Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Robin never planned on moving in with Steve. But after living through their second series of near death experiences together, it’s kind of hard to go back home alone like nothing ever happened. Like you didn’t lose one of your own. Especially when she knows that her dear friend, her capital P platonic soulmate who is always the first to throw himself in harm’s way, is going back to a big empty house all on his own. How, when her town has fractured into four horrible, bleeding fractions and nothing about tomorrow is promised can she not insist on going home with him? How can she leave him to patch up the bloody, possibly rabies-infected bites littering his torso, or the bruised strangulation mark around his neck? It doesn’t seem to matter that she’s seen him bloody and beaten before, the sight is still terrifying and makes the already constantly lingering anxiety that much worse. It’d be far worse, in fact, if she didn’t have him in sight. 

Which is why it’s also natural, expected even, for them to fall into his bed together under the guise of watching each other’s back. Just in case. Who knows what horrible demo-thing could crawl out of those glowing red fissures? Certainly not Steve or Robin, who keep a well used nail bat and a gun borrowed from Nancy on either bedside table. Not that anything does come except nightmares, but those are better fought together, too. And it’s not weird, actually, to take solace in his strong arms when she wakes up shaking, or to smooth his soft hair when he stifles tears against her neck. It’s friendship, real friendship, one unlike any other she’s ever experienced. And yeah, it’s definitely from trauma boding, most definitely codependent, but it helps. So she doesn’t have to examine it too closely. It doesn’t have to change anything.

Not even when it lasts a week, two, three. Not when her mom asks her to please flee with her family out of town. (No, of course not, what about her friends? What if they need her? Maybe, if they came with, but they would never, all brave to a fault.) Not when their friends become pushier than usual about whether or not they’re finally dating. (To which an increasingly cantankerous Dustin gets his hat flicked off by Steve, which doesn’t really put a stop to the rumors at all.) Not even when they start the night already cuddled together and she finds her gaze lingering on his profile once he’s asleep, looking softer and younger and unburdened by everything they’ve been through. 

Okay, well, maybe that last one is a little alarming. Especially when she catches herself doing it during the day, when they’re eating Frosted Flakes and he hasn’t yet completed his fifteen step hair routine - which, really, what guy uses Farrah Fawcett hair spray? He says it’s his mom’s, but a new bottle popped up yesterday, and as far as Robin is aware his mom hasn’t stepped foot in this house in a month and a half. 

Sometimes it happens while they’re sitting at the abandoned WSQK radio station, planning and plotting with everyone else in The Know about what they’re going to do regarding the eldritch horrors leaking through the cracks and the military invading their small town. Nancy catches her one time and rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, muttering something about “platonic my ass” and Robin thinks she must be glowing bright red. Robin wants to scream “NO! I’M GAY!” but for obvious reasons can’t, so she retreats into her embarrassment and pledges to be better about keeping these little distractions under control. She barely looks at Steve for the entire rest of the day, which of course weirds him out, but she dismisses it by rambling on about nothing until she can see the wires in his brain get so crossed he gives up on ever understanding which is always a pretty good defense mechanism for when she doesn’t want to talk to him about something. Which isn’t often, but how is she supposed to explain that she’s been noticing these little things about him that she shouldn’t notice, except how could she not when they’re practically living in each other’s pockets? 

So she keeps it under wraps in public, but when it’s just the two of them she’s allowed to look. When he’s driving her home (and isn’t that something, the way he’s become home) in his beamer, his eyes are on the road and it’s easy for her to focus on him instead of the passing shell of a town she knows like the back of her hand, upside down or rightside up. Usually they’re talking, anyway, so it would be rude to look away. Her mom drilled that into her head when she was a kid and oftentimes it's painful to fight the instinct to avert her eyes but with Steve it’s not so bad. She watches his lips, the plush bottom one especially, pinker than it should be on a boy. And when they’re not talking he’s too focused on the road to notice her eyes lingering over his cheekbones and the beauty marks scattered across them, or his frankly unfairly long eyelashes framing doe eyes, or the perfectly straight line of his nose. He doesn’t look as young as he does when he’s sleeping, brow furrowing with heavy thoughts and his teeth pressing into that bottom lip again. But there’s still something beautiful about him. It’s just golden hour, Robin tells herself. Anyone would look pretty under the dying light of the day, probably even herself, and Steve is objectively attractive even if his parts don’t align with the kind she typically likes. 

“What?” He asks suddenly, eyes darting to hers briefly and shaking her from her reverie. 

“Huh?” She says, like the dumb stupid idiot she is.

“You’re staring at me.”

“No I’m not.”

“Uh, yeah you are.”

She can feel herself flush at being caught and scoffs. “Well, you’ve got something on your face.” She reaches forward to swipe a little too roughly at his cheek.

Steve bats her hand away, car jerking slightly with the motion, “Hey!”

“Keep your eyes on the road!” Robin protests.

“I’m trying but I’m being accosted.”

“Oh, come on, you can take a little accosting now and then.”

He seems to drop it. For now. Maybe she should be stricter with herself. Keep her musings to nighttime only when no one can catch her, least of all the object of her, well, not affection exactly but interest.

It’s fine. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean anything. 

That’s what she tells herself as she lies on her side mirroring him, eyes roaming over his face washed blue in the moonlight. Safe and sound and asleep, with her, where no evil Russians, or demo-creatures, or DnD villains can get to him. Or, at least, she thought he was asleep. Would’ve sworn it, in fact, his breath as steady as it was.

“Robin,” he mutters softly.

For a second she thinks she imagined it. She practically holds her breath, unable to look away. Is he dreaming?

“I can literally feel you looking at me.”

Okay, not dreaming and definitely not sleeping. 

“No I’m not.”

He cracks his eyes open and oh shit, she forgot to look away, so he’s definitely caught her in the act. A moment too late her eyes slam shut and her hands cover her face for good measure. Maybe she can excuse herself to the bathroom. Or she can try to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms, except the first time she tried doing that she came crawling back after her first nightmare and the second time when his nightmare woke her up from all the way down the hall, so really there’s no way to avoid this conversation anymore. Because there’s no way in hell this won’t be a conversation now. The rambling confusion tactic only works when Steve doesn’t think there's anything to worry about, but if he does? He’s like a dog with a bone. 

She feels his hands come around her wrists to lower her hands enough that her eyes are uncovered, but she still won’t open them.

He sighs, “C’mon, Rob. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“I know that’s not true. You can just tell me, okay? No pressure, no judgement, and then we can both go to sleep.” 

Oh, god, she’s keeping him up. He’s been so exhausted lately, everyone has, and what little sleep they get between nightmares is so precious and now she’s keeping him up which is the exact opposite of the entire reason they share a bed in the first place, which is fine and normal and doesn’t mean anything-

“You’re kind of freaking out on me right now.”

Robin’s eyes burst open and she whisper-shouts through her hands, “I am not freaking out!” 

“Okay, okay! Fine, not freaking out. Just… sort of a little bit maybe freaking out.”

Robin is quiet for a beat, but it's harder to clam up now that she can see him again. His big brown eyes look so worried and open and familiar and maybe he’d get it. He’s understood everything else so far, even the things she was sure he wouldn’t be able to, because it turns out the former most popular boy in school has unexplored depths that none of them ever could have imagined. 

So it’s not her fault, actually, when she opens her mouth and “You’re just pretty!” spills out, rushed and accusatory. 

Steve blinks, his eyebrows quirking like he’s not sure he heard her right. “I’m pretty?”

“Yes! …Stop looking at me like that!” She shuts her eyes again when he starts smiling this soft little smile that somehow manages to border on both amused and flattered. 

“I mean, thanks? I might’ve preferred dashing or handsome or bone meltingly hot but pretty’s not so bad.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies miserably.

“...Is it, like, a problem?”

“It’s weird.”

“It’s weird that I’m pretty.”

“It’s weird that I think you’re pretty,” she states as though it’s obvious, which really it should be. 

“Well, okay, I guess I could see how that’s a little. Unexpected?”

“Yes, duh, because you’re a boy, and I don’t think boys are pretty. Like, ever.” 

“Well, I mean, you might be gay but you still have eyes-”

“Oh my god,” she drops her hands fully now in exasperation, looking at him again and enraged by the cocky smirk she finds there. She swats at his shoulder, not as hard as she might’ve a few weeks ago, the skin around his neck is still slightly bruised and definitely scarred and a reminder that he’s not as tough as he seems. “You are so full of yourself. I never should’ve said anything, you don’t need me inflating your humongous ego-”

“No, no, my ego likes it!”

She groans. “That’s the problem!” 

“Is that? The problem?” He asks earnestly.

“One of them…”

“Maybe  we should talk about them. The problems. The ego one I can only do so much about.”

Robin rolls her eyes so hard they hurt. “Obviously.”

“Obviously. And the boy one… Well, there’s only so much I can do about that one, too. But, I mean, why is it a problem?”

“Steve. I’m gay.”

“Well, yeah, but I can look at another guy and acknowledge that he’s good looking without it making me gay. So it doesn’t mean anything… Right?”

Robin shrugs. 

“I mean, thinking that a guy is hot doesn’t mean I like them or want to kiss them or anything like that.”

“No,” Robin agrees, because despite the amount of time she's spent staring at his face and acknowledging all the parts she likes about it, she hasn’t thought of anything intimate with Steve. It’s never even crossed her mind. “Well, I mean, if you thought it enough, you should probably try it. To make sure.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Did you ever? Try it to make sure?”

“Kissing a boy?” He nods, so she thinks back. “In first grade there was this kid Davey. He was, like, the most popular kid in our class. All the other girls thought he was so cute. They all had crushes on him so I did, too. Or, like, I decided I did so I would fit in with the rest of them. And one day at recess we were playing, like, family or something stupid and I was the mom and he was the dad and all the other kids goaded us into kissing and I just thought it was really, really gross. Figured out I probably didn’t really have a crush on Davey. I was just jealous that all the other girls liked him.”

“Where have I heard that one before?”

Robin replies sarcastically, “I’m so sorry you weren’t the first boy I was jealous of.”

“I’ll get over it. You guys were, like, seven.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t know… I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a total fucking asshole, and I’ve been pretty good at not being an asshole these days.”

“Debatable.”

“Hey,” he pouts and her eyes zero in on his bottom lip again, pushed out dramatically.

“Fine. Just say it.”

“Maybe you could try again now? Just to make sure it’s still gross.”

Robin’s brain breaks for a moment because she’d never considered that and it definitely does make him sound like a total asshole and what the hell does he mean? “What, like, now? Now, now?” 

“Not like, right now this second, but you know, at age eighteen instead of seven. Not that I’d turn you down, Rob, but I’m seriously not that type of asshole.”

Which, well, would he really be that much of an asshole to offer it since she’s the one who has been staring at him and told him she thinks he’s pretty and climbs into bed to cuddle every night without a second thought? Because he hasn’t been an asshole, not once, despite (or maybe because?) of their history and suddenly Robin is ultra aware of his hand still around her wrist and the fact that he used to have a crush on her. A long time ago, of course, and it was nothing compared to the infatuation he still clearly has for Nancy, but at one point in time Steve had definitely wanted to kiss her and what was that about not turning her down?

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay.” Steve agrees. “Um, Okay what?”

“I can try.”

“Oh. Alright.”

“Now.”

“Now?” His eyes bug out a little and if it weren’t for the nerves coursing through her, the complete and total disbelief at what the fuck she’s doing right now, she’d laugh at how cute and silly it makes him look. “Like, with me?”

“Unless you don’t want to,” she rushes out. “Or, like, it’s too weird, or you think it’d make it weird, or gross, or will be upset after if I don’t like it, or-”

“Hey, hey, slow down,” he says, squeezing her wrist gently. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Robin asks hopefully, still trepidatious. 

“Yeah, if you want to, then I’m down to try. I’d be honored, in fact, to be the second boy you’ve ever kissed, even if it cements that you think we’re all gross. The fact that you also think I’m pretty will be a great comfort.”

Robin giggles, like one of the stupid schoolgirl conquests Steve probably had in this very bed back when he was king of Hawkins High, and jeez Robin don’t think about that right now. “I might be bad at it. No, I’m definitely going to be bad at it. I haven’t kissed anyone since Lisa Rawlins in sophomore year before she moved to Chicago.”

“Was it at a sleepover? Please tell me there was pillow fighting.” 

“Ugh, shut up.”

“Okay, fine. Listen. You’re not going to be bad at it. Girls are, like, I don't know. It's like it's instinctual for you guys.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying you were bad at it?”

“Oh, I was definitely bad at it. Like, slobbering all over the place.”

Robin wrinkles her nose, “Ew. That’s not a very convincing argument.”

“That’s okay. You know that’s okay, right? Like, I’m not trying to convince you. We don’t have to do this.”

“But we can?”

“Only if you want-”

“Then can you shut up for a minute?”

Steve’s mouth slams shut and she hears him gulp and it’s kind of crazy to imagine that she, nobody nerd Robin from band, is making Steve “The Hair” Harrington nervous. The brief surge of power is almost enough to calm her own nerves, but not quite. Especially since Steve is staying stock still, except for his thumb rubbing soothing little circles against her wrist as he blinks at her owlishly. Those stupid eyelashes. Robin takes a deep breath and wiggles a little closer until their knees knock together, and really this is nothing. She’s woken up with her head on his chest, with the entirety of him pressed against her back (or vice versa), but she’s never had her head this close to his while his eyes were still open. And somehow, impossibly, he’s even prettier close up. Her heart does some weird little skip and squeeze in her chest as she closes the distance between them. Then her lips brush against his and her eyes flutter shut, and whoa.

This is nothing like kissing Davey in first grade. Steve’s lips are soft, softer than they have any right to be, and he smells so familiar because he is familiar. But this isn’t familiar. This is new. And it turns out that’s more exciting than it is scary. She pulls back with a sharp intake of breath, startled by the rush of warmth such a quick press of lips sends through her. Which, okay, it’s been a while, but kissing Steve should not feel just as good (better?) than kissing Lisa did. 

His eyes are opening belatedly, and his stupidly soft lips are quirking up. “That bad, huh?”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Robin is leaning forward to kiss him again, shutting him up with an “oomph!” as her lips slam against his. One of her wrists is still in Steve’s hand, but the other is free to land on his cheek, to stroke over his cheekbone, his jaw, and he’s so soft she wonders if he has a fifteen step skincare routine to go with the one for his hair. His hand grips her wrist, so tight it almost hurts, but Robin can barely focus on that point of contact when their lips are slotted together so perfectly. He’s so still, letting her take the lead as she fits their lips together over and over again to her heart’s content. Until her tongue slips out to taste that bottom lip because she just has to know what it tastes like, hadn’t even realized that she’d been wondering about that, and then he comes alive beneath her. 

It’s not that he hadn’t been kissing her back before, because he definitely was. If he’d been frozen to her touch she would’ve stopped, like, at least a minute ago. But apparently that was passive, restrained, trying-not-to-scare-the-lesbian Steve Harrington kisses because now he’s kissing her like he means it. He opens her mouth with his own so their tongues can meet in the middle. He tastes like the toothpaste they share and he groans into her mouth and it has her whimpering pathetically, which she’ll definitely be embarrassed about later. His hand settles on her waist, pulling her closer, and the hand around her wrist moves so that he’s holding her hand. It’s not weird to be so close to him, but it is weird for every point of contact to light her up the way it is. 

Robin has only felt like this when watching that one part of Fast Times on repeat in her room, or flipping through the Victoria’s Secret catalogue, or watching Vickie fix her hair after band practice. It is completely, totally inconceivable that Steve’s tongue in her mouth is having the same effect. She wants to go back and tell fifteen year old Robin that in a couple years the jock she hates so much is going to be her very best friend, her capital P Platonic (?) soulmate, and that the way he kisses her will make a few chaste kisses with Lisa Rawlins under the bleachers seem like old news. She gets it now, why all the girls in school were drooling over him. It’s not just that he’s pretty and funny and can be sweet. Word of this lip based sorcery surely traveled fast in the portion of girl world Robin was never invited to, not that it would’ve made a difference. If Nancy Wheeler had told her last week that Steve was the best kisser in the entire world Robin still would’ve rolled her eyes and insisted on the caveat that he was the best kisser for a boy. Now she knows that no, he’s just the best kisser period. At least part in thanks, probably, to all the girls he kissed before, including their mutual friend and local badass Nancy who he is still very much in love with. But she should stop thinking about that right now, because it’s meaningless. Just like this kiss. Not that it’s stopping anytime soon if Robin has any say in the matter. 

The hand on his cheek slides down his jaw, gingerly skirting around the tender flesh of his neck, to settle against his chest. That is weird, how flat chested he is, but it makes it easier to push him until he’s lying on his back and she can swing a leg over his hip. She is not coordinated enough to do this without breaking the kiss, which gives her a good chance to take in how plush his lips have become from her kisses and she knows that if the lights were on they’d be pinker, too. She settles across his abdomen, licking her lips to chase the taste of him. His eyes track the movement, still wide like they can’t quite believe this is really happening. Honestly, neither can she.

“Am I dreaming this whole thing?” He asks stupidly and dammit if he isn’t cute when he’s being a dingus. 

She leans down to kiss him again softly, her hands balancing on his t-shirt covered chest. “If you are then so am I,” she murmurs.

“Jesus Christ, Robin,” he shakes his head, leaning up to chase her lips, his hand at the back of her head keeping her from going too far. “Jesus Christ.”

“I know,” she agrees, 'cause yeah, Jesus Christ.

“What is this-”

“I have no idea.”

“But you’re gay.”

“I know.”

“I’m a guy.”

“You sort of look like a girl, though.”

Steve splutters, “What?” 

Robin giggles, “I already called you pretty.”

“That’s different.”

“Not really,” she says matter-of-factly, her hand resting on his cheek once more, thumb stroking under his eye. “You have big doe eyes and unfairly long lashes, like, no mascara needed. And your lips are all full and pink,” her thumb drags his lower lip down and Steve makes this surprisingly high pitched sound in the back of his throat and she needs to find a way to make that happen again as soon as fucking possible. Her finger traces his cupid's bow back over his cheek, and into his hair. “And your hair is getting long again.”

Steve frowns, “I think I preferred the compliments to the chiding.”

“That is a compliment you big baby,” she kisses him again, because it's been a few seconds too long since she’s done so, and even the brief press makes her toes curl. “You should let me braid it sometime.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees mindlessly, and Robin laughs. She thinks she could say anything right now and he might agree to it. Maybe he’d let her put lip gloss on him. She’d have to test that later. 

But not now. Right now she has to kiss him again instead of yammering on about things like what’s going on or what it all means which isn’t half as important as actually feeling it all. Living in the moment isn’t something she’s typically good at, a chronic overthinker to the end, but it turns out the cure for that has been trapped behind Steve’s lips this entire time. And he’s more than happy to give it to her. His hand strokes through her hair, blunt nails scratching against her scalp as their tongues intermingle. Her fingers dig into the flesh of his chest through the soft, worn sleep shirt. There isn’t the squish she expects, the same fleshy give she finds on her own chest when she attempts to touch herself. He’s not hard, exactly, not the way he might’ve been back when he was captain of the basketball team. But he’s still strong, from doing most of the heavy lifting at Family Video and Scoops Ahoy before that and from fighting disgusting creatures from the Upside Down. But some softness has crept in around the edges and she enjoys the way her fingertips press into it.

“I do kind of wish you had boobs,” she admits quietly and he laughs.

Steve laughs. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

“You should be.”

Robin tweaks a nipple for the joke, hard enough that it should hurt, but instead his head tips back on a gasp and she can feel his hips buck right behind where she’s settled on his torso and oh yeah, that’s different, too, and fuck if his face doesn’t look especially pretty like this. 

“Doesn’t seem to be stopping you,” he croaks. “I mean, come on, Buckley. Going for second base, already?”

“You don’t really seem to mind.”

“No, no I really don’t,” he pants and she realizes that she’s panting, too, she’s just so worked up it barely even registered. 

She leans down and kisses him again, her fingers smoothing over the nipple she tweaked. He hums appreciatively into her mouth and this time she pinches it gentler, pulling back just enough to watch his face as he bites back a whimper. His eyes open, heavy lidded and wild when her thumbnail scrapes over the nub through fabric. The sight sends flames shooting down her spine, dropping them in her stomach with the rest of the fire he’s stoked. She wriggles against his lower stomach, the ache she’s been trying to ignore between her legs becoming more and more pressing. His hands land on her hips and while the warm weight of them only build the flames higher he’s stopping her from moving, actually, which seems to be entirely against the point.

“I’m trying really hard to be respectful here, Robin, so maybe we should slow down.”

“Oh, um, but I don’t really want to.”

Steve groans and she can feel his fingers flex. “I think I want to.”

Robin blinks and sits back up. She’s not an asshole, either, so of course she stops. “Should I move?”

“I guess you don’t have to,” his hands move to cover his face, as if he can’t bear to look at her. “Just stay still for a second.”

She does her best and stops moving despite the throbbing between her legs. Her thumbs swipes across his pec in a motion she hopes is soothing, but must not be because one of his hands covers hers to stop it.

“Don’t do that, either,” he asks, voice strangled. 

Robin nods even though he can’t see her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” his reply is muffled, “Just trying to calm down.”

“Are you upset?”

Steve huffs a little indignant laugh. “Not upset. More like excited.”

“Oh.” 

That must mean he has a boner. She’s sitting too high up to feel it, but it would make sense, given the thrusting and the way she’s worked up herself. Surely, if she had the same parts, she’d have a boner, too. It’s super understandable. It wouldn’t even be the first time it happened around her, morning wood and all, but he’s always been good about keeping it away from her, out of sight and out of mind. She never really thought about it much before and while the idea isn’t really all that appealing, she still kind of wants to scooch back to feel it for herself. The flat plane of his stomach isn’t doing much to alleviate the persistent ache and it occurs to her that his erection would probably do a better job. That is sort of what they’re made for, after all. Sitting directly on top of it would probably be like when she first started to figure out masturbation and put a flashlight under her pillow to rut against until she eventually got frustrated and gave up, like every time she’s tried to get herself off before or since. Maybe she could get there with the real thing. With Steve. Except he still has a hand clapped over his eyes and seems to be practicing deep breathing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He hums, but it sounds distressed. “Getting there. Trying to process what the fuck is happening.”

“That sounds like a bad idea.” Robin has been very determinedly not doing that this whole time so that she can actually enjoy it.

“Yeah, well, I think I kind of have to, given everything.”

“What’s everything?” 

“Well, for starters, Vickie.”

“Vickie?”

“Yes, Vickie. The girl you’ve been crushing on for ages. Who we’ve been plotting about for months.”

This conversation again. “Vickie has a boyfriend.”

“No, actually, she had a boyfriend and she told you pretty specifically that she no longer does.”

“That doesn’t mean anything-”

“It totally means that she likes you.”

“Maybe- But, well, what about Nancy?”

Steve sighs and his hand scrubs down his face until he can level an exhausted stare up at her. “There is nothing with Nancy.”

“Except that you’re still totally in love with her.”

“That doesn’t matter. She’s with Johnathan and we’re just friends and that’s fine.”

“But it means you don’t like me, so this can be totally meaningless.”

She’s said the wrong thing because now he looks constipated. “What?”

“Yeah, just, two bros making out. Blowing off some steam.” She gives him a friendly punch on the shoulder like they’re just two guys hanging out but it doesn’t make Steve look any less pained.

“Robin… I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not- That’s not fair. You know I like you.”

“Nuh-uh, you liked me. Past tense. Like, ages ago, and then I came out to you in a Russian drug induced haze and you moved on.”

“As we both know, I’ve never been great at moving on.”

She lets that settle over the both of them and is suddenly hit by a metric ton of guilt. “So… You still…?”

“Yeah, I still.”

Which changes everything, actually. If he’s been holding some secret torch for her over the past year. She’s struck by how good he’s been at hiding it, how he never treated her any differently or tried to angle for more, even when they were commiserating over their girl problems or sleeping beside each other every single night. Wow. Wow. He’s really not an asshole. In fact he’s actually a really, really good friend. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I really like being your friend. You’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose that, but I don’t think doing all this is going to be good for me if it’s going to mean nothing. It would kind of be torture.”

“That makes sense,” she nods, because it does and she really doesn’t want to torture him. But she also really doesn’t want to stop and he looks so sad, bracing himself to be let down easy once more. The next words are out of her mouth before she even has a chance to process them. “Maybe it doesn’t have to mean nothing.”

“Robin…”

“No, just, hear me out,” she says, taking a deep breath as she prepares to ramble and work out all her repressed thoughts on the matter in real time. “I know you better than I know anyone and you know me better than anyone else. I don’t know if it’s the multiple near death experiences or what but somewhere along the line I sort of stopped thinking of you as a guy. Like, obviously I know logically you aren’t a girl, but my brain and my body seem to have lumped you in that category anyway. Because Davey or Tom Cruise could walk in right now and I think kissing them would still be gross because they’re not you.”

“Okay… Thanks, I guess-”

“So,” she continues, cutting him off, “it doesn’t have to mean nothing because you already mean a lot to me. Like some extra limb that exists independently of my body but I still need to function like a normal-ish person.”

Steve takes that in, his expression softening. “Thats a really weird way to admit you have a crush on me.” 

“Well! I am weird! You know this and apparently you like me anyway!” 

“Yeah, I really do,” he says with a smile and oh thank god he’s smiling again. “And you like me, too.”

She rolls her eyes, “To put it in completely un-poetic layman’s terms.”

He laughs and tugs on her forearm to bring her closer, grin turning shit-eating. “You liiiike me,” he sing-songs.

“Ugh,” she groans, “You are never going to let me live this down.”

“No way,” he agrees, “I’m going to remind you every single day.”

Robin wishes she could stop smiling back at him, but it’s out of her control. His arms snake around her back, pulling her down until he’s hugging her tight and her arms are trapped between their chests. “You’re so annoying.”

His nose brushes against hers and when he speaks again his voice has dropped out of that familiar, friendly banter into something deeper that has the briefly forgotten fire in her stomach reigniting. “You like it,” he whispers and before she can retort he’s kissing her again which is way better than talking anyway. 

Somehow she’s still unlocking levels of Steve, because this emotional revelation, this mutual unburdening of feelings has him kissing her with a new fervor. His hands roam more confidently, sliding over her back, squeezing her waist, palming her hip, stroking the bare skin of her thigh where the pair of boxers she’s borrowed have ridden up. Wherever they touch skin to skin is warm and electric and it’s not long until she wriggling against him again, hips seeking relief she can’t find. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling for Robin who’s never quite able to get herself there, but it’s an unpleasant one nonetheless. So she decides fuck it and lifts her hips, scooching back just enough so that when she settles back down-

Robin gasps into his mouth and he grunts right back because he is hard. Pressed into the cleft of her thigh, not quite where she needs him but so close. She rocks from side to side, searching for the right angle until she shifts him into place and moans as the firm length of him slides perfectly against where she’s hot and wanting. This is without a doubt way better than the flashlight pillow combo. She rolls against him and the pressure on her clit is just right and she can’t stop herself from doing it again and again as Steve thrusts back up in return. The ability to kiss is getting lost in the desperate movement. Instead their lips are sort of brushing against each other sloppily, tongues darting out to taste, breathy little sounds coming hot and heavy in the space between. 

His hand at her waist slides up and god she hopes he’s going for her boobs. There’s not much of them and Robin's not so far gone that she isn’t kind of insecure about that because boys have dreams and expectations that involve Fast Times and Playboy whereas another girl would probably be more realistic. It doesn’t help that she knows the types of girls Steve’s been with and they aren’t really like Robin. But she remembers him telling her that was fine way back in the Starcourt public bathroom when he misunderstood what “not like other girls” really meant and she thinks it probably (hopefully) still applies. 

“Please,” she whispers when he hesitates. 

When Steve cups her through her ancient Hawkins High band t-shirt she arches into his touch. He squeezes gently and she presses herself closer, wanting more. This, too, is so much better than when Robin has tried to do it herself. His hand is big enough to cover all of her at once and the way the fabric shifts against her nipple with every touch only makes the rippling pleasure growing between her legs that much stronger. 

Apparently lying down was adequate when Steve was letting her take the lead, but it’s not good enough anymore. He sits up suddenly and Robin wraps her arms around his neck so she doesn’t topple off of him. Of course she doesn’t, because he’s practiced at this and far smoother than her. He abandons her lips in favor of kissing down her neck and oh that’s good, too. Now she pants out into the dark room without his lips impeding any of the noises crawling out of her throat, including the distressed whine when his hand leaves her. His responding chuckle makes her want to hit him again but the urge doesn’t last long because then the same hand is sneaking under the hem of her shirt. 

As Steve's hand drags up her side she notes that for someone who is so soft all over his hands are surprisingly rough. This, too, feels strangely good. Every callus that catches on her skin is an extra point of contact that has her shivering. Still she wonders if he’d appreciate some fancy hand lotion, given his affinity for beauty products, or if he’d see it as an insult. A conundrum for another day because Robin's brain effectively shorts out when the tips of his fingers brush directly over her nipple. He pinches it between his thumb and forefinger and the rush of pleasure is so intense that her hips stutter once more, struggling to maintain any sort of real rhythm even with the hand at her hip leading her.

This is always her problem. When it really starts feeling good her brain stops working and she loses all the coordination that enables it to keep feeling good. Which ultimately results in no climax at all and a frustrated Robin enacting Sisyphus trying to roll the orgasm boulder up the disappointment hill. Which is somehow even worse now because this time she has help and yet she’s still slamming into the same damn wall. She growls and it sounds just as annoyed as she feels and makes Steve slow down, pulling off her neck to inspect her. 

“Frustrated?” He asks because he can read her like the back of his hand.

She nods and presses closer, kissing him again because she doesn’t really want to explain and ruin the mood. Not that there’s really another way around the whole issue.

“Tell me what you need, Rob.”

“I don’t know,” she grumbles pack petulantly, her fingers running through his hair. The hair thing seems to be a pretty good distraction because his head tips back and his big, beautiful, all seeing eyes flutter closed. 

“What do you do when you’re on your own?”

“My success rate individually is… Pretty low.”

“It must happen sometimes.” She bites her lip at that in lieu of replying. His eyes pop back open to look at her like she just kicked his puppy. “Never?”

She shakes her head.

“Like ever? In your whole life?”

“Yes, jeez, stop rubbing it in.”

“Robin,” he whines, “that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know. It’s pathetic.”

“No, it’s not you.” He presses a quick kiss to her lips. “It’s society.” Another kiss on her cheek. “Inequality.” One on her jaw. “The mystery of female sexuality.” The side of her neck. “The shitty sex ed in small town public schools.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughs a little breathlessly, “I get it, you’re a feminist.”

Steve pulls back to look into her eyes very suddenly and very intensely. “Please let me make you come.” 

She feels her already flushed cheeks heat up even further. “What if I can’t?” She asks, voice small. 

“I’ll try all night if I have to.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“I love a good workout.”

She smiles, almost even laughs as she looks away, but his head tilts to chase her gaze. “What did you have in mind?”

“Literally whatever you want. Fingers? Mouth?”

A few months ago she would’ve questioned if Steve really even meant that second one, but she knows he does because after one of his ill fated dates that ended in a one night stand she asked and yeah, he definitely likes it. He’d tried to be cool about it but he’d blushed and his eyes sort of glazed over as he admitted getting a girl off is kind of the only exciting thing left about hooking up. He explained that when you’ve done so much the act itself can get a little repetitive and boring, especially if the emotional component isn’t really clicking. But figuring out what makes a girl tick is an individualized puzzle every time and nothing is more satisfying than cracking the code. Even if he fucks everything else up, at least he can do that one thing right. 

The end of that conversation was kind of sad, but the rest was enough to get Robin hot and bothered herself. She wanted the chance to figure a girl out like that, to be figured out herself. She even went home that night and failed to get herself off about it. And now it was being offered right up to her. Sure, not exactly in the configuration she’d imagined all those months ago, but still. It was overwhelming and she isn’t sure how she’s supposed to choose.

“Can we try both?” She asks, feeling like the greediest person on Earth. 

Steve just grins like she told him he can have dessert before dinner. “Can’t have too much of a good thing.” 

Then he flips them in one smooth motion, lowering her onto her back and leaning over her. There’s literally no way in hell that wasn’t a patent pending Harrington move and she hates that it totally works on her. She yelps at the rush in her stomach and squeezes him a little tighter even as she rolls her eyes. 

“Okay, Fabio,” she says sarcastically, unable to go without making fun of him. Sue her, there’s nothing quite like taking the wind out of his sails. 

“Shh,” he shushes, which is definitely wishful thinking because Robin has never been good at shutting up. “I’ll show you Fabio.” 

He’s kissing her before she can come up with a retort and the urge to take the wind out of his sails vanishes. In fact, Robin would very much like to put the wind back in his sails. Or in her own sails. Whatever, the metaphor doesn’t matter, not when he’s kissing her so deeply. It’s still exciting, the newness, but she’s starting to recognize the rhythm of him. The way his tongue strokes against her own, how he likes to scrape his teeth across her bottom lip, sending little sparks down her spine every time. Steve doesn’t wait before sneaking his hand back underneath her t-shirt, hand reacquainting itself with her breast. She wishes he’d slot himself on top of her, the exact inverse of their previous position, instead of leaning over her from the side like he is now. Her legs press together in an attempt to alleviate the ache, her hips tilt up in search of something that’s no longer there, and combined with the anticipation of what she now knows for sure is about to happen it’s all too much in that it’s not enough at all. 

Robin's about to ask him to hurry it up already when his hand leaves her chest and resettles itself on her leg, fingertips brushing just underneath the hem of his own boxers, thumb swiping against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. For a second she wonders if Steve would prefer if she was wearing something cuter, like the matching pajama set her mom got her for Christmas that she’s never worn, or whatever flowery satiny nightgown Nancy probably wears, instead of a decidedly unsexy combo that hides what few curves she has and makes her look kind of like a boy. However, that train of thought is almost immediately derailed when his hand moves again, this time to cup her right between her legs. 

It’s barely anything but it’s also the most intimately anyone has ever touched her and she can tell she’s shaking a little bit even as she leans into the touch. The heel of his palm presses back and his fingers stroke through the fabric. She isn’t sure, but she thinks she might be wet enough to have seeped through the cottony material. 

“Fuck, Robin,” he hisses, his forehead leaning against hers. “You’re so wet.”

Which answers that question and she’s pretty sure is also a compliment. “Thank you,” she chokes out.

Steve huffs a laugh and his fingers press against the wet patch with a little more intent, “I think I should be thanking you.”

That doesn’t make sense, because right now he’s the one whose fingers are somehow relieving and worsening the ache between her legs and surely making her wetter in the process thus ruining his own boxers that he was kind enough to let her borrow. She’s about to say as much, but his fingers press higher up over her clit and a short, high pitched moan escapes her lips. She manages to press her mouth closed so it finishes on more of a hum, but he clicks his tongue like he’s disappointed.

“Wanna hear you, Rob.” It’s more of an order than a request and goes against every instinct she has so instead her hand goes to the back of his head, pulling him back in to muffle any more sounds with his lips.  

Not that it’s easy to kiss when she’s so distracted by his hand on her. She pants against his mouth and bites his lip and her fingers claw at his scalp because everything feels so much more concentrated with his fingers on her. Steve seems to know that she needs him to kiss her, that it’s all a little too new and overwhelming for her to just toss her head back and moan like she’s in some porno and that the newfound familiarity of his lips is grounding. When her mouth does fall open, whether on a gasp or a whimper, he makes up for it by sucking her lip into his mouth  or pressing deceptively chaste kisses to the corner of her lips. At one point when it all becomes too surreal and she can feel his nose practically pressing into her orbital bone she bursts out laughing. 

“You’re gonna poke my eyeball out with your nose,” Robin complains on a laugh. 

“Wha-” he pulls back, staring down at her in confusion and disbelief that she’s making fun of him now of all times. She has always been known for her impeccable timing. “No I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. Your head is, like, ginormous,” she says fondly.

“Your head is just too small,” he grumbles and she shakes her head in defiance. “Clearly I’m not doing a very good job if you can still find it in you to make fun of me right now.”

“No, you’re doing great. Your big nose didn’t ruin the vibe at all- Oh!”

Steve's hand has snaked under the waistband of the boxers faster than she could process and his fingers sliding against her slick heat without any barriers is so much more intense. Figures he’d use this against her as a new competitive tool in his belt to shut her up. At least with this one they both win. His first three fingers press against her clit, rubbing in these steady circles that have her hips jumping and there’s nowhere to escape to when it gets to be almost too much contact. That’s fine, because she doesn’t really want to escape even if her hips seem to be trying to. She wants to melt into this feeling, all too much of it. Her nails are digging into his shoulder, his bicep, hard enough that they’ll probably leave marks but Steve isn’t complaining. He’s kissing down her neck, lips suckling and teeth scraping as he travels down, until he reaches the collar of her shirt and growls his own frustration. 

“Can the shirt come off?” He asks.

Robin knows he’d understand if he she politely declined, but she doesn’t even consider it. She forgets to be insecure until after she’s whipped the shirt over her head as fast as possible, nearly elbowing him in the face in the process. Before she gets the chance to apologize for that Steve's mouth is at her chest, pressing kisses to the top of her breasts, to the delicate skin underneath, and whatever, it’s dark anyways, his eyes are closed, it’s not like he can see much. Far more pressing is how it feels when his lips wrap around a nipple and suck. Her hand flies to the back in his hair to hold him there. Now, with the added sensations and without his kisses to stifle her moans she can’t help but let them ring out. Steve hums his appreciation back at her. The vibration makes her shiver and when the front of his teeth scrape against her she groans. He soothes the tender flesh with his tongue and her fist clenches in his hair as her hips move in time with his fingers. 

“Steve,” she moans his name. She’s not really sure why, she doesn’t have anything in particular to say, just knows that she has to express how amazing he’s making her feel. “That’s really good.”

“Yeah?” He asks and that tone is familiar, it’s the same one he uses when he isn’t expecting a compliment, when he’s proud but kind of bashful, and it feels out of place in this context. Like, of course he’s good at this and how could he not know it, as if he isn’t pulling out every trick in the book right now. 

“Yes, fuck,” she curses. “Really, really good.” 

He hums again, content this time, and his free hand starts to toy with the opposite breast as his lips travel down over her ribs, across her stomach, past her belly button, stopping when he gets to the waistband of her/his boxers. His hand is still underneath and the waistband is tucked awkwardly under his wrist. His fingers have switched positions and now his thumb is pressing against her, working lazy little circles into her clit. Robin stares down her heaving chest and it may be dark but she can still make out his head where it hovers around her hipbone and the sight makes her breath hitch. 

“Can I take these off, too?” He tugs suggestively at the elastic waistband and lets it snap back against her skin, making the muscles in her stomach jump. 

She nods dumbly and then realizes he might not be able to see her very well so stutters out a “Y-Yeah,” for good measure. 

Both his hands pull the boxers off of her and she lifts her legs to help him, kicking them off her ankles haphazardly. Then she’s fully, totally naked and he’s pressing a kiss to her knee and the inside of her thigh, traveling up and up until she stops him with her palm against his forehead.

“Wait!” She protests and he stops immediately.

“What? Change your mind?” He says it so casually, like it wouldn’t be a problem if she did, like he’s just checking, no pressure.

“No, no definitely not, this just feels, like… Kind of unbalanced. Me being totally naked while you’re totally clothed.”

“Oh, well,” he sits up and pulls his t-shirt off like it’s nothing. 

It is nothing, Robin's seen him shirtless before, in his backyard while all their friends enjoy the pool and in the Upside Down when he’s been freshly bitten by a series of ugly little monsters. It’s never really registered as anything special to her, just normal old Steve’s normal old body, except of course when it was littered with terrifying bite marks. That had been an anxiety inducing experience. But those wounds are healed, nothing left but scars she can’t really make out in the dark, and they’re not the most distracting thing anyways. 

“Better?” He asks genuinely.

Robin nods and reaches out for his hand, pulling him closer again. This time he does slot himself between her legs, already parted for him.

“I always forget how hairy you are,” she tells him. 

It’s not something she’s ever been attracted to. In fact, there’s been a time or two at the lake when she’s caught sight of some guy with hair all over and she thought it was actually pretty gross. But now she’s curious, because it’s Steve, and the parts of him that would be gross on someone else might not be so bad on him. 

“Is that a problem?”

“Hmm,” she gives a non-answer, considering it. 

“I can wax,” he offers seriously and it tugs at her heartstrings in the worst way how easily and earnestly he’s offering to change for her. 

Her palm presses against the center of his chest and like almost every other part of him the hair there is surprisingly soft. “Jesus, do you condition this stuff?”

“I use baby oil,” he admits and she bursts out laughing. 

“You and your five hundred step beauty routine,” she only half-jokes as her nails rake through his chest hair. 

He scoffs, “It’s not five hundred steps.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime.” She isn’t really joking, she’d love to know what he’s up to for a full hour in the bathroom every morning and night. “Prove it.”

His nose wrinkles, “...Maybe.”

“Come on,” she pleads and gives into the need to feel his weirdly soft chest hair against her boobs by pulling him down until they’re flush together. Wow, that feels nice. The warm solid weight of him, the way his hair shifts against her now tender nipples with every heavy breath. She has a feeling she can use close contact as a very persuasive bargaining chip from now on. It almost doesn’t seem fair, but it also doesn’t mean she won’t try it anyway. “Pleeease.” 

Her hands slide up his back and her hips angle up and yep, he’s definitely still hard and she’s so much more sensitive now and she lets out a happy little sigh at the sensation.

Steve groans as he settles into her, forehead knocking against hers. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Robin laughs because she hasn’t offered anything at all, really. ‘And you are like a little bear.”

He laughs, “What?”

“You’re furry and soft and your eyes are all big and brown and you’re kind of like a teddy bear.”

It’s clear Steve doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that, which, well, fair. Robin herself isn’t really sure how she allowed that one to escape past her barely there mental filters but she thinks they might have been further weakened by everything he was just doing to her with his fingers. 

Instead of properly answering her, he asks in a strained sort of voice, “Can I go down on you now?”

Robin grins and nods because the playing field definitely feels more level. At least as level as she can handle right now - the penis isn’t so bad when it’s under the boxers, in fact it’s kind of great, but she doesn’t think she’s ready for more than that yet. 

Steve doesn’t waste so much time kissing down her body this time, which is fine for her because the anticipation is certainly built by now. He settles between her legs, pressing them open wider to accommodate the width of his shoulders. Once again she’s grateful for the dark because the idea of him staring at her so intently down there with full visibility has her stomach doing an unpleasant flip. She watches his big head lean down, his breath hot as it washes over her. She thinks she hears him sniff and she makes a choked sound.

“Are you smelling me?”

“Shh,” he shushes her for the second time now. Robin wonders if he’s ever had to shush someone so much in bed before. Or at all. Before she can ask he’s sucking a wet kiss that turns into a bite at the junction of her thigh. 

She jumps, “Hey! I’m just asking. It's fine. I think I’d do the same thing, you know, if it was me between a girl’s legs.”

“Yeah?” He asks, kissing the tender bruise he just made, “You think about that a lot?” 

“Mmhm,” she admits. Then his tongue is parting her folds and every muscle in her body tenses. “Oooh my god,” she moans, voice high and strangled. 

“Tell me about it,” he says, voice muffled. 

She laughs all breathy as he licks up her again, tongue flat and hot and wet and everywhere, “It’s nice.”

“No,” she hears and feels his chuckle vibrate through her. “Tell me what you think about.” 

Her face gets impossibly warmer because that feels really private and also like he might not really want to hear about her fantasies about other girls right now. But his voice had that weird, deep affect to it that’s brand new and she’s pretty sure means he’s really turned on. Besides, it’s Steve, she can tell him anything.

“I-I think about,” her breath hitches as his tongue zeroes in on her apex. “In the locker room. Vickie.”

He finds her clit impressively quickly and it’s already primed from all the rubbing he did and it’s harder to keep her train of thought when the tip of his tongue is circling it slowly. But he asked and she wants to answer. Besides, imagining this well worn fantasy of hers is only making her hotter.

“When we’re changing after band - fuck - it’s just us and she’s sitting on the metal bench in front of the lockers and she spread her legs so I can see- Steve, oh my god-“ he’s making this repetitive rolling motion with his tongue that she’s going to ask to see demonstrated up close later because holy shit.

“Keep going,” he encourages before resuming.

“I kneel between her legs,” she rushes out. “I find out if the curtains match the drapes,” she giggles and he laughs again, too. 

“Hot,” he murmurs, hands gripping the outside of her thighs a little tighter. 

“Then I just go for it and she smells so good and she tastes way better than me-“ 

“Impossible,” he replies and sucks her clit into his mouth for emphasis.

She moans out loud, fingers fisting the sheets, the suction even better than his tongue alone. It takes her a moment to recover from that, takes a few calming laps of his tongue to remember she’s telling him something. 

“She’s moaning because I’m killing it,” her voice has gone all reedy and tight, her heart pounding in her chest and between her legs.

“Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Robin agrees with a smile. “She’s so wet, it’s getting all over my face.”

Steve hums and moves his head side to side, undoubtedly getting her own wetness all over his face and it’s so stupid and silly and she’s laughing again. Her prior experience with sex is exactly zero, but so far there’s been a lot more laughter than movies have led her to believe. It’s a really nice surprise. It makes what would otherwise be an ultra intense and serious experience feel light and fun. Not less important, but more like it’s still just her and her best friend doing something new together. She wants to know if he’s like this with every girl. Did Nancy get silly Steve between her legs, too, or is this something just for Robin? 

“Then I make her come,” she finishes the well worn fantasy quickly, skipping the finer details because it’s getting harder and harder to talk. 

“Just like that, huh?” 

He’s sucking on her clit again and so her “Mmhm!” Is nearly unintelligible. Still, she just has to get out this final jab, “How hard can it be if you can do it?”

He stops and even in the dark she recognizes the look he levels her with. No nonsense, completely unamused with her antics. There is no comeback from Steve, which usually means he’s about to put his money where his mouth is, which in this case hell yeah. Never one to back down from a challenge, he resumes eating her out with a renewed fervor and Robin couldn’t continue forming complete sentences if she tried. 

Gone is the careful exploration, the cautious teasing interspersed with moments of shocking intensity. Now Steve is a man on a mission and his mission seems to be bringing her the most intense pleasure she’s ever felt as quickly as possible. He’s hooked her legs over his shoulders to get even closer and keeps up that sucking thing, tongue flicking over her clit in a steady rhythm as he does so. Her fingers scramble against the sheets, but it’s not enough. Robin throws her arms over her head, covers her face, grabs at her chest. He notices the last thing because he’s taking her hands in his, placing them in his hair, and reaching up to grab her boobs himself. That’s great because he’s a lot more coordinated than she is right now. 

Every suckle, every swipe of the tongue, combined now with the way he’s squeezing her chest and pinching her nipples has her building and building and for once her own clumsy movements can’t hold her back. If anything the jerky, uncontrollable twisting of her hips helps and her hands in his hair keep him right where she needs him. Not that he seems eager to leave. Robin can hear him moaning against her, feel it even, as he matches her nearly sound for sound. She has never been more happy that his parents are literally never home because to have to stifle the symphony they’re making together would be a great injustice and next to impossible. Soon enough she comes back up against that wall she’s so familiar with but it crumbles easily in the path of the orgasm steam roller that is Steve. Because that’s definitely what’s about to happen, like, really soon. It must be. All the muscles in her stomach and legs are tensing up and it’s almost impossible to get a deep breath. She’s making sounds she’s never made before, back arching and legs squeezing his big head between her legs. The fingers in his hair clench tight and she hears him whine, high pitched and needy, and that does it. 

The thing building inside her breaks and Robin actually thinks she blacks out for a second. She could’ve come with his name on her tongue or in a perfectly silent scream. There’s no way for her to know. There is only a sharp, pure bliss as everything inside her releases all at once. Her arms flop back to her sides as she shakes with it all, slowly returning back to her body from the stratosphere, the ringing in her ears retreating. How did she go so many years without that? Like, she knew something amazing was on the other side of the wall, but that? She understood more than ever why people were so obsessed with sex. She might be herself now that she knows it feels so Earth shatteringly good. 

Steve spends the next few seconds licking her slower and slower, causing trembley little aftershocks to zap up her spine as she winds down. It’s all so much now. She’s oversensitive and her heart is pounding harder than ever. He hums and smacks a final kiss to her clit that makes her hips jump and a shaky, almost pained sigh falls from her lips. 

Robin didn’t realize she closed her eyes but now that he’s finally stopped she finds it in herself to open them. She looks down at Steve and finds his eyes already on her, cheek pressed to her thigh, a gentle smile gracing his lips. They’re glistening just slightly in the moonlight and her cheeks heat up all over again at the sight. Suddenly she wishes the lights were on so she could see the full picture for herself. A little shiver runs down her spine that she wants to blame on her sweaty, rapidly cooling skin but is more due to the boy (still unbelievable) between her legs who she expected to give her some cocky, arrogant quip but is instead looking at her softly and giving her space. 

Somehow she regains enough muscle control to lay a hand back in his hair, tugging until he gets with the program and crawls back up her body. Words still haven’t returned to her, but she doesn’t need them to tug him down into a sticky kiss. He tastes like her now, that same salty tang she’s been curious enough to try for herself, but she finds it much better when mixed with a flavor that’s all Steve. 

Too soon Robin has to part for breath, still recovering from the intensity of her first (ever!) orgasm. He takes the opportunity to gingerly tuck a strand of hair behind her ear - her hair which probably looks awful now - and her heart squeezes almost painfully at how stupidly, idiotically, unsensibly fond she is of him. She loves Steve, of course she does, did long before it had anything to do with attraction or sex or god forbid romance. But somehow, in the past however-many-minutes, it’s grown ten fold. 

“Holy shit,” she murmurs. 

“Yeah?” He asks, the smile on his face growing. 

“Uh huh,” she nods exaggeratedly and he laughs. She wants to say more, she wants to thank him for doing this for her, for understanding her like nobody else, for always being there, for choosing her when so few did. For once she can’t find words big enough to express all this nor does she have the energy to ramble the very many small words necessary to convey it properly. When she opens her mouth all she can manage is: “Wow.”

Steve laughs again, grinning. So strange for him to act bashful now as if he hadn’t made something of a sex god reputation for himself in high school. After knowing him for so long and her little jabs at him earlier and his wicked competitive streak, Robin expected a little more bravado after blowing her mind so thoroughly. But in its place there is only pride and a sheepish little shake of his head.

“It was my pleasure,” he says softly. “Really. I’ve wanted to do that for ages.”

Her heart is hurting again and all she can think to do to remedy this speechlessness she’s experiencing is to wrap her arms and legs around him like a spider monkey and pull him back into a scorching kiss. Steve goes easily and once again she marvels at how nice his weight is blanketed on top of her and then their hips reconnect and oh yeah, he’s still hard. She gasps when it hits her core, still so sensitive, and then breaks into a cheshire grin of her own. 

“Well, hi there,” she says and Steve actually has the nerve to look regretful.

“Sorry. I can go take care of it.”

Which sounds like an awful idea, really. She doesn’t want Steve to go anywhere, especially not right now. “Don’t go,” she says. “Let me help.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

Robin's almost insulted that he’s so surprised, but she also can’t really blame him. She may have mentioned a thing or two in the past about penises that may have suggested they kind of grossed her out. Which, well, they did. Sue her, but they’re weird! They’re just so out there. Not that she has a ton of experience besides what she’s seen in a few movies and their pitiful excuse for a health class. But so far she’s enjoyed feeling Steve’s dick, at least through his boxers. She wonders if he could come just from rutting against her like they did when they were making out. Except she’s scared of some sort of boxer burn against her already tender bits. Her hand will have to do. She can do it. It’s not just any penis, it’s Steve’s penis, and she loves him so she’ll love this, too. Even if it is new and strange and a little scary. She can do it for him. 

Mentally she gears herself up and reaches down to cup him through the boxers. He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat even though she’s barely touched him. Through the boxers she can sort of make out the length of him, which feels big even if she’s not really sure if it really is. There’s a weight to it that she didn’t expect, too. Mostly it’s just so, so hot. Like seriously, he must have a furnace in there or something. 

“Yes, really.” Cautiously she rubs her hand up and down the front of his boxers. “But you have to tell me what to do because I’m flying totally blind here.”

“Fuck,” his forehead conks lightly against hers and he takes a shuddery breath. “You can hold it tighter.”

Robin does as she’s told, her hand grasping him more firmly through the boxers. She gives a squeeze for good measure, just to test the limits, and when he groans she knows it was the right thing to do. She gives a short tug up and down and Steve sighs in relief so she repeats the motion. He feels so stiff above her, practically shaking with effort, and she finds she doesn’t like that. She wants him to feel as comfortable and relaxed as he just made her. 

So she asks him, repeating his own inquiry from earlier, “What do you need, Stevie?” She’s not really sure where that nickname comes from, but oh well, it’s out there now.

“Fuck, Robin.” His hips give a little thrust into her hand and she can tell he’s thinking carefully. Can practically see the gears struggling to turn in his head. “Can you- Do you mind if you, um, put your hand underneath?”

Upping the ante to skin on skin contact. Or hand on dick, as it were. She’s pretty sure she can do this. After all, it’s just another body part. Plenty of people have them. His mouth was just on hers, she can handle her palm on his, right? Well. Only one way to find out. She wiggles her hand past the waistband of his boxers and immediately is greeted by the tip of him. Her hand palms him and he makes the same small, high pitched little noise as when she first climbed on top of him.

“You’re so warm. Like, really hot,” she finds herself telling him just because all of this is so new and she feels like she has to share every strange and exhilarating thing she’s discovering. “And you’re wet, too.” There’s a sticky substance leaking from the head of his dick, making the tip slippery. Robin moves to gather it over the pads of her fingers.

“That’ll happen,” he says in a way that would sound casual if it weren’t for how strangled his voice is.

Robin continues her exploration, dragging the sticky substance down his shaft. She gasps at how velvety he feels. “You really are soft everywhere,” she continues her commentary. Hopefully he’ll shush her again if it’s bothering him, but he just gasps, his hand squeezing her waist as she begins stroking him up and down. “So not fair. I need to invest in some lotion.”

“You’re perfect,” he insists, and the hand at her waist moves up to covers her breast once more, and the insistence really is sweet even if it’s also a load of shit. 

“Tell me again later when my hand isn’t on your dick.”

“Whatever you want,” he swears so seriously.

Robin giggles because there’s a heady power trip to all this. She has so much control over him all just by moving her hand. She tries to remember to hold him tightly as she does so, which does go against her common sense given how sensitive an organ this is, but she does it anyway. His eyes screw shut when she swipes her thumb against the head of him on the next downstroke and well, that won’t do. 

“Look at me,” she tells him and he opens his eyes without question. 

Steve stares down at her and it’s so much more intense this way. Too intense, almost, but also way hotter. His brow is furrowed and she can see his eyelids struggle to stay open and his mouth is parted just slightly as he pants. He could be louder, she thinks to herself, and he’s definitely not fully relaxed. His hips are still, a far cry from the way they moved against her earlier. 

“You said you’ve thought about this for ages?” She asks him, remembering how she had shared a fantasy with him and it had only turned her on more. Maybe it will break the ice with him, too.

“Fuck, yes, of course,” he admits.

“How long?”

“Since-Since Scoops,” he groans and buries his head in her shoulder. “Fuck, jeez, you already know this.”

There’s a little guilt, still, that he has liked her for so much longer than she was able to. But alongside it now is an ego expanding flattery that she wants to indulge. She was so mean to him back then, had simultaneously thought of him as above and below her, and yet he saw something in her. Something she’d never seen herself. 

“Tell me,” she asks in a whisper, free hand carding through his hair gently, not unlike she would when he woke up from a nightmare. 

He groans and for a second she thinks she’s going to have to push harder for an answer. But he starts talking. “I’d daydream about you,” he says into her neck and god she wants to push him to look at her again but it feels like it might be too mean to do so when he’s already being so vulnerable. “In the back room, pushing you up against the shelves. God, Robin…”

“Keep going,” she encourages and speeds her hand up just a bit for good measure, like giving a treat to a dog for doing a job well done. 

“I’d kiss you and even though I knew you didn’t really like me you’d kiss me back,” and oh, there’s that guilt again. “I looked like such a fucking idiot in that uniform but you looked like a wet dream. I just wanted to put my hand down those stupid shorts-” he groans and his hand kneads her breast and his hips are making tiny little thrusts into her hand now. “Pull them down and turn you around and fuck- Fuck.” 

His hips stutter and she blushes at what he was about to say. He wanted to fuck her. Even in that god awful sailor uniform when she acted like a total bitch. Now isn’t that a thought? Like, yeah, what they’re doing right now is basically sex. But it’s not his penis in her vagina sex which is another thing that never sounded super appealing to her before but now? Well, maybe they can work up to it. Someday. 

“You wanted to have sex with me?” She asks, just to tease. 

“Yes, yes, Robin-”

“Even now?”

She feels him nod, feels his breath panting across her skin. “More than ever. That was before I really knew you. Before I knew what you- What you tasted like. How you feel. You’re fucking incre-” His voice winds up garbled as she squeezes his dick in her fist and he moans loudly as she chuckles once more at her sheer display of power. “You did that on purpose,” he accuses, voice totally broken. Wrecked. 

“Uh-huh,” she confirms casually. 

“Please don’t make me say more things,” he begs and she knows how he feels, so lost in pleasure that words get harder and harder. 

“Okay, Stevie. You did so good. Thank you for telling me.” She presses a kiss into his sweaty hair and he whines. “Are you gonna come for me, Steve?” 

Robin's not entirely sure what’s gotten into her, asking sexy little questions like that. Truly the only explanation is that absolute power corrupts absolutely and it turns out winding Steve up as his annoying best friend doesn’t feel that much different than winding him up in bed. Except, of course, for the intriguing ache this whole thing is reigniting between her legs. 

He hums and nods his head and there is no way he can do that when she can’t see his face. She stretches across the bed, reaching for the bedside table to turn on a lamp and regretfully has to briefly stop jerking him off to do so. 

Steve yelps at the loss, groans his frustration and looks up to blink against the light. His eyes have gone all squinty as they adjust, “What are you doing?”

“I want to see you,” she answers with a smile, her hand resuming where she left off. 

He doesn’t answer, accepts this strange idiosyncrasy, and thank god because it is so much better now that she can really see him. She can make out every mole on his face, how pink and swollen his lips have become, the shiny, glazed over look in his pretty brown eyes. 

“You’re so pretty,” she tells him again and it shocks a little laugh out of him and he ducks his head which she absolutely can’t have. She fists his hair in her hand and lifts his head back up. “Don’t look away.”

“Okay, okay,” he pants out, but it doesn’t sound annoyed or begrudging. It sounds earnest, like he just wants to please her, and another shock of arousal she doesn’t expect flies through her. 

“I want to see how pretty you look when you come,” she whispers. 

Steve gasps and his hips pick up their pace and he moans a little louder. His eyebrows can’t seem to decide if they’d rather be drawn or furrowed. He bites his lip only for them to drop back open on a long, strangled groan as his face twists. His eyes flutter shut and she misses the brown of them, but she can’t hold it against him when he looks so beautiful. His hand squeezes her breast, which really is very nice and she’s not sure if it’s more for her or for him. Finally she feels him come in hot, sticky spurts that land on her knuckles, in her palm. Robin tries to keep going, to fuck him through it the way he did for her, but he winces and hisses and it sounds more pained than it does pleasured so her hand retreats. His eyes don’t open as he pants, collapsing onto his side and rolling onto his back. 

Honestly, she would’ve rather he collapsed onto her. Even this distance is too much, so she rolls over, head resting on his shoulder and leg hooking over his thigh. Even in his currently boneless state his arm comes around her, holding her close. Her hand is all gross and sticky now. She inspects the pearlescent fluid, watches the way it clings to her fingers as she spreads her fingers apart. Ever curious, she tentatively brings her knuckles to her mouth to lick a bit off. It’s not as bad as she expected - nothing like her own taste, but not offensive. She hums thoughtfully just as Steve makes a choking sound.

“Did you just taste it?” he asks, voice still breathless. 

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “You tasted mine. Only fair.”

Steve groans again and reaches for his discarded shirt. “C’mere.”

He takes her wrist gingerly, using the fabric to wipe off her palm and each individual finger until she’s clean. The shirt gets tossed onto the floor but he doesn’t drop her hand. He brings it to his mouth and drops a kiss to her knuckles before clasping it to his chest. 

“Did that really just happen?” 

Robin laughs, “I’m not quite convinced of it myself.”

She peers up to find him already watching her with a strange, soft, disbelieving look in his eyes. His hand rubs up her arm, comforting and innocent in any other context. He leans down, seems to hesitate for just a second before following through. She leans up to meet him halfway. This kiss is just as chaste as their first, but there’s nothing holding them back this time. It lingers for a long moment and Steve presses a final, firm kiss to her lips before collapsing back with a content little sigh. She smiles to herself, giddy and proud because never in a million years did she think she’d be brave enough for something like this to happen. Evil Russians? The Upside Down? Sure, whatever, but telling someone (a boy! Steve Harrington! Of all people!) what she thought about them and it working itself out so incredibly well… Now that feels like a miracle. 

“Ugh,” he groans regretfully. “I have to get up.”

“Why?” She frowns, holding him a little tighter. 

“The boxer situation is getting pretty uncomfortable.”

“Oh, yeah,” she’d almost forgotten it wasn’t just her hand that needed cleaning up. 

Robin sighs and releases him so he can get up. He doesn’t leave for the bathroom like she expects, simply goes to his bureau and whips out a new pair of boxers before pulling his down, using the unsoiled bits to clean himself up. She blushes and her first instinct is to look away, but then she realizes she probably has permission to look if she wants to. She risks it, her eyes trailing down the expanse of Steve's beauty mark riddled back (wouldn't she just love to connect those dots) to his backside and, well, huh. He has a nice ass. Certainly doesn’t suffer from the dreaded man butt. 

“Nice ass, Harrington,” she cat calls, wishing very much she knew how to wolf whistle for comedic effect. 

The new pair of boxers come up, hiding the nice ass from view as he turns back to her. “Oh ha ha,” he retorts, “Very funny.”

“I mean it,” she says with a gleeful grin and he just raises an eyebrow. 

His eyes trail down her body and she remembers all at once that she’s still very naked and now that there’s a light on any modesty the dark granted has disappeared. “Nice everything, Buckley.”

She’s sure she’s blushing down to her nipples and barely resists the urge to cover herself with her hand. That would be silly and childish because Steve has touched basically all of her already and apparently does really like the way she looks otherwise none of this would’ve happened in the first place. Still, she reaches across the bed for her shirt, unable to find it. 

She sits up to aid in her hunt.“Where’d my shirt go?” 

Steve looks around to help and chuckles when he finds it strewn over his desk. “You got some good distance on that thing,” he remarks, sitting back on the bed and passing it over. 

He doesn’t seem to hold any reservations about looking where he wouldn’t before, his eyes fixed on her chest as she retrieves the old t-shirt and pulls it back over her head. Robin sighs, slightly more comfortable now that she’s somewhat covered up and Steve’s eyes return to her own. She can feel the edges of something awkward and uninvited encroaching and she hunches in on herself just a bit, fingers fidgeting in her lap. 

“So-” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“Does this mean I get to call you my girlfriend now?”

That’s the last question she expected and she’s not really sure if he’s being serious or what she’s supposed to say. Something about the words sound off, like he’s half joking and half preparing for her to tell him this was a one time thing that just makes them better friends or some other bullshit that would inevitably break Steve's heart. Robin really doesn’t want to break his heart, but she also never really thought she’d be some guy’s girlfriend. It leaves a bad taste in her mouth, like it means she’d become something coveted or owned. It felt different with a theoretical girl on the other side of the relationship. More equal. She doesn’t know how to explain all that right now without making him feel awful and clearly they are something. Something that is more than friends and is not so Platonic with a capital P. 

“Um, well,” she bites her lip, “Can I call you mine? My girlfriend?” It comes out clumsier than it sounded in her head, her own half joke half plea for him to accept her strangeness as she attempts to navigate this weird new world. 

Steve laughs but it's good natured and puts some of her nerves at rest. “Sure. Why not?” 

Robin nods her head then and weirdly feels like they should shake on it or something when Steve’s hand inches closer until it finds hers. He gives it a squeeze and the simple gesture is so comforting and right that it cements to Robin that this is a leap of faith worth taking.

“Okay. Then we can give it a shot.” 

“Really?” He sounds so hopeful like he was sure she was going to let him down easy after all of that. Robin likes Nancy, really she does, but sometimes she kind of hates her for the number she managed to do on her best friend. 

“Yeah,” she squeezes his hand. “Why not?”

He grins and not a second later Robin has an armful of Steve, hugging her and leaning into her until she falls back on the mattress. He’s dropping kisses all over her face and she giggles and laughs until eventually she can’t anymore because he’s kissing her properly. It’s different this time because they’re both too exhausted for it to lead anywhere else. Not that Robin thinks she wouldn’t be down for round two on another day when round one didn’t take place in the middle of the night. Steve seems to feel the same way because when they eventually part for air he reaches to turn off the lamp and cuddles into her side, head pressed against her chest. It’s a position they never start in, one that only happens after Steve’s finally calmed down from whatever nightmare woke him up, and she wonders if that was the only time he let himself have that. He’s held himself back for so, so long. She never wants him to have to do that again. It’s been bad enough, watching him pine after Nancy (and isn’t that just a whole can of worms she’s going to have to ask him about at some point) but there was only so much she could do about that. Finally she’s able to give him what he needs. 

“I don’t think we should tell the others,” she whispers into the dark as her fingers play with his hair. 

Steve stiffens beside her. “Oh… Because, you’re like… Embarrassed?”

“No! No, it’s not that.” Well, it’s kind of that, but no one else besides Steve knows about the identity crisis that liking him induces. And she might need a little bit more time to finish digesting all of that when her brain isn’t still leaking out of her skull. “I’m just not ready to deal with all the gloating.”

He relaxes at this and huffs a short laugh. “Okay, fair enough. They are going to be insufferable.”

“Just the worst,” she agrees, chuckling back. 

“By the way, where’d that ‘Stevie’ thing come from?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. Just sort of came out.”

“Hmm, well. I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll call you Robbie.”

She scoffs, “Only if you want to be dead meat.”

“Okay fine, fine, I’ll go back to the drawing board.” 

She nods and her eyes flutter shut. The weight of his arm across her, of his big head over her heart combined with the exhaustion of such rigorous physical activity has her falling asleep already. 

“Hey Robin?” He pipes up again, right when she thinks she’s about to drift off.

“Yeah, Stevie?”

“I’m really happy.”

She thinks her heart grows three sizes like she’s the Grinch or something and she kisses the top of his head, holding him a little closer. “Me, too.”

They drift off together and there are no nightmares that night.