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If anyone ever asks, definitively, Steve will tell them it was Eddie’s fault. Mostly. Partially. Probably at least 68% at fault for the state of Steve’s living room right now — couch cushions littering the floor, one his mother’s hideously chosen paintings knocked from its place on the wall, frame shattered, little bits of glass and flakes of paint littering the carpet.
A random t-shirt with the words Hawkins High Phys Ed in faded letters across the chest, practically torn down the middle, left haphazardly underneath the coffee table that had somehow migrated several inches from its original spot.
Okay, maybe it’s, like, 60%, because Steve’s pretty sure those were his fault actually. Steve remembers vaguely — it’s a little hard to remember things right now with Eddie is sprawled over his chest like this on a blanket Steve had somehow managed in their post-coital haze to drag off the back of one of the la-z-boy chairs that Nancy had always insisted on for movie nights (until she and Robin had started sharing the loveseat instead).
Which was not knocked over, thank you.
But really, it really was Eddie’s fault. Or maybe they could just blame it on the popcorn.
It hadn’t taken long after the whole Vecna thing for Eddie to become part of the group — just another member of the Party. But also…not just. Because Eddie had become sort of — important. It didn’t feel quite the same as, like, Robin or Dustin. Just different. Robin would probably call it trauma bonding. Dustin, some nerd bullshit like forged in the fires of interdimensional warfare or some crap like that.
Steve will call it nothing because he is simply choosing not to examine it. To try and figure out when exactly his eyes started searching for Eddie’s whenever he entered a room. The exact moment he’d stopped brushing Eddie’s casual, carefree approaches to touch off and started leaning into them.
Nope. Not thinking about it. It’s absolutely definitely not what he’s been thinking about sitting here watching some movie that Eddie brought with him when he’d shown up tonight (without calling of course, which happened more and more lately, not that Steve’s complaining) about cartoon rats that was supposed to be for kids, but so far had seemed pretty horrifying. Not that he’s paying attention. He’d stopped right around the time Eddie had stretched out on the couch next to him and thrown his legs across Steve’s lap. They’d smoked a little before this, so Steve’s already feeling hazy, relaxed in a way he only seems to feel around Eddie. A way that doesn’t feel like it has much to do with the weed.
“Dude – did you just fucking throw popcorn at my face?”
“Just checking to see if you were awake, Stevie,” Eddie says, an easy smile on his face that only widens as he watches Steve brush away the kernels caught in his hair and stuck to the front of his shirt. “You’re missing one of my favorite movies.”
Steve makes a face. “This is one of your favorite movies? That explains so much.”
Eddie gasps with a look of mock indignation that really should not be inspiring the word cute to flash across Steve’s brain like a fucking billboard, but that ship has apparently sailed. “This is Mrs.Frisby slander,” he says, flicking more popcorn at Steve’s forehead.
Steve gives him the finger, but it’s not like he’s trying that hard to get away. “I can’t believe this movie is supposed to be for kids, dude. This shit is, like, way too traumatizing —”
“Yeah, I wonder what it would be like to be traumatized, Harrington,” Eddie deadpans, followed by an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows.
“Ha ha,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.
“Whatever, man,” Eddie says, “I’m not the one who took the kiddies underground spelunking with homemade flamethrowers.”
Steve groans. “I can’t believe Dustin fucking told you about that.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell everyone about that, dude,” Eddie says. “But I mean, my point being — if you wanna talk about traumatizing children —”
“You’re such an asshole,” Steve says, punctuating the words by grabbing one of Eddie’s ankles and starting to tickle him. He’d done it without even thinking about it, which maybe that was weird, but Eddie’s laughing now and squirming, trying to kick his feet out of Steve’s firm grip.
“Fuck you, man! That’s cheating!”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna have to pick popcorn out of my hair for the rest of the night, so deal with i—”
The last word isn’t even out of his mouth before Eddie reaches over and upturns the entire rest of the bowl onto his head.
“You. Little. Shit.”
For being a huge fucking nerd, Eddie’s surprisingly nimble — Steve has witnessed this firsthand in the heat of battle and all. But Steve was a jock and years of dodging monsters had only sharpened those reflexes, so Eddie never really had a chance. When Steve lunges across the couch for payback, all he hears is Eddie’s yelp and all he feels is Eddie clinging to him as they both tumble to the ground in a heap of arms and legs.
And Steve’s seen Eddie grapple with the kids before — he’s been known to surprise tackle Dustin to the point that the kid’s tried to use Steve as a human shield more than once. So, he’s expecting the guy to at least put up a decent fight when they untangle themselves enough for Steve to think he’s starting with the advantage when he rolls them, pinning Eddie underneath him, but that’s literally the opposite of what happens.
Because the older boy is just staring at him now. Eyes wide and unblinking and lips parted in a gasping breath. Steve can still feel it though, the rapid rise and fall of Eddie’s chest underneath him matching his. Eddie has gone completely limp, like he’s playing dead, only Steve can absolutely see that he’s not. But it’s like he needs to check maybe that Eddie hasn’t gone completely catatonic. Like maybe Eddie just doesn’t know he’s supposed to be doing what guys do — fight back — so Steve has the genius idea to grab the hands that are still hooked into Steve’s shoulders from when they’d fallen and pin them on either side of Eddie’s head as if he needs to provoke him again.
But yeah, okay, that idea was stupid. So fucking stupid, because when Steve grasps Eddie’s wrists and squeezes, two things happen. Steve is struck with the sudden realization that his hands are actually a lot bigger than Eddie’s. That Eddie’s wrists are slimmer than his too — slim enough for Steve’s fingers to meet, easy, when they curl around which should not be as fascinating in this moment as Steve is finding it currently.
Then Eddie lets out this noise, a whine, that Steve has absolutely never heard him make before and it kind of just makes Steve feel like the guy has lit a match and torched his entire brain with it.
And oh my god what is happening.
Maybe he is as stupid as people think. Maybe Eddie is somehow possessed by the devil and now he’s using some kind of satan voodoo on him because Steve knows this is probably when he should move. Right now. Roll to the side and let Eddie go, laugh all this off and go back to watching this dumb movie and never ever speak of this again.
Or maybe it’s really him that doesn’t want to move. Maybe it’s really just Steve that’s looking down at Eddie’s face and wondering how he’d never fully noticed how pretty Eddie is — not, not quite the same way as a girl, he doesn’t think. But with those big dark eyes somehow getting darker, gazing up at him through these insane eyelashes like Eddie’s waiting for him to do something, anything. Those long black curls spilling over Eddie’s shoulders — narrower than Steve’s, his hair tangled up a bit where Steve is still holding onto him.
It feels like one of them should say something, but there’s just silence and their combined breathing, heavy and fast with no sign of slowing down any time soon. At least, Steve doesn’t feel like it will. Not when he’s letting just a little bit more of his weight press the older boy into the carpet, feeling the sharpness of Eddie’s hip bones under his as they knock together.
And Eddie makes that fucking sound again. This sweet, soft little noise that makes Steve feel more feral in that moment than any monster they’ve ever fought, which is a little terrifying. But evidently not enough to stop him from doing it again, squeezing harder this time, and letting his full weight pin Eddie down entirely.
For a moment, it feels like everything goes quiet and he can’t hear anything — not the movie playing softly in the background somewhere, not even Eddie’s breathing. It’s just the sound of Steve’s own blood roaring in his ears cut with the thundering cantor of his own heart beating in his chest hard enough that it feels like his ribs might break.
He wonders if Eddie can feel it, hear it too. How could he not when it’s so fucking loud and he can’t think much beyond wondering just how his hands would look on other places on Eddie’s body. Which he would love to be able to tell himself that’s the first time he’s allowed that thought to bully its way into the forefront of his mind but that — he’s pretty sure that would be a lie. And he’s pretty sure he’s only just realizing this, like, right now.
Eddie’s whimper breaks through like shattering glass and Steve jolts, looking down to see Eddie still watching him with this look on his face that Steve doesn’t quite know how to name beyond want. And why does that somehow feel like the strangest part of all of this, of whatever the fuck is happening between them, or is about to happen, Steve thinks. Being wanted. Being wanted and seeing it written so clearly on somebody else’s face. It hasn’t happened in so long he’s pretty sure he’d forgotten what it actually looked like. Maybe he’s never actually seen it before until now.
Is that why it feels somehow easy? Shockingly…right? That it somehow doesn’t feel like giving in at all when he lets his palm move lazily down the side of Eddie’s cheek, letting his thumb drag over Eddie’s parted lips and all the way to his throat.
Somehow Eddie feels small here too when Steve lets his hand splay loosely around his neck with only the suggestion of a tighter grip, a squeeze.
This time Eddie doesn’t whine or whimper. He moans.
“Fuck,” Steve finally hears himself speak, which is kind of relief because it feels a bit like he might’ve forgotten how because his brain feels like it’s fully caught fire at this point, melting out of his ears, a slow drip taking what feels like every other rational thought in his head along with it.
Steve doesn’t really think there’s a chance of backtracking after that, because Eddie is squirming again underneath him, like he’s trying (very much in vain) to lift his hips off the floor. And failing. That’s right about the time Steve finally notices how fucking hard they both are right now, and this time it’s Steve letting out a needy sound, strangled, when the friction between them is just right, so right he actually thinks he feels Eddie’s cock twitch through the thin pajama pants he’d borrowed.
Steve has been far too wrapped up in rubbing swirling circles over the veins running up the side of Eddie’s throat to remember one of them still had a hand free between them. That’s why he’s the one yelping this time when Eddie uses it suddenly to grip Steve by the collar and yank him down into the clumsiest, messiest, hottest kiss Steve’s ever had in his entire life.
It’s only when Eddie finally lets him go so they can both actually take a full breath that Steve realizes that Eddie’s stretched the fabric so much that it’s torn. This time Steve does squeeze Eddie’s throat, just once, just hard enough that Eddie’s eyes roll back into his head a little and he makes another one of those pretty, keening noises that doesn’t help Steve feel any more in control. Fuck.
He sits up, straddling Eddie’s hips just long enough to pull his shirt off, feeling inexplicably bashful when he can practically feel Eddie’s eyes dragging all the way down his body. He’s never been self-conscious before, but he’s not sure anyone has ever looked at him as intensely as Eddie is right now. Like he’s trying to see right through his skin to his insides.
Steve’s only shirtless but he’s not sure he’s ever felt more naked in his life. Maybe that’s why he takes advantage of the other boy’s dazed expression to do the same to Eddie’s shirt — one of his many ratty Corroded Coffin ones that’s so thin it feels like it tears like paper under Steve’s hands.
Eddie hisses, arches up to nip at Steve’s chin with blunt teeth. “Prick. I liked that shirt.”
“You ripped mine first. Consider it payback,” Steve murmurs. “Maybe I liked mine, too.”
Eddie huffs. It’s obvious he’s not complaining that hard, not really, because he’s still tilting his head pointedly to the side now to allow Steve to trail kisses, open mouthed, all the way up Eddie’s throat to the underside of his jaw. Eddie sighs and Steve watches as his pink tongue slips out between parted lips and his eyes fall shut when Steve finally sinks teeth into the soft flesh there. “Oh yeah, I’m sure you’re just dying to wear your old Hawkins PE shirt, Stevie —”
“Yeah, it’s how I relive my glory days —” Steve laughs, but he’s rocking his hips in a way that’s less funny as he does, obviously, from the way they both let out identical groans as their cocks rub together.
It’s more than a bit surprising then, that Eddie’s voice is so shaky and uncertain when he speaks next, the words pressed into Steve’s shoulder. “Is that what — is that what King Steve wants, then? To – to relive his glory days?”
It hadn’t occurred to him once while they’ve been occupied, that Eddie wouldn’t think that Steve was just as hungry, just as desperate for this as Eddie seems to be. It didn’t occur to him that Eddie would doubt him — although now that he can hear it, see it — see that tiny little shadow of worry lurking behind those gorgeous brown eyes of his.
Well, that won’t do, is the thought that flickers like a lantern through the fog of lust clouding everything that makes him kiss Eddie so roughly that their teeth click together and Steve tastes pennies in his mouth, pulling back to see the smallest drop of blood welling at the corner of Eddie’s kiss-swollen bottom lip.
It’s not like either one of them is squeamish around blood anymore, so it doesn’t faze Steve at all to simply lean down and lick it away. “No. I think I’m pretty happy right here. Right now.”
Apparently all of that, and this, whispered hotly into the other boy’s ear — this is enough for Eddie, who comes right then and there without Steve having even touched him. Shaking and shuddering underneath Steve almost like he’s having a fit or something. Steve would’ve been worried if Eddie wasn’t also clinging to him for dear life, murmuring nonsense Steve happily swallows with another long, wet kiss.
It’s been a long fucking time since Steve’s come in his pants — like not since junior year at least — but who the fuck cares right now when Eddie’s fingers are trailing down his chest and slipping under his waistband and squeezing him, a similar untrackable rhythm to the pulsing pressure of Steve’s hand on his throat earlier.
The noise he lets out is doubly embarrassing than any one he’s let escape so far, but it’s hard to care when Eddie looks like this, all satisfied and fucked out. That blush on his cheeks that’s so goddamn pretty that in Steve’s opinion, really, it should be the only real crime the other boy should ever be arrested for.
The downside of coming in your pants, he’s remembering, is that it’s fucking uncomfortable. And despite the fact that he absolutely doesn’t want to, Steve finally rolls off of Eddie with a reluctant huff.
It’s really not a surprise that Eddie is the one that breaks the silence. “So, what — what is King Steve thinking now?”
Steve’s not a genius, but it doesn’t take him being one to figure out what Eddie needs. It’s not hard to say, not with how widely he’s smiling up at the ceiling right now, reaching out blindly until the pads of his fingers catch on the worn-down grooves of one of Eddie’s rings. “ That I’d much rather be your Stevie than King Steve.”
Eddie is silent long enough for Steve’s stomach to start to twist nervously. Until he hazards a glance, turns his head to the side to see Eddie staring at him and baring teeth in what Steve thinks is supposed to be a smile. But he looks far too hungry, and far too pleased with himself for it to feel all that…sweet.
He finds out just how not-sweet Eddie can really be when they both can move their arms and legs again.
And if that painting on the wall and the stupid coffee table are the price to pay, well.
Steve’s fine with that.