Chapter Text
Steve sorted lazily through his mail, tossing bills, personal letters, and everything else in respective piles, ignoring how they all fell together into one paper puddle. A week of letting it all sit in the basket at his front door gave him a lot to work with.
It had been a long day at school. Some girl's mom had filed a complaint with the school board about her daughter contracting Syphilis. As if the school had anything to do with that. She blamed 'poor sexual education,' which Steve thought was even dumber. Truly, just teach the kids yourself at that point. Whatever. What did Steve know about sex, anyways?
Towards the bottom of the pile, Steve found a thick, cream colored envelope. He small smirk grew on his face as he read the name in the corner.
Jonathan Byers scratched hastily along the paper, ink smudging his last name and address. But Steve? Oh, he knew exactly what this was. Or at least he'd hoped so.
Photos. Photos he and Jonathan had.. Discussed. Jonathan had come down for this past Christmas, and Steve had made a.. comment about his gift for the other man. A new camera, the type that printed out little photos as soon as you took them. Except this model was special, allegedly. It offered 'self-timed photos,' meaning you could set it up and pose for the picture easily.
Unless you're Steve.
If you're Steve, it meant candid, posed up, what-freaking-ever live photos of Jonathan naked in his bed. Or something along those lines.
Steve worked on the glass of whisky he'd been sipping, picking impatiently at the envelope's seal; Some stupid sticker depicting Garfield and Odie with their tongues out. He felt like a giddy teen, waiting til his parents were out of town to sneak into their liquor cabinet.
As soon as the last drop of the brown liquid burned down his throat, Steve shot up, running for his bedroom, envelope heavy in his hand. He nearly leapt onto his bed, shrugging his jacket and shoes off as afterthoughts, pants following suit.
He ran a hand through his hair, carefully peeling off the Garfield sticker. He wanted to try and save it, if possible. He wanted to savor everything about this envelope.
A handwritten letter from Jonathan came out first, an 'I'm sorry this took so long,' and 'I'm not writing out dirty talk, use your imagination.' He rolled his eyes, though he thought that was almost better. He liked getting to be.. Creative.
With the letters were two stacks of three photos each, one in red ribbon and one in blue. If Steve had anymore faith, he would have blessed God for these, though he was sure the man wouldn't have wanted credit.
The blue ribbon photos were untied first, each sweeter than the last. Steve's face warmed at each picture, and he knew now he needed to be buried with them when he died.
The first photo was Jonathan on a chair, legs spread wide, though still mostly clothed. It was almost perfect, if it hadn't been for how his face was shielded from the camera by the palm of his hand. He wore a shirt and vest, both fully unbuttoned, the tie around his neck not situated with any collars. Steve couldn't quite convince himself of if it was a trick of the light, or if Jonathan had photographed himself with a major boner.
The second photo featured far less clothing but once again, avoided eye contact with the camera's lens. He wore just some blue checkered boxers, too loose on Jonathans hips. His hair was still wet, and Steve could assume he'd just gotten out of the shower, with how the rest of his skin shined. Jonathan was lying on his bed, stomach-down, with half of his face hidden behind his arm. His back was slightly arched, and Steve's stomach flipped as he shimmied out of his own underwear.
The third brought back more clothes, much to Steve's dismay. Boxers and a plain white t-shirt, stupid wire ovals framing his eyes. He sat on the same chair from the first image, though Steve was certain the two were not taken any time near each other. There was a newspaper in his hands which he was reading, though the tent pitched below it had Steve thinking the price of milk was far from what Jonathan was thinking of.
The red ribbon followed suit, and Steve was practically jumping with joy (and lust), fingers nearly trembling.
Finally, this one was completely nude. Steve almost nutted right there, just from one glance at the photograph. Jonathan had his legs straight up in the air, making direct eye contact with the camera. His hand covered his mouth, but Steve could still see the smirk underneath, with how his cheeks rose and his eyes crinkled. His other arm was hooked around his knees, pulling his legs back. A full view of everything but cock in this picture in his hand, though it would have been enough to fuel twelve full orgasms, if he played his cards right.
It was beautiful, and he meant that truly. At least enough so that he spat on his hand, slipping under the sheets so he could feel himself. Oh Fuck..
Next was something Steve had practically begged for. Jonathan was lying in his bathtub, arms draped over the sides, legs propped up on the faucet. The soapy bubbles in the water just so happened to cover up anything Steve wanted so desperately to see. He had half a mind to curse out the man.. But these works of art gracing his eyes convinced him otherwise. His imagination could fill in the blanks..
The final photo might have been Steve's.. favorite. If he knew any more about photography, he would have wondered how Jonathan even captured this angle. But the pumping of his own dick sort of distracted him from the whole debacle, his focus on the image he held. Jonathan was below the camera, a specific view Steve had seen and savored many times. He sat on his knees on the floor, hand wrapped around his.. little fellow. His face was scrunched up in ways that Steve had memorized the soundtrack to; little grunts and groans, nothing ever more than a soft, low moan. Something lit hung from Jonathans lips, Steve couldn't tell if it was a cigarette or a joint. Smoke escaped in wisps from his mouth, and oh lord was it doing something for Steve, whose own hand mirrored Jon's, pace changing rapidly.
He set the photos down, each scene committed to memory. Every lewd position, every stray article of clothing, eternally made to live in Steve's mind. His breath shuddered and hips bucked, thinking about.. Jonathan? How awkwardly he posed himself up to take the photos for Steve. How he could almost hear Jonathan's laugh as he set the camera up. And things more.. Sensual. How he bit himself as he jacked off, grazing the skin of his wrist to keep from moaning too loudly... And how Steve wished for Jonathan to sink his teeth into him instead. Any part of him would do..
Or something like that. Maybe.
His hand flew to his hair, half to run it through, and half in an attempt to tug on it in the ways Jonathan would that always felt so fucking good. He pursed his lips, keeping himself from making a sound as he jerked.
He wondered, momentarily, if Jonathan would take.. requests. And if he could bind these into his own little picture book to keep tucked away on his shelf, if ever there was a rainy day.
When he finally came, small whines escaped his lips, sounds he'd only ever dared to make around Jonathan. Any girl he'd dated would never have let him live it down..
Steve stared down, his hand and general downstairs area a mess of warm.. jissom.. Everywhere. He chuckled, eyes wide as he stared at the ceiling.
Jesus, he should have bought that camera so long ago..