Chapter Text
Hawkins, Indiana, didn’t have much going for it in the spring of 1986. The town still smelled like pine and rust and the faint metallic tang of the old steel mill that had been slowing down for years. Kids still disappeared sometimes, everyone whispered about it, but the mall was open, the arcade lights still blinked, and Friday-night basketball games at Hawkins High drew the same crowd of flannel-wearing dads, bored housewives, and horny teenagers who’d been doing the same shit since the fifties.
The world outside might’ve had Reagan on TV and cassette tapes of Master of Puppets blasting from boomboxes, but inside Hawkins it was still denim, mullets, and the heavy, humid press of small-town secrets.
Eddie Munson had finally clawed his way out of senior year at twenty years old. Principal Higgins had cleared him to graduate. Uncle Wayne had clapped him on the back with a rare, tired grin and a six-pack of beer that tasted like victory and cheap regret. No more repeating classes. No more dodging Mrs O'Donnell.
But the trailer park rent didn’t give a fuck about diplomas. The van needed new tires. Weed sales behind the bleachers and at the Hideout on Tuesday nights barely kept the lights on. Eddie had been living on ramen, cigarettes, and the occasional stolen diner leftover for months.
He’d noticed the stares long before graduation. The way married men in the grocery store let their eyes linger on the strip of skin where his Dio tee rode up. The way some of the closeted jocks at the arcade shifted in their jeans when he bent over the pinball machine, long hair falling in his face, rings glinting under the fluorescents.
Even Chief Hopper had given him a long, slow once-over at the station last month when Eddie paid his parking ticket in crumpled bills. Hawkins was full of repressed, curious, hungry men who’d rather die than admit they wanted a piece of the town freak.
So Eddie had made a decision. Discreet. Cash only. No names if they didn’t want to give them. He wasn’t some desperate street kid, he was a goddamn entrepreneur. Eddie’s Private Menu, he’d joked to himself in the mirror, leather jacket open, thumb hooked in his belt loop. Tonight was opening night.
The gym lights were still humming when the final buzzer sounded and the crowd started spilling out into the cool night air. Hawkins had won by twelve. Cheers echoed off the brick walls as Eddie slipped behind the bleachers, boots crunching on gravel and discarded popcorn bags. He leaned against the metal support post, leather jacket creaking, a fat joint already rolled behind his ear. His ripped black jeans hugged his narrow hips. The faded Hellfire Club tee clung to his lean chest. He smelled like weed and cheap cologne and the faint metallic bite of the chains on his wallet.
Two underclassmen had just bought their weekend supply and scurried off like scared rabbits when the heavy tread of sneakers on gravel made Eddie glance up.
Steve Harrington.
Former King Steve himself, still wearing that goddamn letterman jacket like a crown. Hair perfectly windswept even after a game, broad shoulders straining the fabric, a sheen of sweat making the collar stick to his neck.
He was twenty, same as Eddie now, but he looked like he’d stepped out of a fucking Teen Beat poster, cocky grin, strong jaw, those big hands that had probably choked out half the basketball team in practice.
Steve stopped a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes dragging slow and obvious down Eddie’s body.
“You still slinging that ditch weed, Munson?” Steve’s voice was low, amused, the same tone he used to use when he ruled the school hallways.
Eddie smirked, pushing off the post. “Depends who’s asking, Your Majesty. Got a fresh batch if you’re looking to celebrate the big W.”
Steve’s eyes flicked left, right, parking lot mostly empty now, just a few cars left under the sodium lamps. He stepped closer. The scent of his cologne hit Eddie first: something expensive and woody mixed with clean sweat and the faint rubber smell of the basketball court.
“I’m looking to celebrate something else,” Steve said, voice dropping. He pulled a thick roll of bills from his jacket pocket, more cash than Eddie usually saw in a week. “Heard rumors about you. That you’re… open for private celebrations now. That true, freak?”
Eddie’s pulse kicked up, but he kept the lazy grin plastered on his face. He let his gaze drag over Steve’s chest, down to the obvious bulge already straining those tight jeans under the letterman jacket. “Depends on how private and how much you’re willing to spend, King Steve. My ass isn’t cheap.”
Steve’s grin sharpened. “Fifty bucks. Cash. Right now. Back of my car. You let me fuck that smart mouth quiet and then bend over the hood like a good little trailer slut. Deal?”
Eddie’s cock twitched in his jeans. He licked his lips, slow and deliberate. “One hundred. And you keep the jacket on. I want to feel the letters digging into my back while you rail me.”
Steve barked a laugh, but his eyes were dark, hungry. “Deal, you greedy little whore.”
They moved fast. Steve’s BMW was parked at the far edge of the lot, under the shadow of an old oak tree where the streetlight had burned out months ago. The night air was cool against Eddie’s skin as Steve shoved him toward the car, one big hand already fisted in the back of Eddie’s leather jacket. The parking lot was quiet except for the distant slam of car doors and the low thump of a boombox still playing from somebody’s tailgate two rows over. Risky. Perfect.
Steve popped the trunk, tossed his gym bag inside, then slammed Eddie face-first over the warm hood of the BMW. The metal was still hot from the engine, pressing against Eddie’s chest through his thin tee. Steve’s letterman jacket brushed the back of Eddie’s neck as he leaned in close, breath hot against Eddie’s ear.
“Been staring at this ass for months,” Steve growled, yanking Eddie’s belt open with one rough hand. “Every time you strut through the arcade in those tight jeans. Thought about bending you over the pinball machine more times than I can count.”
Eddie laughed breathlessly, pushing back against the hard line of Steve’s cock. “Then stop talking and fuck me like the King you think you are, Harrington.”
Steve shoved Eddie’s jeans and boxers down in one brutal yank, letting them bunch around his thighs. The cool night air hit Eddie’s bare ass and he shivered. Steve’s palm cracked across his left cheek hard enough to sting.
“Bratty little slut,” Steve muttered, spreading Eddie’s cheeks with both hands. “Look at this pretty pink hole. Bet it’s been dying for a real cock.”
Eddie moaned when Steve spat directly on his hole, the wet sound filthy in the quiet lot. Two thick fingers pushed in without warning, rough and impatient, stretching him open. Eddie’s rings scraped the hood as he clawed for purchase, thighs already trembling.
“Fuck.. yes, King Steve, just like that...”
Steve scissored him open fast, curling those fingers meanly until Eddie’s cock leaked a sticky trail against the BMW’s paint. Another sharp slap landed on his right cheek, then Steve was pulling his fingers free and unzipping his own jeans. The thick, hot length of Steve’s cock slapped against Eddie’s ass, already wet at the tip.
“Gonna ruin this hole,” Steve promised, lining up. “Gonna fuck you so hard you feel me for a week.”
He pushed in with one long, brutal thrust.
Eddie’s mouth fell open on a broken cry. Steve was thick, thicker than the toys Eddie used alone in the trailer, and the stretch burned so good his eyes watered.
Steve didn’t give him time to adjust. He gripped Eddie’s hips hard enough to bruise and started pounding, hips snapping forward in a punishing rhythm that made the BMW rock on its shocks.
“Fuck, so tight,” Steve groaned, one hand fisting in Eddie’s long hair and yanking his head back. “This slutty little cunt’s sucking me right in. You been practicing for me, freak?”
Eddie’s voice came out wrecked already. “Harder... Your Majesty... fuck me like you own it...”
Steve snarled and slammed in deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin loud enough that anyone walking by would know exactly what was happening. He kept the letterman jacket on, the wool scratching Eddie’s lower back every time Steve bottomed out. Eddie’s legs shook, knees knocking against the bumper, cock trapped between his belly and the warm metal hood, leaking steadily.
Steve reached around and wrapped a hand around Eddie’s dick, stroking him rough and fast. “Come on, baby. Come for your King. Paint my fucking car like the whore you are.”
Eddie came with a sharp, broken shout, untouched except for Steve’s hand, cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum splattered across the glossy black hood. His hole clenched hard around Steve’s cock, milking him.
Steve didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked harder, hips snapping like a piston, chasing his own release.
“Gonna fill you up,” he growled, voice rough. “Gonna breed this greedy hole and make you walk back to your trailer with my cum dripping down your thighs.”
Eddie sobbed through the overstimulation, second orgasm already building fast from the relentless drag against his prostate. His thighs shook violently. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.
“Steve... fuck... please...”
Steve yanked his hair harder, mouth at Eddie’s ear. “That’s it. Cry for me, slut. Come again while I wreck you.”
Eddie shattered a second time, untouched, cock spurting weakly against the hood as his vision whited out. His hole fluttered and clenched, and Steve finally buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, flooding Eddie’s insides with hot, thick pulses of cum.
For a long moment the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant hoot of an owl somewhere in the woods beyond the lot. Steve stayed buried deep, grinding lazily as the last spurts leaked out around his cock.
When he finally pulled out, a thick gush of cum followed, running down Eddie’s trembling thighs and dripping onto the gravel. Steve stepped back, admiring the mess. Eddie’s wrecked hole still twitching, cum shining on his skin, his own load painting the BMW’s hood in pearly streaks.
Steve tucked himself away, then gripped Eddie’s chin and turned his head.
“Clean it up, freak.”
Eddie’s legs were jelly, but he sank to his knees on the cold pavement anyway, tongue dragging over the warm metal, licking up every drop of his own cum while Steve’s load continued to leak out of him. The taste was salty and bitter and filthy. Steve watched with dark, satisfied eyes, one hand lazily petting Eddie’s hair.
When Eddie had licked the hood clean, Steve hauled him up and yanked his jeans back into place, not bothering to clean the mess still dripping down his legs.
“Same time next week?” Steve asked, voice low and cocky as he pressed the three hundred dollars into Eddie’s palm.
Eddie grinned, wrecked and glowing, cum still sliding down the inside of his thigh. “Make it two hundred and I’ll let you choke me with that letterman jacket next time, King.”
Steve laughed, already walking around to the driver’s side. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Munson.”
The BMW’s taillights disappeared into the night, leaving Eddie alone under the broken streetlight, body aching in the best way, cash in his pocket, and the first taste of what his new life was going to feel like.
Hawkins after dark had never looked so fucking good.