was prop his free arm on Eddie's shoulder, a casually intimate gesture. It was the kind of thing he'd do with a friend at a party, his hand not even resting on Eddie's body. If he couldn't feel the spit and precum oozing between his fingers, Steve would almost say this was the most obviously platonic they'd been all night.

"You know, I think it's really sweet when you treat me like a virgin," Steve said, in the same voice he'd talk about the weather, or which of them was supposed to pick up Dustin that day. "Unnecessary, but really, really sweet. But you know, I have to wonder if it's maybe a little selfish?"

Eddie didn't even acknowledge Steve's words, his entire attention on the hand on his cock. Steve could feel Eddie's fingers flex where they gripped at his hips, could see Eddie's throat work as he swallowed, but it wasn't enough. He wanted Eddie's attention on him, not the easy friction of Steve's hand. Eddie could get that anywhere.

Fighting the urge to pout and beg for the attention he felt he was owed, Steve leaned in until his chin was almost resting on Eddie's shoulder. Breath disturbing the fine baby hairs behind Eddie's ear, Steve said, "Is that what gets you off, Eddie? Pretending I'm a precious little virgin? That's so sweet, baby." 'Sweet' had turned into something sharp in Steve's mouth, a condescending word full of mocking. The kindest synonym for stupid. "Everyone knows I'm a needy slut, but you need to pretend you're the guy who taught me, not T--"

"Don't say his fucking name," Eddie spit, just vicious enough that Steve didn't press it, though he couldn't tell if the tension was actual anger or the oncoming orgasm.

Switching tactics, Steve sighed. "You played your hand there, babe, telling me to cum loud enough for them to hear me. You want them to know you're up here slutting me out, that you're the one who turns me into a cockslut? And it would be such a shame, wouldn't it, if one of them came up here. If T-- If one of the guys came to check on us and they saw King Steve begging for your cock. But you want it so bad, don't you?"

"Need to know who you belong to," Eddie groaned, and then shifted his weight further into Steve as his hips bucked into the clench of Steve's hand. They were plastered together once again, Steve's forehead resting against Eddie's temple. Contrary to the bitchy tone of his teasing, Steve pressed a kiss to Eddie's cheek, overwhelmed by affection. All he'd ever wanted was to be owned, and here Eddie was, about to blow his load at the thought of publically owning him. Steve had just come, and his thighs were still clenching in anticipation at the idea.He whimpered in Eddie's ear and luxuriated in the pained hiss he got in return.

"I belong to you," Steve assured him, the mask of nonchalance falling away. "They didn't take care of me, did they? Not like I needed. Not like you can. So you gotta claim me, gotta let 'em know they can't ever touch me again."

Eddie didn't reply, his chest heaving as he panted, open-mouthed, in time with Steve's strokes. His cock throbbed in Steve's grip, and Steve grinned.

"That's it, baby," Steve crooned, brushing his lips over the tip of Eddie's ear. "Come all over me. Make sure they know who I belong to."

Watching Eddie come was a form of release Steve hadn't even known he needed. He'd never really bothered himself with the physical manifestation of his partners' pleasure before; The orgasm itself was the goal, the mess that came with it was just a slightly irritating reality of sex. But with Eddie's come dripping down his knuckles and splashing across the hem of his shirt, Steve didn't feel the same irritation. For once, he bought into his own dirty talk. The warmth was a brand, now, and he could feel Eddie's claim sink into his skin.

Steve's cock gave a pathetic, painful twitch in his pants, and he groaned as he remembered the mess he'd made. That, at least, was still mildly disgusting.

"Get up," he said, shoving at Eddie's shoulder. "I want to go home."

Eddie laughed, finally straightening up to look Steve in the eye. He was fucking beautiful like this, Steve thought, his hair frizzy and sweat-matted, his cheeks flushed. "You never heard of an afterglow, Harrington?"

"You can glow all you want when I have clean underwear on," Steve said, but even when Eddie stepped back, Steve made sure to stay close. He thought if he lost the warmth of Eddie's body against his, he might actually lose his mind. "Come on, I wanna cuddle. Take me home."

"We haven't even been here an hour!" Eddie said, still laughing.

"I guess you should have thought about that before you made me come untouched, asshole," Steve said, and then stopped, sighing. "You were right, anyway. I hate these people."

"Alright, alright, let me put my dick back in my pants, you maniac," Eddie said, tucking himself away, grimacing at the oversensitivity.

Steve looked down at himself. Cum stained the edge of his shirt and the jeans below, and his hands were still tacky and wet. Even worse was what couldn't be seen, the mess in his pants that seemed worse every time Steve moved. "Talk about your walk of shame," he mumbled. Patting Eddie's shoulder with the back of his hand, he said out loud, "Scoot back so I can turn the sink on?"

Eddie obliged, stepping as far back as the bathroom walls would let him. Steve hopped down from the counter and turned to wash his hands. He could feel Eddie's eyes on him in the mirror, but didn't bother making eye contact, content to let his boyfriend look his fill. It made Steve feel secure, anyway, like Eddie's gaze was holding him down. Like Eddie's eyes on him were what made him real.

After drying his hands, Steve dabbed ineffectually at the cum stains on his t-shirt with a paper towel. Most of the stickiness faded, from the outside, anyway, but there were still obviously dark spots on the fabric. His jeans were even more obvious, the light wash dark and off-colored in the places Eddie had marked him.

"Well, you said you wanted them to know," Eddie said, laughing, but with none of the light-heartedness he'd had just moments before. He sounded nervous, actually, his voice shaking in a way Steve hadn't heard him sound in a long time.

Steve lowered his hand, grip loosening around the towel. "They were going to know what we were doing in here whether it comes out or not, Eddie," Steve said, slowly. Maybe they would have had a chance of dodging the gossip mongers if Steve hadn't spent half the party clinging to Eddie's side, but none of what they'd done tonight was exactly subtle. Sure, they had plausible deniability, and Steve had enough of a reputation left that people would at least hesitate before they accused him of being a queer. There wouldn't be an angry mob. Whatever hate followed them for this would be much more polite than that, but there was no way tongues wouldn't be wagging about Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington disappearing upstairs at a party.

Eddie's eyes slid away from his. "There's no way anyone is going to buy you hooking up with me," Eddie said, and-- Steve wished he could just chalk it up to insecurity, but Eddie honestly sounded like that was the hopeful outcome, like he was hoping no one would ever know how much Steve loved him. Steve knew it was the cause of years of homophobia and harassment, not because of him, but it was still hard not to feel hurt.

He chose his words carefully. "Not to brag, but people are going to notice if I never look at a girl again," Steve said. He dropped the towel in the trash, feeling ridiculous trying to have a serious conversation still holding a cum-stained piece of paper. "And I'm possessive as hell. People were always going to find out, one day. It might as well be now."

"Are you…" Eddie huffed, his eyes sliding away from Steve. "I'm trying not to do that thing where I assume you're going to be a victim of some terrible evil."

"Thanks," Steve said, his voice dry.

"But it's going to be bad for you," Eddie said, "in a way it wasn't for me. No one ever expected me to be anything else, but you– Your family –"

"Yeah, there's gonna be a lot of shit that sucks, Eddie, but when the alternative is pretending I don't love you for the foreseeable future, I think it's worth it." Steve took Eddie's hand in his. "I want to love you out loud, every fucking second that I possibly can. And if someone has a problem with it, then they can try and stop me, sure. But I don't think there's a goddamn thing they can do to me that Vecna didn't try, first."

Despite himself, Eddie laughed, his face full of that fond exasperation that so often followed Steve around these days. "Well, when you put it like that, I guess there's nothing to worry about."

"Now you're getting it." Steve pressed a kiss to the corner of Eddie's mouth, and then pulled back, smiling. "So are you going to get me out of this hellhole, or what?"

"This was your idea!" Eddie protested, even as he unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

It was hard to drop the secrecy completely, all the big talk falling to the wayside when faced with reality. They stepped into the hallway gingerly, their guards sliding back up around them as they slipped back into real life. On the stairs down, their hands parted without thought, the comfort of the grip dissolving in fear. But Steve stayed close, and didn't bother putting a platonic distance between them even when he felt the burning gaze of his old friends settle on his skin.

"Do you want to say goodbye to Bev?" Steve asked, leaning in to speak over the music. That was his excuse, anyway.

Eddie's grin said he knew exactly what Steve was doing, but his words played dumb. "Nah, she said she'd drop by the Hideout before she heads back to school. Let's get out of here, baby."

#steddie #obts

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