Chapter Text
A chill rips through Tommy’s body as he knocks on the trailer door. How is it still this cold in March? He buries his hands further into his jacket pockets. A minute or so passes with no answer so he knocks again, harder this time. It’s way too cold to be standing around outside all night. He can hear a faint thump and muttered “fuck” come from inside, and he lets out a sigh of relief.
When the door finally swings open, he’s greeted by the sight of a very disheveled Eddie Munson. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, what with his hair all mussed up, shirt on inside out, and eyes red. Though the redness might just be from weed.
“Can I help you?” Munson asks, fingers twitching where they rest on the door frame.
Tommy’s a little surprised that his voice doesn’t sound thick with sleep. Maybe he hadn’t been out long? He has to admit, he wouldn’t have expected Eddie Munson to be the type to fall asleep at like 10pm on a Saturday night. Then again, he is a freak so it’s not like he’d have anyone to hang out with. All his friends are children who probably can’t be out past 8pm. Still, staying in on a Saturday night didn’t really fit with his whole metalhead, bad boy persona or whatever.
He realizes that he has yet to answer the question, and quickly responds with a snarky, “Obviously I’m here for weed, freak.”
Munson rolls his eyes, but steps back and bows deeply, gesturing for Tommy to come in. “Do enter, your lordship, after all I am but your humble servant. Your benevolent provider of herbs.”
He’s so fucking weird.
“Gimme a sec,” The Freak says as they step inside. He’s halfway across the room when he suddenly turns on heel and heads back in the direction of the front door.
Tommy must look confused, because Munson grunts out “Left it in my van,” as he grabs his keys off the coffee table.
Tommy awkwardly stands in the living room, unsure what to do with himself while he waits. He glances around the room, letting out a snort as he takes in the small size and litany of nerd shit scattered pretty much everywhere. He wonders what Munson even keeps in his bedroom, considering it seems like all of his things are out here.
A thought pops into his head telling him that he could easily go find out. He doesn’t give himself a chance to question how good of an idea that really is, and instead sneaks a quick glance through the blinds. He sees the metalhead digging around in his van, picking things up and tossing them with enough frustrated aggression that Tommy can only assume he’s having a hard time finding what he’s looking for. Satisfied knowing that Munson will likely be a little while longer, Tommy decides fuck it, and makes his way down the hall.
The door on his left is open, lights on inside, and one glance in is enough for him to know the room belongs to Munson. Well, unless his Uncle—he thinks he’s heard Munson lives with his Uncle—likes to cover his walls with demonic band posters, drawings of wizards and shit, and are those handcuffs? His eyes linger on the handcuffs for a moment before drifting down towards the unmade bed.
A small paper, a polaroid he thinks, rests top of the rumpled sheets. With a quick glance back towards the front door, he steps into the room to get a closer look.
A whispered “Holy shit” escapes Tommy’s lips as he realizes what he’s looking at.
It’s a polaroid alright—and not just any old polaroid. No, this one contains the image of a very naked Steve Harrington, laying on his back as he gets fucked in the ass. All that can be seen of the other guy, who he assumes is Munson, is his dick disappearing into Steve and his tattooed arm grasping at the other boy’s hip.
The sound of a car door slamming shut makes Tommy jump. He quickly shoves the photo in his pocket and rushes back into the living room, hoping the flush on his face goes unnoticed. He’s pretty sure it does when Munson trudges inside and sits on the couch without sparing Tommy more than a glance.
Tommy can’t help but feel a little miffed that his presence is so seemingly insignificant to the other boy.
“So how much are you looking for?” Munson asks, flipping the lunch box open. The metal lid clangs loudly against the table.
“Uh” Tommy says dumbly, brain still flustered and not operating at full capacity.
Munson seems to accept that as an answer, however, and he proceeds to rifle through his lunch box, pulling out a couple plastic bags containing varying amounts of weed.
He starts listing prices, but Tommy isn’t really listening. Instead, he finds himself spending pretty much the entire time watching the other boy’s face. Watching the way his eyes seem to flit all over as if he can’t stay focused on anything for more than a second, the way his teeth peek out from beneath his lips as he talks. He’s never noticed, but Munson’s got really nice lips.
What the fuck?
There had been no shortage of rumors at Hawkins High about Eddie “The Freak” Munson being gay—it was part of what contributed to his status as “freak.” Hell, even Tommy himself has called him a faggot on more than a few occasions. However, now that he has actual confirmation of Munson’s preferences, Tommy can’t seem to stop thinking about Munson’s dick going into an ass. Steve’s ass, he tells himself. Which, yeah, that photo was definitely seared into his brain, likely permanently branding him with the image of a naked Steve Harrington.
Because of the things he’s heard people say, and the jokes he’s heard guys make, a cock in the ass has always sounded like a thoroughly unpleasant experience in Tommy’s opinion. But the look on Steve’s face had made it seem like anything but. His eyes were hooded and droopy, glazed over like he was drunk. Maybe he was? His lips were red and puffy, pulled into a soft closed-mouth smile. But the thing that really got Tommy was the look in his eyes. It was almost.. euphoric? He’s not really sure what the right word is to describe it. He just knows that Steve looked like he was having a better time than Disneyland on acid.
Fuck, he can feel his cock stir in his pants as his mind supplies an unsolicited image of himself in Steve’s place. And now it seems like all he can think about is how badly he wants to find out what it’d be like to have a cock in him. Great.
***
Tommy has only ever had one gay sexual encounter before, and it was with Steve himself. It had happened the summer after their sophomore year, when they were watching Saturday Night Fever at Steve’s place while his parents were out of town.
They’d been lounging on the couch, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. As the movie went on, and they got increasingly drunk, they found themselves gradually leaning closer and closer on the couch until they hardly needed to move their arms to pass the bottle. At one point Steve’s knee knocked into Tommy’s, and he glanced down. Heat flooded his cheeks when he noticed that Steve was hard in his shorts. It wasn’t actually all that surprising—there were a lot of sexual scenes in the movie.
Before he had a chance to process what he was doing, Tommy reached over and put a hand on his dick. Steve froze, looking up at Tommy with wide eyes. They just kind of sat there, staring at each other, Tommy’s hand still on Steve.
Seconds passed like hours, and Tommy was just about to get up and repeatedly bash his head against the wall until he forgot he’d ever done something this stupid, when there was a sudden flurry of movement followed by a firm pressure on his own crotch. He gulped audibly before slowly moving his eyes down to where he knew he’d find the sight of Steve’s hand slowly but firmly moving back and forth on the erection that had been straining against his zipper since practically the opening credits.
They proceeded to jerk each other off, staunchly avoiding eye contact and keeping their eyes glued to each other’s cocks instead. They passed out on the couch afterward, too tired to even tuck their spent cocks back into their pants.
Tommy woke up a little while later, saw the dicks that were still out, panicked, and promptly raced to the door, nearly tripping as he attempted to simultaneously pull up his jeans and flee at an inhuman speed.
When he’d made it to the front porch Tommy paused, remembering that Steve had picked him up earlier. Great. Looks like he was going to be walking home. It wasn’t like he was covered in dried cum or anything.
It was late, probably around one or two, so the streets were mostly empty. Tommy was desperate for something, anything, to pull him away from the thoughts that were ricocheting about in his mind.
As if by some miracle, he heard the sound of a car approaching. When he glanced up at it, the car slowed to a stop. Tommy found himself face to face with his on again off again girlfriend, Carol.
Carol offered him a ride, and he jumped at the offer. Approximately 0.3 seconds after he settled into the front seat, he decided to use this as an opportunity to back together.
He almost felt bad for her. All Tommy had to do was half-heartedly say, “I’ve missed you so much, baby” and Carol was already leaning over and pulling him into a searing kiss. He couldn’t help but wonder if kissing Steve would feel the same. Get a grip, dude. He tried to get lost in the kiss, get lost in Carol, but thoughts of Steve, and an overwhelming feeling of panic, kept hijacking his attention.
Steve and Tommy never talked about that night. He just let his actions speak for him, making a point to always bring Carol along with him when spending time with Steve. He’s pretty sure he got the message.
***
When Tommy finally manages to pull himself out of his thoughts he’s grateful to see that Munson’s still talking. Jesus, that kid could probably carry on a conversation with a brick wall.
It’s when Munson pauses, eyes flicking up to meet Tommy’s with a questioning quirk of the brow, as if he’d just asked a question—and he probably had—that Tommy notices he’s started to get hard. Fuck it, he thinks, and plops down on the couch next to Munson, so close that their shoulders are brushing. He plasters on his cockiest smirk, the one that never fails to get him laid, and asks if they could make a trade instead.
Munson is sitting completely motionless save for the drumming of ring-clad fingers on his thighs. “Uh, I don’t uh…what, what kind of trade?” he gets out eventually.
Here goes nothing.
“I’ll let you fuck me in exchange for a half,”
Well, he’d done it. No going back now.
The silence that followed seemed to stretch on for eternity, and Tommy’s palms begin to sweat as Munson sits there, still frozen as a statue.
The exact moment that the words seem to sink in is quite obvious, because Munson’s eyes suddenly grow wider than Tommy thought was even possible. They flicker down to the ground, and he stammers out, “Why would, uh, why would you think that that’s something…something, uh, that I’d… that I’d want?” His eyes are still firmly locked on his shoes as if they were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
Well, panic is better than anger. He can work with this. Steve was panicked at first too.
Cocky grin still taking up residence on Tommy’s face, and leaning even further into Munson’s face, he scoffs, “Please, you think I haven’t heard the rumors?”
He can see the muscles in Munson’s face twitch, jaw clenching. He sits up straighter and rolls his shoulders back, hands moving to clench his jeans. “Look…thanks, but no thanks.” Munson mutters, voice tight. “I think I’d rather just have the money.”
His words settle in Tommy’s gut like lead and he clenches his fists. “Don’t lie. I know you want to, Munson.”
Silence.
Tommy pushes further. “I mean it’s not like you’ve got a lot of options in Hawkins.”
“Dude, fuck off. I’m not interested.”
That makes Tommy see red. He moves a hand to Munson’s knee, grasping tightly. It feels like Munson’s skin is burning him, bare knee sticking out through the rips in his jeans. He leans right into the other boy’s face this time, noses practically touching, and growls out “I’m offering to do you a favor here, Munson. It’s not like a lot of people are banging down the door of the town freak.”
Munson snaps. “It sounds more like I’d be the one doing you a favor,” he hisses, “Seeing as you’re desperate enough to practically beg the town freak to fuck you.” Tommy flinches at that. He goes on, spitting out “Just cause I’m into guys doesn’t mean I’m into any guy.”
A rush of warmth floods Tommy’s face. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more humiliated in his life. He can feel bile forming in his throat at the thought that Eddie “The Freak” Munson, one of the biggest losers in this whole goddamn town, basically just told him he’s not worth fucking.
Tommy bumps into the coffee table in his haste to get up, empty beer bottles clanging together.
“Whatever, faggot,” Tommy spits out as he throws the door open, desperate to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible.
A snort comes from the direction of the couch, and the sound makes Tommy so angry it takes everything in him not to turn around and make Munson regret every word that came out of his mouth tonight. Instead, he just slams the door shut as hard as he can manage.
Tommy is angry. And embarrassed. And absolutely fucking terrified that Munson will tell someone about what happened. And did he mention that he’s angry? He grips the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles start to turn white.
As he pulls into his driveway, all he can think about is how badly he needs some weed to calm down.
FUCK.
He never actually got any weed. All that for nothing.