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th30ra3k3n · 3 months

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Steve sighs as Robin cackles and opens the door to the break room to add yet another tally to the “You Suck” side of her whiteboard. He hopes she lingers for a bit so he can get a break from the constant reminder that yes, he does suck. But the stupid hat and sailor uniform is enough of a reminder already.

And okay, maybe he enjoys Robin’s company a little bit, so maybe he doesn’t want her to linger for too long.

But he’ll never tell her that. Not in a million years.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots someone walk into the entrance and he turns to give his “ahoy there” speech that Robin refuses to utter a single word of. Only, he gets a little choked up when he realizes he knows the person.

Well, not exactly knows him. But it’s hard not to know of Eddie “The Freak” Munson. Especially if you go to high school with him and happen to be a jock, god forbid. Not that Steve ever disagreed with the things he said, although some of it went right over his head - okay, most of it did. But! All things said, Eddie had a habit of making himself known to people.

“Ahoy there!” Steve announces louder than intended. “Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain.” He leaves out his name because what’s the point? It’s not like Eddie isn’t aware of his existence or at least his last name which sometimes made a feature in his tabletop speeches.

“Steve Harrington,” Eddie says for him, apparently knowing his first name. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Surprisingly, it’s not said in complete distaste. In fact, Eddie is smiling widely at him, eyes roaming over the uniform and landing on the hat.

Steve sighs, “Trust me, I know. So, what can I get for you today?”

Eddie smiles wickedly and asks, “Why don’t we set sail on this ocean of flavor and you can show me around, captain?”

A blush creeps its way up Steve’s neck and begins to burn at his cheeks. Probably from the humiliation. Nevertheless, he points out each different flavor and goes into detail about what’s in each since Eddie seems to be enjoying the humiliation, but Steve doesn’t mind it too much since he feels like he’s getting his undivided attention. And something about that makes Steve feel… less sucky.

He glances up at the end of his speech about the last flavor and catches Eddie staring at him with a small smile on his face, more genuine than before.

“What?” Steve can’t help but ask.

Eddie shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, but the lie is clear to both of them. “I’ll get the USS Butterscotch.”

Something about the flavor makes Steve hesitate.

“What?” Eddie asks this time, slightly defensive.

“Nothing,” Steve says with a shake of his head. “Cup or cone?”

Eddie laughs, “Come on, you can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Eddie gestures at him. “Make that face and then pretend like you weren’t thinking anything.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “And you can?”

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he leans across the top of the glass dramatically and puts his head in his hands. “I’ll get a cone please.”

Something about the image makes Steve laugh as he grabs a cone and scoop, making the order for Eddie. "You know." he says, wishing the ice cream was the slightest bit softer, "I was expecting you to get something like death by chocolate or coffee."

"Why's that?" Eddie asks curiously.

Steve glances up at him and shrugs. “Those flavors are more…” he struggles to find the right word.

“Metal?” Eddie asks, sounding almost hopeful.

“Exactly.”

The smile on his face grows. “Well, I’m glad you see me as someone metal, Steve. But what, just because you’re a jock, I’m supposed to expect you to like some gross flavor like bubblegum?”

Steve frowns. “I like bubblegum ice cream.”

Eddie sighs and runs his hands over his face. “Of course you do.” He takes a moment to look over Steve again. “But looking at you now, I’d assume your favorite flavor would be the USS butterscotch.”

“Because of the stupid hat, right?” Steve asks as he drizzles extra caramel on the top of the cone.

“I think the hat is cute,” Eddie replies.

The comment sends Steve’s heart into a bit of a frenzy for a moment before he collects himself and hands the cone over in exchange for the bill in Eddie’s hand. He counts the change two times, trying to make sure he doesn’t make a mistake as a bunch of panicky thoughts go through his head. He hands the change over quickly but hesitates when Eddie stares at it and frowns. “Something wrong?” Steve asks.

Eddie glances up at the menu, down at his change, and takes a moment before saying, “Sorry, you just charged me for a single scoop when this is a double with an extra topping.”

Steve frowns and looks at the cone. “The topping is on the house, but that’s a single scoop.”

Eddie glances up at him and raises his eyebrows.

“A generous single scoop,” Steve corrects himself.

There’s a pause before Eddie’s smile widens, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up cutely. “I think i just found my new favorite ice cream place.”

Steve laughs, “Better than Linda’s Ice Cream Parlor?”

“Linda would call this a triple scoop and wouldn’t give me a topping but she would still make me pay the extra just for asking,” Eddie complains with a smile.

“Well, I would never do that to you.”

“Is that so?” Eddie asks, leaning forward a bit.

Steve’s eyes glance down at Eddie’s lips momentarily as he tries to come up with a response.

“Hey dingus, there was a horrible delivery you missed…” Robin trails off as she looks between the two, effectively ruining the moment.

“See you around, Harrington,” Eddie says with a wink, tongue darting out and gathering up a bit of white ice cream and letting it disappear into his mouth.

Steve feels a familiar heat in the pit of his stomach and nearly groans. Instead he hurriedly tells Robin, “I’m taking my break!” And effectively ignores the look she’s giving him.

Back in the break room, Steve walks up to the board and stares at it, glancing at the “You Rule” column and whispering, “Almost,” before sighing and putting his head in his hands.

He can’t believe that Eddie Munson is sending him into a sexuality crisis. Yet, he hopes he comes back often the rest of summer. And maybe he’ll finally be able to get that “You Rule” tally.

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th30ra3k3n · 3 months

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No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

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