Chapter Text
Steve adjusts his wings in the mirror.
“Stop messing, they look fine.”
He catches Robin’s eye in the reflection. “Take it easy, partner.” This is a joke, because Robin is dressed as a cowgirl.
She tips her comically large brown hat at him with a wink. “You look right as rain, brother. About as puuuurty as a peach. As good as—”
“That’s enough. Spare me until we actually get to the party, please.”
She sucks her teeth at him, but holds her tongue.
He returns to the mirror, this time making sure the headband holding the golden halo above his head is secured. The Cramps play loudly in the background as the two of them shuffle around Steve’s apartment, completing the finishing touches for their costumes in the last few minutes before heading out the door. Steve pats gold shimmer into the skin of his cheeks for an angelic glow before adding matching gold glitter spray to his hair. Robin finds a cap gun buried in her bag and blows on the end before placing it in the leather holster around her waist. “Alright,” Steve says when they’re finally ready, “booze. What’s it gonna be tonight? Remember, we’re aiming for longevity. We need to last all night, right? Like we talked about?”
“Yeah, and why was that, again? Because a certain someone doesn’t get off work until after 10?”
Steve chokes on his words. “I, uh… no. No. I’m just saying. Historically speaking, we tend to get a little too drunk a little too early, and I’d actually like to, you know, enjoy my night.”
“ Historically speaking ,” Robin mocks, jutting her chin out at him while following into the kitchen, “ you tend to get too drunk too quickly. I’m an innocent bystander.”
Steve rips open the fridge to survey the insides. “Beer? Nah, I’ll get too full.” He slams it shut, moving to the squeaky cabinet door above the rangetop stove, shuffling bottles around while Robin rolls her eyes behind his back against the noise of multiple glass surfaces clinking together. “Definitely not wine. Vodka? I could bring pop as a mixer, I think there’s some diet coke in the fridge…ohhhh. We have a winner—tequila.” A dark green bottle appears from the back of the cabinet, held aloft in triumph. He returns to the fridge now, digging around in the bottom-right fruit compartment before finding a bag of limes. He holds these up too, like he’s found the buried treasure.
Robin makes a face. “Tequila shots at a Halloween party? That seems wrong.”
Steve makes a face right back. “No, it’s perfect. We’ll take a few ciders to start, and move to the tequila later on in the night.”
“For when Eddie arrives, you mean.”
Steve drops the bag of limes and they roll around his kitchen floor like pool balls, knocking against each other. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t act so innocent. I remember him saying it was his liquor of choice. And if I remember, you definitely remember. You think you’re so fucking slick.”
Steve straightens his wings again, which had slipped to the left as he collected the spilled limes. He faces Robin, pushing the mussed, glittery hair out of face, and narrows his eyes at her.
“Robin. Look at me.”
She does.
“I don’t know what you think is going on between me and Eddie, but I promise you this,” he drops his voice, very serious, “if you do anything tonight, and that includes making snarky little comments about my alleged “ interest ” in him while he’s around —don’t give me that look, I know you—to make things awkward between us, I will flay you alive. You get me? I’ll ruin you.”
Robin throws her palms out in mock supplication. “Can we just acknowledge how funny it is to hear you say that while you’re dressed as an angel?”
“Robin.”
“Ok, fine! Yes, I get it. I won’t embarrass you. I promise. Cowgirl’s oath.” She spits in her palm before presenting it to him.
Steve looks down at it, disgusted. “You don’t expect me to-”
“I said ,” she waggles her fingers, “cowgirl’s oath. Go ahead.”
Steve groans before spitting in his own hand and clasping them together. “This is so gross.”
Robin grins, her teeth taking up the whole bottom half of her face. “I bet you wouldn’t say that if it was Eddie’s spit.”
“Oh my god. Grab the salt shaker and let’s get the fuck out of here before I hurt you.”
“You want his spit all over you, Steve Harrington. Say it.”
“Stop.”
Robin cackles behind him as they lock the apartment door before heading off down the street, walking towards the setting sun. They look and feel even more ridiculous in their outfits, out here in the real world. But soon enough, other groups appear on the sidewalks, passing them in excited pockets of laughter that carry across the street. Little kids with their parents, teens skulking around with mischievous looks on their faces. Ghosts, vampires, about ten Han Solo’s, Freddie Kreuger, some mad scientists, and two brave souls who are each dressed as their respective half of a horse. Steve and Robin are in good spirits, starting to feel the adrenaline that comes along with the expectation of a good party. Add a little Halloween magic into the mix, and they’re positively buzzing. A chill air creeps around their hot faces as they make their way out of town, leaves crunching beneath their feet.
As they pass a group of middle schoolers dressed as KISS, Robin watches them with a smile before turning to Steve. “I bet you can’t wait to see what Eddie will dress up as.”
Steve doesn’t answer.
But yes, he is very excited.
**
Starting out with something light was a good idea. A great idea, even, because Steve is exactly two 4.5% hard ciders and one salt-tequila-lime (“ it’s tequila, then salt, then lime! ” Some girl dressed as Godzilla drunkenly yells at him in the kitchen, to which he replies “ that doesn’t even make any sense!”) shot deep when he sees the top of Eddie Munson’s head come through the front door, and he is at the perfect level of drunkenness to deal with the situation presented to him.
If he had been more sober, he would have retreated in fear, nervously hanging around Robin’s elbow for an undisclosed amount of time, avoiding Eddie for as long as possible until he worked up the courage to, oh, he doesn’t know… walk within 10 feet of him or something. Glance in his direction. You know, real sophisticated flirting tactics that would surely get his attention and win his heart.
But on the other end of the inebriation scale, if he had been any more drunk, there was the potential for a complete disaster, and that’s because Steve is a no-filter drunk. He tells it like it is, no holding back. And he would have surely marched over to Eddie Munson and told him, straight up, that he was the hottest person at the party—the hottest person in Hawkins, Indiana, really— and that Steve could prove that opinion to him if he cared to join him in the closest dark room. And maybe Eddie would find that a little overbearing and forward and never want to see or speak to him again.
Thankfully, being the perfect amount of buzzed that he is, he takes the middle ground between those two options and locks eyes with the other man from across the room before giving him a wave. Eddie grins and steps out through the crowd, giving Steve the first look at his costume.
For not the last time that night, Steve’s jaw falls open.
Because Eddie is dressed as a priest. He’s dressed as a fucking priest. The collar, the black clerical robe, a rosary, the whole thing. And it’s, pun completely intended, the most sinfully sexy thing Steve has ever seen in his life.
He has about three seconds to compose himself before the other man is in front of him, eyes shining in the dim light. “Hey, Harrington.” He reaches out a hand behind Steve’s head and touches the feathered wings there. Strokes them , Steve thinks, swallowing hard. “I like your choice of costume. It suits you.”
Steve can’t think of anything witty to say. He’s too focused on the pale skin of Eddie’s neck inches from his mouth. So he counters it lamely with, “does it?”
Eddie chuckles, low and throaty, and the sound goes straight to Steve’s gut. “Yeah. Divine.” He says this in a way that’s supposed to be sarcastic, but there’s an undercurrent there that Steve can detect even through his numbing shot of tequila. But Eddie is just naturally a flirty guy, right? He shouldn’t jump to conclusions.
Speaking of tequila.
Eddie’s eyes flick down to where Steve is holding the bottle, and a slow smile grows on his lips. “Whatcha got there?”
“You want some?”
“Pour one out, barkeep.”
Steve heads back into the kitchen with Eddie trailing behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Robin spot them, and her eyes bulge out of her head when she sees Eddie’s costume. “ Oh. My. God ,” she mouths, and Steve widens his eyes right back.
His hands shake as he pours out the shots, and he turns his back to Eddie so he won’t notice. When he offers up the salt shaker, he’s met by the sight of Eddie’s tongue slipping out of his mouth to lick a stripe across his own hand. He takes the salt, sprinkles it on. Steve feels a bit lightheaded.
Eddie reaches for the goofy souvenir shot glass with both hands, bowing his head slightly. He clears his throat. “The blood of christ—before I drink this cup, I thank you for your sacrifice, and in thanks, I repent any sins I have committed before you. In Jesus name,” he plucks it from Steve’s hand, licking the salt from below his pointer finger before downing the liquor. He blanches, and grabs a lime from the counter to pop in his mouth. “Amen.”
“Are you going to say that before every drink tonight?” Steve asks before doing his own.
“Of course. I’m dedicated to the character.”
“Right.”
They are alone in the kitchen. A speaker in the corner of the room is playing “Handsome Devil” by The Smiths. Eddie is watching him quietly. Studying him.
“We make a good duo.” He says finally, gesturing towards their outfits.
“Excuse me?” Stev chokes on the words.
“It’s funny, I almost didn’t wear this. It was my backup option—I was going to be Paul Atreides, but I didn’t like how the stillsuit turned out, so here we are, carrying on the religious theme.” We .
Steve can hardly believe his luck. There’s no way —simply no way— that this is going so well. (This isn’t necessarily true. In fact, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson have had a budding flirtationship going on for an agonizingly long time now. Showing up at the same parties, “coincidentally” being at each other's jobs when on shift, you know the drill. As Robin has told him countless times in the last few months, “if you two don’t hook up sooner or later, I might have to resort to just locking you in a room together.” But, like with all crushes of this nature, Steve is always going to err on the side of If He Wants To He Will, And Since He Hasn’t Yet, He Probably Doesn’t.)
“You’re not actually religious, are you?” Steve asks, genuinely curious.
Eddie cocks his head with a sardonic grin. “What do you think?”
“No.”
“Not at all. I just look good in the garb, don’t you think?”
He takes a step back so that Steve can take in the whole outfit, spreading his arms out wide and spinning in a slow circle. The wide sleeves of his robes sway as he moves. His unruly hair, usually worn down, is tied up in a half ponytail, secured at the back of his skull with a holy cross pin stuck in the center. The only item that’s true to his normal clothing choices are the shoes: a pair of weathered combat boots with thick, worn-down soles. Steve finds this detail incredibly hot for some reason.
“Yeah, it looks good,” is all he can say. He nervously tugs at the halo-headband. Eddie notices this miniscule body-language cue and his friendly grin morphs into a coy smirk. Something devilish. Definitely not the expression of a holy man.
“I don’t think priesthood would suit me, anyway. Sounds like a pretty difficult life to me. No sinning?”
Steve’s mouth has gone dry.
“No booze, no rock n’ roll, no sex ?” Eddie continues, eyes flashing. “...couldn’t be me.”
Steve can’t look directly at his face. It’s too much. So instead, he places his gaze on the white wall behind Eddie. He hears rather than sees the other man laugh. It’s a quiet, knowing chuckle. Steve feels like a mosquito in a spider web. Caught, completely trapped, dangling helplessly, waiting to be devoured. (He wants to be devoured.)
“What about you, Harrington?” Eddie snatches his attention back, moving his head so that their eyes are locked again. His pupils are huge, which shouldn’t be right, since they're directly under the single fluorescent dome light in the kitchen. The eyes distract Steve for a moment, and the question goes in one ear and out the other.
“I—what? What about me?”
Eddie tugs at the rosary around his neck, twirling it around his long, bony fingers. “What’s your favorite sin?”
Fuuuuuuuuck , Steve thinks. Don’t give in yet. Play the game a little longer. You can do it.
“What do you mean? Angels don’t sin.”
“Not even a little?” Is Eddie closer, or is that just Steve’s imagination?
Steve shakes his head once before making a cross in front of his chest. “Swear.”
Eddie nods slowly, eyes dragging up and down Steve’s face in an obvious appraisal. He turns on his heel with finality and moves towards the party. “We’ll see,” he says, just loud enough for Steve to hear over the music.
The angel is left standing next to the dull laminate countertop, alone and brimming with desire. The song changes. The Killing Moon by Echo and the Bunnymen, coming loudly from the speakers, with its haunting vocals and melancholy synth. Under blue moon I saw you…so soon you’ll take me…
**
“You doing alright?” Robin asks.
They’re huddled around a vat of bobbing apples that hasn’t been touched in hours because a guy dressed as the stay-puft marshmallow man decided to pour a couple cans of budweiser in the mix. It reeks.
“No, I’m not doing alright. You saw what I have to deal with tonight.” Steve answers, nervously tugging at his hair. A witch stumbles by and tweaks his wings on a drunken impulse before walking back inside, cackling. Steve ignores it. ‘I mean, it’s absurd.”
“It is an interesting coincidence. Like, soulmate shit.”
“I was thinking more like the start to a cheesy porno, but sure.”
“Whooooa!” Robin snorts, “you said it, not me.” She is, despite her claims from earlier, already way more drunk than he is. Two men dressed as wizards were walking around early in the night offering people “Manna Potion”, which Robin found out was just absinthe in a glass flask. She is feeling gooood.
“So whuz the plan?” she asks, blinking.
“Plan? There is no plan. There’s nothing—”
“Oh COME ON,” she yells, throwing her arms up. “Don’t gimme me that shit. Not tonight, Steve. You—you told me he asked you what your favorite SIN IS. Get REAL. God, I almost feel sorry for the schmuck, having to deal with you. Just completely oblivious. If he tried to be any more obvious about it his dick would already be down your thro—”
“Christ, Robin, be quiet !” Steve shushes her frantically, looking around the backyard. There’s a vampire and sailor at the other end by the fence, but they’re too preoccupied with the inside of eachothers mouths to pay Robin and Steve any attention.
They argue on the lawn for a few minutes. This argument ends with Robin yanking Steve up out of his seated position on the grass while giving him a good, hard smack on the ass with a passionate, “you got this! Now GET IN THERE.”
He gets in there.
And perhaps it’s just luck, or maybe something more exciting, but Eddie is there right when he walks in, appearing at his side from out of the shadows.
“Having fun?” He asks, voice like velvet.
He pauses. Panics, but only for a second. He remembers Robin’s advice… don’t think about how to flirt, just flirt. Say the first thing that pops in your head.
“Not really, but with your help I could be.” His heart hammer in his chest, instantly regretting the bold statement.
But Eddie blushes. Actually blushes , while stammering over whatever snarky comment he had lined up for Steve. “I- wow . Yeah, okay.” He scans Steve’s face once more, in question, and the angel meets his gaze head-on, unforgiving. There’s a shift in Eddie’s face then, like a decision has been made. His eyes narrow slightly, the edge of his lips twitching. “I can do fun. Come with me.” He slips through the dense crowd and heads towards the carpeted stairs going into the basement.
Steve follows him down into the darkness…an angel following a priest into the underworld. It would be comical if he wasn’t so turned on.
His wings catch on the low, angled ceiling. Eddie hears them scrape against the wood and turns to see the source of the noise. “Careful with those,” he says calmly, face serious, “I don’t want them ruined for later.”
“Later…?”
“Shh,” Eddie puts his finger up to his lips, and motions him forward.
They’re in a finished basement. The largest section is empty, aside from some stacked old furniture and a broken ping pong table. There’s closed doors to their left and right. From the one on the left, the sound of a woman screaming comes from under the crack, followed by a wet, squelching sound. Eddie tips his head towards the door and beckons Steve over.
They enter. It’s a largish room, plain, with more lumpy furniture scattered throughout. The owner of the house has hooked up a projector to play Dawn of the Dead against the far wall. There are a few others sitting in the dark of the room, a mix of those that are either completely sober or too drunk to go back to the party yet. They glance at Steve and Eddie briefly as they walk in before returning to the movie.
Eddie takes Steve all the way to the back of the room, where they plunk down on a sunken brown corduroy loveseat.
Eddie leans in. “Do you like this movie?”
“I’m not worried about the movie right now,” he answers truthfully, aided by the two tequila shots. He is lazer-focused on the heat of Eddie’s thigh against his bare leg (the angel tunic only covers so much).
A warm finger traces up his bare arm, stopping at his shoulder. “No? What are you worried about then?” Eddie’s flesh is red-hot, burning. Goosebumps pop up along the back of Steve’s neck in a wave.
He slides his eyes over to Eddie with trepidation. The pale skin of his face is illuminated blue by the movie, flashes of color and light painting the sharp planes and edges in a mesmerizing spectacle.Eddie has a certain expression that he wears sometimes—like he is looking straight into your soul. It’s something in his eyes, Steve thought, something magical, something omniscient. He wears that expression now, watching Steve in the dark, the whites of his eyes glowing.
“I…can’t say,” Steve answers in a whisper.
“Can’t or won’t?”
The heat is on Steve’s knee now, and the blood sings in his veins as Eddie’s hand wraps around and into the inner crook of his leg, where the skin is so sensitive and willing. His mind drifts, off into the ether, where an image of Eddie, priest outfit and all, leans over him, rosary dangling between them, and his hands aren’t only on his knee, they’re everywhere, smoothing over his skin, gripping…
“Steve?” The real Eddie interrupts his daydream. “Are you troubled by your thoughts?” He asks in the mock-pious tone. Another blood-curdling scream comes from the movie. Eddie leans in, whispering right into the shell of his ear so he can hear over the noise, “do you need to make a confession of your sins?”
The air leaves Steve’s mouth in a quick rush, shaking on the exhale. “ Eddie ..”
He shakes his head with a smirk. “It’s Father to you.”
All the blood that was previously flushing Steve’s face immediately rushes south. There’s an embarrassing twitch under his white tunic, and he prays that Eddie doesn’t notice.
If he does, he doesn’t say, and that’s mainly because he’s ducking his head down to the goosebumped skin on the side of Steve’s neck. Something glorious happens then…two pillowy, moist lips pressing a cautious, slow kiss. Steve clenches the muscles in his legs, breathing fast.
“Ed-father…there’s…people here, we can’t…”
“We can do anything, God willing,” Eddie chuckles into his neck, rubbing the tip of his nose against him for a moment before the lips are back, open-mouthed and sinful, joined by a tiny scrape of his top teeth. Steve mewls under him, completely enraptured and pliant. “But I respect your concerns. Would you like to continue this conversation somewhere private? Just between us and God?”
Steve nods frantically, unable to form words.
“It just so happens that I know the perfect spot. Follow me.” He grabs his hand, and they hurry past the crowd still watching the movie. No one pays attention to them.