Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They’ve been hanging out together more, now that the world’s no longer actively going to hell in a handbasket.

Call it trauma bonding or whatever, but what was once SteveandRobin has now become SteveandRobin and SteveandEddie. And, on the really good days - the ones that have quickly become Steve’s favorites - there’s SteveandRobinandEddie. And Steve’s not stupid, he knows there’s a bit of RobinandEddie going on too. Has seen them with their heads buried together over the front counter at Family Video, and whispering to each other in the light of the refrigerator during movie night, but where jealousy might have made its home in his chest a few months ago there’s only warmth. It’s nice. It’s really fucking nice, Steve thinks, to have friends. Real friends, not ones who are just around for Steve’s money, or his name, or his reputation. Friends that he can call in the dead of night when the fucking bat tails around his neck leave him gasping for air and who will answer, every time, who will sit with him and talk about nothing, anything, everything.

So, Steve’s got nothing to complain about.

Except, like, one thing.

He’d taken a bit of a break from dating around the time that the whole town went to shit, for obvious reasons. And it really was intentional, despite Robin’s merciless teasing about his inability to pull (“Here lies Steve’s charisma, gone but not forgotten” she’d scrawled in glitter gel pen onto the torn-off corner of a busted VHS cover and taped to the back of the counter like a sad little headstone). He was just tired of it - tired of the small talk, of the forced laughter, of making up excuses for the scars he’d been slowly accumulating since ‘83. And yeah, the whole mini-apocalypse hadn’t exactly helped.

And it’s not like he really has time after. That’s all time spent in Owens’s office, signing document after document after document. Then time spent in the hospital, bouncing between Max’s room and Eddie’s, back and forth for weeks until they both wake up, within an hour of each other, nothing short of a damn miracle. And then it’s time spent with the Munsons, packing boxes and hauling shit from what was left of the old trailer to Eddie’s van and then to their new apartment, Steve doing all of the heavy lifting because Eddie just got out of the hospital, it’s a real “duct tape and bubblegum” situation over here and Steve’s so much bigger and stronger, and can’t just let those rippling pectorals go to waste, can we? And it’s worth it, is the thing. Steve would happily move a thousand boxes full of Eddie’s books and papers and records if it means he’s allowed to spend the evenings with Eddie and his uncle.

And so in the midst of the mess that has quickly become Steve’s new daily scene, the dating thing takes a bit of a backseat, even if Steve hasn’t kicked it out of the car entirely.

There’s a nurse, one of Eddie’s, at the hospital. She’s pretty - exceptionally so, with long blonde hair pulled back into a neat braid and big, blue eyes. They’ve gotten to chatting over the weeks, exchanging pleasant small talk as she does her rounds. Steve learns that she just moved from Lafayette last fall, which explains why he doesn’t recognize her from school even though they can’t be more than a year or two apart. She asks him out on a Tuesday. Steve’s sitting in the little armchair next to Eddie’s hospital bed, one leg propped against the knee of the other and balancing a Sports Illustrated in his lap. He’s flipping through some Wade Boggs article, left hand turning the pages and right hand on the inside of Eddie’s forearm beside him, fingertips resting lightly on the thin curve of Eddie’s wrist. It helps, Steve had figured out pretty early on, better than the steady beeping of the monitor. Feeling the thump of his pulse, the heat of his skin. A constant, concrete reminder that Eddie’s alive.

She enters the room with a gentle knock on the open door to announce her presence, returns Steve’s friendly wave of acknowledgement with one of her own. She’s all business, then, and Steve turns his attention back to the magazine as she makes her way into the room. Swapping out an IV bag, fiddling with the knobs on one of the machines, recording some numbers down on her clipboard. Doctor stuff. Before she leaves, though, she scribbles something at the bottom of her clipboard, rips the edge of the paper off, and hands it to Steve.

“They’re transferring me to Labor and Delivery starting next week. Figured I’d ask you out now, while I have the chance.”

Steve flips the paper over to see 505-689-5099 Hannah xoxo in big, loopy writing. Just as he opens his mouth to respond, though, he feels a heavy thrum in Eddie’s pulse point just before one of the machines by his bed starts beeping. A small, choked noise escapes around the tube lodged in his throat, and Steve drops the paper in alarm. It disappears somewhere in all of the commotion, in the rush of nurses and doctors and the frantic beeping of the machines before Eddie finally settles, the little choked noises punctuated with a weak, shuddery sigh before slipping back into steady breathing.

He never ends up finding the number after that day, and if he’s being honest, he can’t find it within himself to care.

And then, one Saturday afternoon several weeks later, there’s a girl at the grocery store. She walks right up to Steve, with a boldness that he doesn’t see often and has to admire, and introduces herself as Catie. She gives him some story about how her best friend was supposed to go with her to the drive-in tonight but she’d bailed at the last second, and wouldn’t it be so awful to go alone, and maybe Steve would like to go instead? And she’s really cute, with short red hair and a face full of freckles, and it really has been a while, but - but he and Eddie are supposed to spend tonight picking out the tracks for Max’s birthday mixtape, and it’s not like he can cancel that.

Steve’s saved from responding when Eddie rounds the corner of the aisle and almost careens directly into them, panting and out of breath, smile splitting across his face and dimples on full display. He’s got a box of brownie mix in his hand and he’s holding it up like a championship trophy.

“Got the last one on the shelf! Oh, we’re dining like kings tonight!”

It takes Eddie a split-second to register the scene in front of him before his face drops immediately, color flooding into his cheeks. And it’s at this exact moment that Catie’s face sours too, her eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing. She takes a measured step back, away from Eddie and closer to Steve, and something about the movement makes Steve irrationally angry. Like Eddie’s the one to be afraid of, out of the two of them. Eddie, who just last night had nearly shit himself with fear when a silverfish crawled out from under the couch, and who in the same breath had shouted at Steve “Don’t kill it! It’s not his fault he’s ugly! Just take it outside!”

Eddie just keeps standing there, eyes flitting back and forth between Steve and Catie before dropping altogether. He slowly lowers the brownie box and tucks it close to his chest, and he looks fucking mortified, an expression that Steve can read clear as day on his face, and it makes a spark of protectiveness light up in his chest. Makes him mad.

“I’m gonna pass, but thanks for the invite.” Steve wraps the fingers of one hand around the metal handle of the shopping cart and the other around Eddie’s elbow, steering him sharply toward the checkout line. Eddie looks over his shoulder - presumably at the girl left behind them though Steve can’t be bothered to turn around and see - before he flips back to Steve, turning so sharply that his hair fans out around him, the ends of his curls brushing the side of Steve’s neck.

“Invite to what?”

“A date.”

“A date? Why’d you say no?”

“Already have plans.” Steve mumbles, methodically unloading items from the shopping cart onto the conveyor belt.

“For when?”

“Tonight.”

“Steve, we’re hanging out tonight.” Eddie says, slowly and deliberately, moves a finger back and forth between them like Steve might not be clear on who “we” entails. Steve just raises his eyebrow in a sort of “yes, and?” expression as he pulls a handful of bills from his wallet, and Eddie’s mouth twists into a frown.

“You should go out with her, it’s fine -”

“I don’t want to go out with her, I want to hang out with you.” It comes out more firm than Steve intends it to, a tone that leaves no room for discussion, and Eddie must read it loud and clear because he just lets out a sort of hiccup sound, then closes his mouth so abruptly that Steve can hear his teeth clack together. He lifts a hand to thread a curl between his fingers, tugs it over the bow of his lips.

“Besides,” Steve grabs the last of their grocery bags and loads it into their cart, “I want brownies.”

Eddie barks out a laugh at that, loud and bright and almost incredulous, then reaches over to pluck Steve’s sunglasses off of the top of his head, slides them smoothly onto his own face as they step through the sliding glass doors.

And so it continues on, much the same, as the months go by. Steve’s just so busy - between the kids, and work, and spending any spare time he has with Robin and Eddie, the thought of dating rarely even crosses his mind. And he doesn’t feel lacking in any way. Not like before, since Nancy, when he felt the absence of someone to love like a physical emptiness inside him. He’s got his kids, and his friends, and - when necessary - a fully functioning right hand, and that’s plenty good enough for him right now.

It’s around mid-June when Robin finally manages to score a fake ID (the last out of the three of them, such a goody-two-shoes), and with Eddie spending more and more time loitering at the Family Video during their shifts, it’s there that she ropes them into going to the bars with her. Into driving her to the bars, in Eddie’s case, and providing emotional support in Steve’s. And Steve’s not sure exactly how much information regarding Robin’s love life (or lack thereof, though it’s not like Steve has any room to talk) Eddie is privy to, but he seems open to the idea, and it’s not like Steve was ever going to say no to her in the first place.

So. The bars it is.

Well, a bar - singular - to start. Baby steps, Robin says. She’s put in the work, done her research, and she’s settled on one just outside of downtown Indy. It’s some place Steve’s never heard of before: Misery, which in his opinion is a terrible name for a place where people are supposed to have fun. But she has some zine she got from one of the band kids in her hands, is practically shoving the article under Steve’s nose as she goes on about how it's perfect because they’re both off on Friday, and it’s not exclusively a gay bar, it’s only gay-bar-adjacent (which is a distinction that seems kind of unnecessary to Steve but hey, what does he know?), but that means Steve could totally find someone to hook up with, too.

Part of Steve expects some sort of reaction from Eddie. He feels his heartbeat pick up, feels that familiar protectiveness tightening in his chest, but Eddie just nods sagely in agreement. Reaches out to slide the zine from Robin’s grip, spins it around to face him, and starts flipping through the pages with a look of mild interest.

And that’s -

That’s good, Steve supposes. 

It actually makes a lot of sense, now that he thinks about it. Eddie’s all about sticking it to the man, and not conforming, and fucking - the underdogs and shit like that. So, yeah, it figures he’d be cool with Robin’s secret, too. Steve feels a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding shudder from his lungs, the sound swallowed up by the droning hum of the air conditioner. Robin must sense it though - call it twin telepathy - and she shoots him a quick look, eyebrow raised in concern. He shakes his head, don’t worry about it, but she doesn’t seem convinced.

Eddie slaps the zine back down on the countertop, immediately snapping Steve and Robin out of their silent conversation.

“Okay, I’m in. But - ” Eddie holds up a finger, “If I’m going to be driving you freeloaders all the way to Indy and back, I expect some sort of compensation. I’m talking ass, gas, or grass, you understand?”

Robin’s nose crinkles in disgust, and she grabs at Eddie’s extended finger, playfully tugging it back until Eddie’s hissing in pain, his body contorting against the pressure.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. Steve’ll be sure to fill your tank, right, Steve?”

And Steve feels like he might be missing the joke a little, here, because Eddie’s eyes widen in shock before he rips his finger out of Robin’s grasp and wallops her on the back of the head. Robin’s practically cackling, eyes scrunched in amusement, and Eddie whacks her one, two more times before sliding his stack of tapes off the counter and into his arms.

“Alright, I’ll see you -” Eddie nods to Steve, “and you -” he flips Robin the bird, “- on Friday.”

“Wear something cute!” Robin crumples up an old receipt and tosses it in Eddie’s direction - probably trying to bounce it off of his head, Steve assumes, but she misses by a good three feet.

“I always do!” Eddie calls back before shoving a shoulder into the front door and stepping out into the evening sun.

Chapter Text

“This is it - this is the night. I can feel it.”

Robin has made herself at home in the back of Eddie’s van, legs crossed at the ankle and head propped up against one of Eddie’s amps. She’s got the zine in one hand, the pages soft and creased from where she’s been reading it nonstop for the past week, and a map of Indianapolis in the other. She’s named herself Official Navigator for their trip, which Steve thinks might last about, eh, fifteen more minutes before she inevitably resigns as soon as they hit the inner city. As it stands, though, it’s just past nine and they’re making their way down 65, Bruce Springsteen sounding out softly from the cassette player (because Steve won the three-way rock paper scissors tournament, suck it, Eddie).

Speaking of Eddie.

He looks -

Well, good seems like a bit of an understatement, but not in a way that Steve can really explain. Like, he’s not wearing anything exceptionally different - a faded Black Sabbath tee, a pair of jeans that look like they were wrestled out of the mouth of a rabid pit bull, and thick, black boots. He’s foregone his leather jacket thanks to the disgusting June humidity, but it’s draped over the back of the passenger seat, and every time Steve turns his head to talk to Robin he catches a whiff of smoke and cheap cologne and something uniquely Eddie.

Maybe it’s his hair, then. Still down, because not even in the ninety-degree heat will Eddie sacrifice his capital-L- Look, but he’s done something to it. It’s smoother, sort of, less frizzy and unkempt than it usually is, and the way the passing cars cast quick flashes of light across the individual curls is kind of distracting, if Steve’s being honest.

“Robin, babe, I’m all for you taking this next step in life, but please explain to me where and how the fuck you think you’re going to lose your virginity at a bar.”

Robin waves a hand loosely in Steve’s direction, shooing the question away from her ear like a pesky fly.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’ll figure something out. Us lesbians are notoriously resourceful and creative, you know.”

Eddie lets out a derisive snort from the driver’s seat.

“Guess there’s always an outlier.” He tosses a wry smile in Steve’s direction, and Steve can feel it mirroring on his own face, split even wider when Robin extends a leg to kick the headrest of Eddie’s seat, sending him jerking forward.

“Jesus Christ, woman, I’m driving!”

Steve soldiers on, determined to make Robin see reason.

“I mean - I support you fully, you know that, but - if it’s gonna be your first time, wouldn’t you rather do it somewhere a little nicer? Like a bed?”

Robin and Eddie both snort this time, and Steve watches as they catch each other’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“He doesn’t get it.” Robin sighs dramatically.

“Of course he doesn’t, look at him.”

Rude.

“It’s different for people like us, Steve,” Robin reaches forward, offering him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Eddie pulls his right hand from the steering wheel to copy the gesture, only on Steve’s knee, and Steve can feel the hot press of his palm through the denim of his jeans.

“We can’t all be deflowered on goose down feather pillows and 800 thread count sheets to REO Speedwagon or, fucking, Journey.”

Which, okay, low blow. Steve may have lost his virginity in a bed, like a normal person, but it’s not like it was anything exceptional. Regular pillows, and cheap cotton sheets, and - well, Steve’s going to be the bigger person and ignore the Journey comment (because even if it was, which no one can prove, they’ve got some solid hits) in favor of addressing the more pressing matter.

“Wait. Wait.”

Eddie’s got this flush spreading across his cheeks, highlighted even further by the glow of taillights through the windshield, but he meets Steve’s gaze dead-on.

“You’re a virgin?” Steve blurts out, too caught off guard to phrase it any more delicately.

Eddie levels him with a blank look.

“Steve. I want you to think about the - oh, I don’t know - everything about me.”

And, okay, yeah. 

Between the super senior status, the nerdy roleplaying club, the habit of standing on tables and shouting incoherently about the Man, maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising to Steve. It’s just, he’s never thought about it, is all.

And he is, now. Thinking about it. About Eddie being a virgin.

About Eddie pressing some girl up against a sticky bar wall, a manicured hand twisting through his hair. About Eddie laying her down in the back of his van, crowding on top of her and pressing close. About Eddie in a bed, wild curls fanned out around his face. How he’d look, red-cheeked and sweating, face twisting in pleasure.

“I don’t think you really understand how slim the pickings are out here for us, Steve.” Robin laments through a mouthful of granola bar, effectively pulling Steve’s wildly-derailed train of thought back onto the tracks, “I mean, most people don’t actually want to fuck a sad, loser virgin. Statistically speaking, we’re like, a guaranteed bad lay.”

“That’s not true -”

“It is! And just because you’re the Devirginator 3000 over here, doesn’t mean that everyone else -”

“Woah, woah, woah - the what?” Steve sputters.

“Be honest with me. How many girls have you slept with who were virgins?”

And this is totally unfair, the public humiliation, because Steve told her this - this thing that he has about taking someone’s virginity - in confidence. Still, he starts slowly counting on his fingers, looking up as he mentally cycles through memories of names and faces. When he starts on his second hand Robin lets out an overdramatic groan.

“God, you’re unbelievable, you know that, Harrington?”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with having an appreciation -”

“An ‘appreciation,’ Jesus Christ, would you listen to yourself? You’re just as much of a freak as we are, Steve!”

“Eddie, come on, man. Back me up here.” Steve whines desperately. He throws his left hand out and lets the backs of his knuckles knock gently against Eddie’s arm. All Eddie offers is a little punched-out noise, and when Steve looks over he’s got both hands on the steering wheel, holding it so tightly that the skin over his knuckles is stretched white. His neck is tense, and Steve can see a twitch in his jaw, barely there, as he swallows.

“Wh - what?” He manages to stutter out, gaze flicking to Steve for an instant before immediately diverting back to the road. It’s not like Eddie to be so quiet, especially when it comes to ribbing Steve about something related to his “King Steve” days. He eyes Eddie worriedly, but before he can ask if he’s okay Robin’s hand appears in the space between them. She snaps twice.

“Hello, we are supposed to be strategizing here! There’s less than two miles until our exit - we’re losing precious time!”

Steve sighs, more for show than out of any true exasperation (he thinks his patience might actually be limitless when it comes to Robin), and twists around to face her in the back. The cigarette-cologne-Eddie smell fills his senses again.

“Okay, okay, run it back for me from the top.”

They end up driving past the bar the first time around, and Eddie has to circle the block before they eventually see it - wedged between a tattoo parlor and a vacant storefront, with only a faded sign indicating they’re in the right place. Eddie parks across the street in a nearly empty lot, and the sound of the van doors slamming closed echoes in the stillness of the night.

Steve tugs the front door open, steps back to let the other two in first. Rolls his eyes when Robin offers a sarcastic curtsy in thanks and Eddie follows with one of his own, twice as dramatic. The door leads them into a little entryway, empty except for a bored-looking person - Steve can’t tell if they’re a boy or a girl, thinks that might be the point - who glances briefly over their IDs before tugging open the connecting door.

It looks like - a bar. Steve isn’t sure exactly what he was expecting, what the words “gay-adjacent” would entail, but it’s pretty standard. Low lighting, a handful of high tops and stools, a couple couches in the corner. A dance floor in the center, packed full with couples and friend groups, and a wide wooden bar along the back wall. The whole place smells like alcohol and cigarette smoke and sweat.

So, yeah, okay. A bar.

They weave their way through the crowd in a line, Robin leading, and head to the back for a drink. The bartender - a tall, lanky guy with straw-colored hair even longer than Eddie’s - spots them after a minute and makes his way over, scooping loose bills and empty cups from the bar top as he moves.

He takes their orders. Robin’s first, then Steve’s. When it comes to Eddie’s turn, the guy ducks his head close, closer than Steve really thinks is necessary, because the music’s loud but not that loud. Eddie stretches up on his tiptoes until his mouth is level with the guy’s ear, and when he’s done talking he drops back onto his heels, hair bouncing with the motion. 

“Sick shirt, man.” The bartender nods in the direction of Eddie’s shirt as he twists the top off a beer, “You remember the Diary of a Madman tour? Back in ‘82, all the shit with the bat? I saw him like two weeks after, when he came to Indy. It was insane.”

“No fucking way!” Eddie shouts, eyes lighting up, and the guy lets out a laugh, slides the bottle over.

“Swear to god. Changed my life, man.”

Eddie’s watching with rapt attention as the guy starts regaling him with the story, and though Steve tries to follow along - he knows about the “bat thing,” now, he looked it up - Robin elbows him in the ribs, demanding his attention.

“Steve, look, look.” She whispers, barely audible over the music, and Steve follows her gaze to a group of, well, lesbians. Can he call them lesbians if they haven’t said that they are? They certainly look like lesbians, but maybe Steve shouldn’t be thinking that in the first place. He doesn’t have much time to stress about it either way before one of them breaks away from the others and starts walking toward them. She’s shorter than Robin by a few inches, but stockier, with broad shoulders and a short crop of dark brown hair. She introduces herself as Steph, never Stephanie she insists with a wry grin, and Robin eventually manages to stutter out a half-coherent response. Steph must find it charming, though, because then she’s asking Robin if she wants to go hang out with her group, nodding behind herself to the seven or eight others halfway across the bar, crammed around a beat-up leather couch.

Robin seems to steel herself for a moment. Then she throws back the rest of her drink, pushes the empty cup into Steve’s chest, and nods. Steve can only watch, equal parts proud and amused, as Robin accepts her extended hand, lacing their fingers together as they make their way through the crowd.

“Hey, asshole, are you gonna take our order sometime this week or what?”

Steve turns his attention back to the bar in time to catch the tail end of Eddie’s laugh, sees the bartender glance down the row of customers and roll his eyes. He apologizes to Eddie, tosses a rag over his shoulder and shrugs in a sort of “duty calls, what can you do?” expression. Steve watches as he moves over to the heckler, notices how his gaze lingers on Eddie even as he starts taking the other guy’s order.

“Shit, sorry about that,” Eddie huffs, sounding almost breathless even though he was just standing next to Steve the whole time, “Where’d Buckley go?”

Steve raises his beer to gesture in the direction of the lesbians. Eddie lets out a low whistle when he spots her.

“Would you look at that,” He sniffs, lifts the corner of the napkin he’s holding to dab fake tears from the corner of his eye, “Our little gay-by bird is all grown up and leaving the nest.”

Steve knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s and snorts, lets the sound of Eddie’s laugh ring through his ears, clear even through the music. They stand there together, content to people watch for a minute. There’s a couple games of pool going on, a particularly vicious game of darts. Eddie starts egging Steve on to join in, forcing Steve to remind him that the number of skills transferable from basketball to darts is, like, none. Eddie huffs in disappointment, murmurs something about a waste of precious muscle.

They’re interrupted by the bartender when he reappears, this time sliding an inky black drink across the bar and in front of Eddie.

“Courtesy of that girl over there.” He tells him, pointing past the bar and to a little sitting area off to the side, to a girl lounging in an oversized armchair. She’s covered in tattoos, clear up to her neck, and her eyes are rimmed in thick, dark liner. She lifts a hand, cigarette held lazily between two fingers, and waves. Eddie picks up the drink in one hand and extends the other to his side. Gives a dramatic bow and mouths “thank you” with a smirk before taking a sip.

Which he almost spits up immediately.

His face twists in disgust, and he turns his head into Steve’s shoulder, gagging. Steve brings a sympathetic hand up to pat his back. When they look up again the girl is in stitches, laughing so hard she almost falls out of her seat.

“I’ll be right back.” Eddie passes the drink to Steve - which, does he just have Human Trash Can written across his face? - before making his way over to the girl. Steve gives the mystery liquid a tentative sniff. It doesn’t smell bad, he thinks. Kind of like licorice, maybe, but a little sweeter. He takes a sip, and yeah, it’s really not that bad at all.

He ends up drinking the whole thing while he waits for Eddie to come back (because judging by Eddie’s reaction, he’s not going to finish it). He’s tilting the cup back carefully, trying to get the last of the drink without all of the ice sliding down and hitting his face, when Eddie pops back up beside him.

“I thought she was trying to poison me. Turns out she just wanted an excuse to talk.”

Steve nods at that, brings the empty cup back to his lips just for something to occupy his mouth, before he says something stupid like is she the one who you’re going to pick to do it?

Ugh, “do it.” Like he can’t even say fuck.

It’s just - it seems like she is. The one. Like, she’s clearly interested, if she’s willing to buy Eddie a drink before even speaking to the guy. And obviously after speaking to him she’s gonna be even more interested, because Eddie is like - super funny. Entertaining. Witty, and a little mean. So, yeah, obviously.

But he can’t say all that to Eddie.

“What’d she wanna talk about?” He asks, forcing nonchalance. If he fails, Eddie doesn’t mention it.

“She asked me on a date.”

Steve’s stomach lurches uncomfortably. It can’t be shock, not since he was literally just imagining this exact scenario playing out, but he doesn’t know any other way to describe the feeling that’s twisting inside him. He clears his throat, swallows drily, and replies, “What the fuck are you doing back over here?”

Eddie waves a hand dismissively, sweeps his gaze around the bar.

“Eh, she’s not my type.”

What?

Steve can’t claim to be an expert on Eddie’s romantic tastes - it doesn’t come up often, and when it does he’s always pretty tight-lipped about it - but this girl looks exactly like what Steve would picture Eddie’s type to be. Some hot, alternative girl with dark hair and tons of tattoos, and, if Steve’s seeing correctly, a lip ring. Someone who looks like she voluntarily listens to music so loud it could make the paint melt off the walls.

“What about you? Anyone caught your eye?” Eddie switches the subject, and Steve wants to answer no, because I’ve been too busy watching you. But, like, that would be weird. He really doesn’t want to stand here, with Eddie, and talk about his inability to find a girl, so he shakes his head, jerks a thumb over his shoulder to point to the bar a few feet away.

“I’m gonna - drink.” Steve says, and Eddie nods.

The bartender gives Steve a look as he hands over a fresh beer. Like he’s sizing him up, maybe, which Steve thinks is a little uncalled for since he’s only said three words to the guy all night (and tipped 20%, what the fuck). But the guy doesn’t say anything, just drags the handful of bills off the bar top and moves down the line. And Steve’s well past his days of picking unnecessary fights, so he leaves it at that, turning back to find his friends in the crowd. 

Robin’s still with her new lesbian friends on the couch, and Steph’s arm has moved from the back of the cushion behind Robin’s head to between their bodies, hand wrapped around the inside of Robin’s thigh. They’re all talking animatedly and Robin’s right there in the thick of it, arms waving wildly as she talks, and the girls erupt into laughter. She looks up, then, catches Steve’s eye, and he gives her a subtle thumbs up, mouths you rule because hey, credit where credit is due. Her nose crinkles in amusement and she gives a little thumbs up in return before sinking back into her conversation.

Eddie takes a bit longer to find. He’s moved from their little spot near the bar, probably unable to stand in the same spot for more than thirty seconds without spontaneously combusting. Steve eventually spots him at a table in the corner, surrounded by at least seven other people, guys and girls. Some are drinking, a couple are clearly in the middle of a card game, but everyone’s looking at Eddie.

It must be nice for Eddie to finally be away from Hawkins and all of those small-minded, judgmental assholes. To be getting so much positive attention. Not that he doesn’t get enough from the little hellions, or Steve himself, or Robin when they’re not fighting like cats and dogs. But from other people. Strangers.

Girls.

And sure, Steve had never paid much attention to Eddie in school, but he can’t recall ever seeing him interact with any girls on a romantic level. Chalk it up to Eddie’s reputation - his freakiness, his propensity for repeating senior year, his nerdy dragon club. Not really things that most girls are looking for. But now, here, there’s no reputation, no preconceived notions. He’s just Eddie. Eddie with the thousand-watt smile, Eddie with the long brown hair and the biggest, darkest eyes. Eddie who talks not only with his hands but with his whole body, who imbues so much energy into whatever space he occupies. It makes total sense, here and now, that he’s getting so much attention. He’s magnetic, and even Steve is having trouble looking away.

With both of his friends occupied, Steve resigns himself to drinking his beer alone at the bar and people watching (Robin-and-Eddie watching, to be more precise) for the foreseeable future. A girl catches his eye after a minute, though, standing against a wall near the pool tables, her eyes flashing to him nervously and then darting away again.

Okay, he can work with this.

He squares his shoulders. Walks over and introduces himself. Listens politely as she tells him her name and starts up a stilted conversation that, to be honest, he’s only giving about half of his attention to. The other half is split between Robin and Eddie, between the general area of the couches and the bar, now, where Eddie and one of the guys have made their way. They’re facing away from the bar, leaning back with their elbows against the wooden bartop. Which is stupid, because Steve can see how sticky it is from all the way over here. And the guy is standing directly to Eddie’s right, like, weirdly close to him, giving his full attention. It makes that feeling twist back up in Steve’s stomach, so he looks away, turns back to focus on this girl.

And on actually getting some tonight. Maybe. He’s not going to fuck this girl in the bar (he was serious when questioning the logistics with Robin earlier), but there’s still three more bases before home plate, and it really has been a while.

The girl is still talking, something about her cat. Or maybe her dad. She’s pretty soft-spoken, and the music is like, super loud. Whatever she’s saying clearly doesn’t require much input from Steve, though, so he takes the opportunity to check on Robin again. Though most of the lesbians have left to take up the dance floor, Robin and Steph are still on the couch, knees angled together and lips locked. Another solid tally on the You Rule side for Robbie. Steve smiles to himself, pride swelling in his chest, and then he turns back to the bar.

Eddie’s gone.

The pride in his chest is replaced by panic, ice cold and razor sharp. Steve’s eyes dart around the room, and in the crowd of bodies he sees a flash of dark hair, the glint of a pocket chain, and oh, there’s Eddie. In the corner of the bar with his back against the wall, talking to that same fucking guy. Some guy that Steve doesn’t know, who could be trying to get close to Eddie, trying to hurt him. And Steve can read Eddie well enough, can always read Eddie, to know that he’s not in distress. Maybe a little nervous, but still smiling genuinely. But Steve can’t stop the way his heart starts rabbiting, his pulse quickens, his palms sweat. The girl slides a timid hand around his waist, tugs him closer, and he turns back to her, tries to engage in what she’s saying. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up. He can’t fucking concentrate.

It takes a few more seconds before Steve says fuck it. Cups a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss, which he recognizes is kind of a gamble (and an asshole move - she was literally in the middle of a sentence). She’s into it, though, responds immediately, and he lets the muscle memory take over, chases the taste of vodka and cranberry on her tongue. This is safe, this is familiar, he knows this feeling. Not - whatever the fuck is happening with Eddie.

Steve tugs the girl a bit closer, feels himself starting to slip seamlessly back into his role, and when she takes a step back to lean against the wall, Steve follows. Follows until the length of his body is pressed against hers, threads his fingers through her hair. It’s short, just below her ears, and straight. Soft, but not in the right way. Not like -

Jesus Christ.

He manages to lose himself in the simple act of making out for a few minutes. When they eventually part the girl lowers her head shyly, bites her lip and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. Leans forward to mouth gently at Steve’s neck, and he takes the moment to look away. Back to Eddie.

What he sees makes his stomach roll.

The guy from before is still there. Still there, and he’s got Eddie pressed against the wall, one hand in his hair and the other around his waist. He’s almost completely blocking Eddie from Steve’s view, but the light reflecting off of Eddie’s rings, fingers pressed tight to the man’s back, the angle of their heads, it’s unmistakable.

Steve pulls himself back with a gasp.

“Sorry, I’m - I’m sorry, I have to go.” He stutters. The girl starts to protest but he doesn’t stick around to listen. Can’t. He backs away from the wall, stumbles backward into one of the pool tables. Rights himself, moves past the bar, past Robin and Steph on the couch, pushes through the crowd and toward the door.

Needs to get out.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t stop until he makes it to the alley.

It’s more than a little gross - the curb is littered with cigarette butts and empty bottles and trash, and everything’s kind of damp even though they haven’t had any rain in days, but Steve’s too preoccupied to notice. He drops into a squat, not so far gone that he’ll risk sitting directly on the ground (because, ew), and drags a rough hand through his hair.

He feels like he’s gonna puke. Maybe he’s coming down with something - some sort of summer flu? Dustin had a bit of a cough when they went to the movies a few days ago, he could’ve passed something along. It’s not from the alcohol, it can’t be, because he only had one and a half beers, plus whatever Eddie’s mystery drink was. Unless - maybe that girl really was trying to poison Eddie, and Steve went and drank the whole thing like an idiot. No, no, that’s insane. But if it were true, which he’s 90% sure it’s not, then he’s glad it would’ve been him and not Eddie.

No, it’s not from the alcohol.

So, okay. Steve’s not stupid. This means it’s probably a reaction to seeing Eddie kissing a guy. Which was a surprise, okay? That’s all. He’s not - he’s not homophobic. He’s actually been working really hard on being the opposite, in fact. Like, his best friend is a lesbian! But, maybe it’s different because Eddie’s a guy. Steve doesn’t want it to be different - Eddie’s also his best friend, and he deserves to love whoever he wants to love. Or, okay, maybe not love. But he deserves to stick his tongue down the throat of whoever he wants, and Steve just needs to suck it up and get it together.

On second thought, maybe he should revisit the sickness theory. Because now that he thinks about it, his stomach has been a little off since they first ordered their drinks. Or, actually, since their drive down. Since the conversation in the car, when Steve had asked Eddie about being a virgin and Eddie’s face had flushed so pink. When Steve couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like, for Eddie to lose his virginity.

He’s picturing it now, doesn’t want to be but he is. Except where he’d imagined some faceless girl now stands a man. A man pressing Eddie against a sticky bar wall, some guy’s hand twisting through his hair. A man laying Eddie down in the back of his van and crowding on top of him. Of Eddie on top of some guy, rocking back onto his heels over and over, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut.

His internal spiraling is interrupted when the toes of two dirty converse shoes step into his eyeline. Robin crouches in front of him, presses a firm hand to the inner crook of his elbow. He can’t see her, not with his head dropped between his knees, and he’s not ready to look up just yet. Needs to get a fucking grip first.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, voice carefully level. Steve can still hear the worry hidden underneath.

Where does he even start?

“Eddie’s gay.”

He meant it like a question, but it comes out flat. Steve bites the bullet and looks up from the cradle of his arms to watch as Robin pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, glances away, winces.

“I would have told you, you know. But I couldn’t.” She says, and Steve just nods. He gets it, he does. It wasn’t her place.

She doesn’t say anything else, just keeps looking at him, and so Steve talks. Talks because it’s Robin, and she knows him better than he knows himself, and if anyone can help him sort through this clusterfuck of feelings and emotions, it’s her. He tells her about the bartender, about the girl with the tattoos, about the guy from the table. Tells her how he felt sick to his stomach seeing that guy kissing Eddie, and isn’t that so fucked up? Isn’t he supposed to be better than this?

Robin sticks her tongue into the space between her top lip and teeth as she thinks, clearly choosing her next words carefully.

“Steve,” she starts, and the hand on his arm squeezes just a little, reassuring, “Did you feel that way when you saw me kissing Steph?”

And - no. No, he didn’t. He’d been proud, sure - and amused - but that’s it.

“It’s not the same, Robs.” Steve mutters, nearly inaudible with his face pressed into the tight curl of his arms.

“Maybe - maybe you should reflect on that for a minute.”

Steve’s saved from responding when the doors burst open, the rusty metal hinges squealing against the motion, and there’s Eddie, looking around frantically. His eyes fall on the two of them, crouched against the side of the bar in a dirty alley, and he lets out an audible sigh of relief. His hair’s a little ruffled, curls askew, and when he turns his head Steve can just make out the shadow of a hickey under the jut of his jaw bone. His stomach lurches again.

“-ust disappeared, scared the fuck out of me, Jesus Christ!” He fusses, and even though it’s very typical levels of Eddie-bitchiness and he doesn’t actually sound that upset, Steve still feels the heavy twist of guilt inside him. He was the one who was supposed to be watching them, supposed to be keeping them safe. And he’d left both of them, alone in an unfamiliar place with total strangers.

Who knows what that guy could’ve done to Eddie?

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, and the indignance from before is gone, replaced with genuine concern.

“Nothing. Nothing, I’m fine.” Steve answers, ignoring the way Robin squeezes his arm even tighter, but Eddie doesn’t look even slightly convinced. He’s still flitting his gaze between Steve and Robin with his eyebrows scrunched together when the door flies open again, nearly cracking Eddie in the back of the head.

It’s Steph, this time, and she pokes her head out, glancing quickly between the three of them.

“Hey, Robin, are you good?” She asks, and Steve tugs his arm out from under the comforting weight of her grip to shove her gently on the shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, Robs, go, I’m fine.” He insists, pushing to his feet. She opens her mouth to say something - probably to call Steve an idiot and refuse to leave until he’s bared his entire soul right here in this shithole of an alley, if he had to guess - but Steve doesn’t give her the chance, presses both hands against her back and starts walking, practically shoving her back towards the bar. He doesn’t want to ruin this night for any of them, but especially not Robin, who this whole trip had been for in the first place. Who’d been so excited.

She still hesitates, clearly torn, when Eddie jumps in.

“It’s fine - I’ve got him, you go back inside.”

Which is great, in that it finally convinces Robin to leave them, twisting around to give a quick side-hug to Steve and an awkward pat on the shoulder to Eddie, before she ducks under Steph’s arm and disappears into the bar.

Less great, in that it means Steve’s definitely not getting away from Eddie any time soon. The door squeals again before it clicks shut, taking with it the sound of pulsing music and laughter and leaving Steve here with Eddie in silence. Steve drops like his strings have been cut. He leans against the side of the bar, can’t be assed to care about what mystery substances might be transferring onto his shirt in the process. He’s got a washer and dryer at home, it’s fine. Eddie pulls out a cigarette. Lights it. Takes a drag, and then holds it out between them, a wordless offer. Steve takes it from his hand. He brings it up to his lips and takes his own drag, long and slow. Lets the smoke fill his lungs and tries desperately not to think about the fact that Eddie’s lips were on the same bit of paper just seconds ago. How it's almost like an indirect kiss.

He passes the cigarette back to Eddie, who lets it linger in the space between them for just a moment, suspended in air by their joined hands, before he takes it back.

“Seriously, man, are you okay? If you want to head home, we can -”

“No. No, I don’t - I’m fine. You guys are having fun, you should -” Steve drags his hands roughly through his hair, slides his palms down his face, “I’m just gonna hang out here for a few minutes.”

Eddie nods at that - in understanding or acceptance, Steve doesn’t know. And then he falls back next to Steve, leans up against the brick wall.

“What are you doing?”

“Hanging out, what does it look like?” And Eddie has the nerve to look at Steve like he’s the crazy one.

“Jesus Christ, man, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m fine. Just - just go back inside.”

Eddie scoffs at that. Pulls one more drag from his cigarette before he drops it onto the ground, grinds it under the toe of his boot as the smoke pours through his lips.

“Yeah, uh, fat fucking chance, Stevie. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with you right now, but I’m not just gonna leave you like this.”

“I’m not ‘like this,’” Steve protests, finger quotes and all, “I’m fine.”

Eddie doesn’t dignify that with a response, just levels him with an almost condescending look. It sparks a fire of anger inside Steve.

“Bullshit.” Eddie finally says after a long, tense moment. He folds his arms over his chest and juts his chin out defiantly, and the dull yellow light of the nearby street lamp catches on his neck, shines almost tauntingly over that fucking hickey. And something about that word, about the way that Eddie directs it at him - Steve crumples. Just wants Eddie to leave.

“Dude, just go. I’m sure that guy is waiting for you.”

Steve watches, almost in slow motion, as the color drains from Eddie’s face.

“You -” Eddie starts, then stops abruptly. He takes a measured step back, away from Steve. Tilts his head back and lets out a sort of incredulous, humorless laugh. “Robin said you wouldn’t -”

And it feels like a knife in Steve’s chest, hearing those words. Realizing that at some point during RobinandEddie they had shared this facet of themselves. And Eddie had probably asked, probably worried, and Robin had explained that it was safe, that Steve could know and it would be okay.

And he’s doing the exact opposite to Eddie right now.

“Eddie, I don’t - I don’t care that you’re gay, that’s not -” Steve hisses, wary of strangers who might be out this late at night, of strangers who might stumble upon a place that’s maybe not a gay bar, but still gay-bar-adjacent.

Eddie flinches at the word. Chokes out another bitter laugh.

“But you sure seem to have a problem with me kissing that guy, don’t you, Harrington?” He bites back, and Steve shakes his head. Doesn’t want to be Harrington, not anymore, not to Eddie.

This isn’t - he’s not - why won’t Eddie listen to him?

“You know that’s not what I meant -”

“Do I? Because from where I’m standing, that seems to be your issue.”

“It’s not.” Steve grits out between clenched teeth. 

It’s not, really - except it is. 

Because Steve’s half-tempted to go back into the bar right now, to find that guy and drag him outside and break every single one of the fingers that he’d pushed into Eddie’s hair. Doesn’t think that his problem is with Eddie kissing a guy so much as it is Eddie kissing that guy. Some stranger who’s only trying to get his dick wet for a night, who only sees Eddie as a pretty face on a warm body. Someone who doesn’t know him, who doesn’t know where his scars came from, what he went through to get them. Who doesn’t know that they still itch, sometimes, even months later, or that Eddie still can’t raise his left arm above his shoulder, or that he can’t stand too long without something to lean against or his knees will start to give out. Someone who doesn’t know that he’s allergic to apples, or that his eyes crinkle shut when he laughs, who doesn’t know the sound of it like the back of their own hand, who couldn’t pick it out of a crowd.

He feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind.

“No? Then why?” Eddie demands, pulling Steve back from inside his own head. He’s got his back to the street lamp, and when he takes a challenging step forward the light spills out from behind him, crowns his head like a halo, and suddenly Steve can feel all of the weird, strange, confusing puzzle pieces fall into perfect place.

Oh.

“Why are you being such an asshole right now? Why’d you bring him up at all if you don’t have a problem with it?”

He sees it. In his head, one by one, he watches as the images shift. As the hand in Eddie’s hair is Steve’s hand, as Steve’s the one pushing Eddie up against a wall, laying Eddie down in his van, pressing down above him, against him, inside him.

Oh.

“Because it should’ve been me.”

The words surprise Steve just as much as they do Eddie. He wants to take them back, to pluck them right out of the air between them. To hold them close to his chest until he can think about them, can weigh them in his mind and test the shape of them around his tongue. But it’s too late. Being an act first, think later kind of guy is basically his specialty at this point.

Eddie rolls his eyes, arms still crossed protectively across his chest, and Steve watches the light glint and reflect off of his rings as he picks anxiously at his shirt sleeves.

“What are you talking about? I saw you with that girl,” Eddie says, and Steve can hear the bitterness in his tone - can always read Eddie - when he adds, “You didn’t seem to be having any trouble getting some action of your own.”

Oh. Oh, Eddie thinks -

Steve takes a deep breath in. Holds it. Lets it out slowly.

“Eddie, that’s not what I mean.”

The anger in Eddie’s face slowly shifts into something like confusion.

“Wait, so you -” He starts, then stops again. Tilts his head quizzically. “Are you saying you wanna kiss that guy?” he asks, in a tone that suggests he’s certain he’s misunderstanding whatever the fuck Steve’s saying.

Jesus Christ, Eddie’s gonna be the death of him.

“God damn it, Eddie, no, I want to kiss you!”

And Steve would probably laugh at the look on Eddie’s face if he didn’t feel staggeringly close to throwing up.

“What?”

“I don’t know, man! We were having fun, and it was nice, and everything was normal, but then there was the bartender, and the girl with the poison drink, and then that guy started talking to you, and I just - I don’t know. It all felt wrong, which is stupid, obviously, because who the fuck am I to have an opinion about it in the first place? But then he was kissing you, and I just - I just -” Steve trails off, feels the stinging in his palms where he’s squeezing his fists so tightly that his nails are biting into the skin. Forces himself to take one deep, steadying breath, then another. He opens his hands slowly, stretches his fingers out and flexes them at his sides, and Eddie’s jaw twitches as his eyes follow the movement.

“But Steve, you know I’m -” Eddie stops, swallows. His eyes fall shut, and he looks so fucking sad, “You know I’m a guy, right?”

He says it slowly, gently, like Steve’s some sort of fucking preschooler, and it’s so absurd that Steve barks out a laugh, too loud in the quiet of the night.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m well aware, thank you.” He responds, half-hysterical, dragging his hands through his hair. He wonders briefly if this might be sort of what Robin felt like back in the bathroom at Starcourt. Trying to come out when Steve was tripping absolute balls.

Wait - is Eddie tripping balls?

“Are you on drugs?” He blurts out.

Nice, Steve, very smooth.

“What the fuck? No!” Eddie answers. His eyes narrow, “Are you on drugs?”

“No, nope, definitely not.”

Eddie lets out his own laugh, breathless and almost panicked, and he rocks back onto his heels, starts bouncing in place. He gets like this sometimes, Steve knows, when he starts feeling too much - too nervous, too excited, too something - and he has to move around a bit or he’ll go crazy. Usually it’s drumming against the nearest surface with his fingers, or hooking and unhooking his pocket chain to his belt loop, or knocking his shoulder against Steve’s when they’re standing side by side. It should annoy Steve, probably, but he actually kind of likes it - the physical contact, the closeness. The reminder that Eddie’s there.

Steve watches Eddie’s face, desperate to know exactly what Eddie’s feeling too much of right now.

“Okay, Steve. I’m gonna be honest here, I’m so fucking confused right now. Because it sounded like you said you want to kiss me, which is, like -” Eddie brings both hands up to the sides of his head, puffs out his cheeks and mimes a little explosion, “- but, uh, last time I checked you were straight, so I guess I don’t -”

“No.” Steve interrupts. 

“No?” Eddie parrots back, like he can’t believe his own ears. He lets his hands fall limply at his sides and stands there for a moment, waiting for Steve to continue.

Which would be fine, if Steve had any fucking clue what to say.

As it stands, though, he doesn’t. So they stay like that for a beat, face to face in the nasty fucking alley, until suddenly the door bursts open again, and a group of extremely drunk twenty-somethings pours out onto the sidewalk. There’s a lot of incoherent shouting, and arguing, and stumbling, but after a minute they eventually clear the area, and Steve and Eddie are alone again.

Steve draws his eyes away from where the group has disappeared around the corner and back to Eddie. He’s got his chin tucked down, hiding under the curtain of his bangs, and he’s threading a loose curl through his fingers, over and over.

“No?” He asks again, quiet under the whir of the nearby air conditioner, and when he meets Steve’s eyes Steve sees something that looks an awful lot like hope. It gives him the courage to take a step forward, then another, and then he’s toe to toe with Eddie’s boots, so close he can feel the puff of Eddie’s exhale against his lips, and he shakes his head. Reaches out to cup a hand against the curve of his cheek and wrap the other around Eddie’s waist, to tug him closer until Eddie’s palms press into his chest and he steps on one of Steve’s feet with his giant clunky boot.

“No.” He murmurs, and dips his head to press his mouth to Eddie’s.

Chapter Text

And it’s here that Steve finds himself in a bit of a predicament, because he has firmly established himself on Team Don’t-Lose-Your-Virginity-At-A-Bar, and he stands by that. Really, he does, except -

Now he has Eddie Munson. 

Eddie in front of him, tongue tangled with Steve’s in a frantic kiss, not so much skilled as just really enthusiastic, licking and sucking and biting at any part of Steve his mouth can reach. Eddie under his hands, the smooth plane of his back firm against Steve’s fingertips. The intoxicating scent of his hair, the bony jut of his hips pressed to Steve’s, his dick already half hard, and they’ve only been kissing for, like, three minutes.

It’s really good, though. So good that Steve’s getting a little lightheaded, pressing deeper into Eddie’s mouth and drawing kiss after kiss after kiss from his lips, not even stopping to breathe. And it’s different from kissing a girl. They’re so close in height - with the inch or so advantage that Steve normally boasts negated by the lift of Eddie’s boots - that Eddie’s nose-to-nose with Steve, and he still carries that cologneandcigarettesandEddie smell, and - yeah, the aforementioned half-hard dick pressing insistently into Steve’s thigh is kind of new. A good new, Steve has to concede, as his hips jerk forward instinctively, straining towards the friction that Eddie’s providing and drawing a thin, reedy moan from Eddie’s mouth.

Fuck, they need to slow down.

Steve plants one last kiss on Eddie’s lips, followed by three more last kisses, because he’s very quickly becoming addicted to the taste of Eddie’s mouth. Eventually he finds the strength to pull away. Presses a firm, flat palm to Eddie’s sternum, holding him back when he leans forward to chase after Steve’s retreating form.

“Eddie - Eddie.” Steve murmurs, affection bubbling up inside him, overflowing until it bleeds into the soft timbre of his voice. Eddie lets out an honest-to-god whimper, bites his bottom lip between his teeth like he has to physically hold his own mouth back from Steve’s. He starts to pull away, drops back against the brick wall with a little uh, and he’s got that damn curl over his mouth again, hiding from Steve, his cheeks so red behind the cover of his hair.

“Sorry, sorry, I just -”

“Woah, woah, woah, what? Why are you sorry?”

Eddie sucks in a breath, rolls his eyes a little like he’s annoyed that Steve’s actually making him say it aloud.

“Just, y’know. For being so -” he gestures vaguely, nonsensically between them, “- about this. The whole ‘virgin’ thing isn’t really helping right now.”

And it’s not like Steve forgot about that little fact, not in the slightest, but it slams like a freight train back into the forefront of his mind, and he finds a strangled groan slipping from between his clenched teeth. Has to tilt his hips forward to grind into Eddie, once, twice, just to take the edge off.

Fuck, he really needs to get it together.

“Eddie, we should - we should take this slow.” He finally manages, and Eddie huffs out a little laugh.

“Okay, I hear you, but have you considered fucking me against this dirty alley wall instead?” He punctuates the suggestion with a slow roll of his hips, dragging his cock against Steve’s, and oh shit, even through two pairs of jeans it feels fucking divine.

The door bursts open again, because apparently everyone at this fucking club has the worst timing in the history of the universe, and another group of people spills outside, even louder and more drunk than the one before. There’s too many goddamn people around, and Eddie has practically glued himself to Steve’s neck, sucking kisses into Steve’s skin, and Steve can feel himself losing his mind in real time.

“Eddie, please. I can’t actually fuck you out here.”

Eddie hums thoughtfully, and Steve can feel the vibrations under the bone of his jaw.

“Fine, we can go back inside, go into the bathroom, and you can bend me over the sink.”

And oh, isn’t that an idea. Steve can picture it now - the way Eddie’s rings would look with his fingers curled over the porcelain sides of the sink. Steve’s hand firm between his shoulder blades, the sinful arch of his back. The way it would echo, the sound of Steve pressing inside him over and over, the smack of his hips against Eddie’s ass.

The dull lighting. The god-awful smell. The look on some asshole’s face when they walk in expecting to take a piss and get an eyeful of Eddie, of Steve’s Eddie.

Yeah, not a goddamn chance.

“Eddie, m’not gonna take your virginity in some disgusting bar bathroom.”

Eddie pulls back from his neck and fixes him with an offended glare.

“What the hell, Steve, that’s basically queer culture,” he whines, “You’re denying me a right of passage.”

Steve snorts, drops his head into the jut of Eddie’s collarbone, and mumbles, “Too bad, figure something else out.”

He can’t see Eddie’s expression, too busy licking and kissing down the side of his neck, but he can imagine the eye roll he’s earned in response. Eddie’s quiet for a moment, huffing and squirming in Steve’s arms, and then Steve hears a little gasp, and Eddie pulls his hand out of Steve’s hair to dig roughly into his jeans pocket. He dangles the keys to the van between them, eyes practically glinting with satisfaction, and yeah, yeah that’ll work.

Steve wraps his fingers around Eddie’s wrist and starts running. Past the front of the bar, across the street, over the curb, nearly yanks Eddie’s arm clean out of its socket when they pass the street lamp, yelling “Don’t split the pole!” Keeps running across the parking lot, the steady thunk, thunk, thunk of Eddie’s boots on the pavement behind him, and only when he makes it to the van does he stop. He looks around, does a quick perimeter sweep to check for anyone who might be watching, but there’s no one.

So, of course, he does what he wants to do, what he realizes he’s been wanting to do for a while, and spins Eddie around. Pushes him gently until his back rattles the van doors, and then keeps moving forward until the whole line of his body is pressed flush to Eddie’s, shoulder to toe. He can feel Eddie’s full-body shudder, hears the way his breath is rasping in his lungs - which, to be fair, could have just as much to do with the impromptu running as it does with Steve. But regardless, Steve can’t help himself from wrapping one arm firmly around Eddie’s waist and burying the other in Eddie’s hair, feeling the way the curls tangle between his fingers. He uses that hand to tilt Eddie’s head, to maneuver him into the perfect position so that Steve can lean forward and capture his lips again.

It’s filthy, all open mouths, and hot tongue, and probably more saliva than all of Steve’s previous makeout sessions combined, but Eddie is so, so into it, whining and panting and digging his nails into Steve’s back so hard that Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he shreds right through the cotton. He tugs his mouth away from Eddie’s again and starts a line of bruising kisses along his jawline, but something makes him pull back after just a few seconds. It’s the hickey, the one from what feels like a lifetime ago but that can’t be more than an hour old, still stark against the pale skin of Eddie’s throat. Steve reaches out, touches feather-soft over the bruise before covering it with the pad of his thumb.

“That guy -” he starts, voice already fucked-out and gravely, and Eddie lets out an annoyed huff, shakes his head emphatically.

“Don’t care, don’t want to talk about him. Don’t want him. Don’t want anyone else,” he pants, eyes wide and pupils blown in the moonlight, “Jus’ want you.”

The words go straight to Steve’s dick, make him throb painfully behind the confines of his jeans. Fuck, hearing that from Eddie’s mouth. Out of all the people who want him, and Steve knows beyond a doubt that they do - the bartender with the good taste in music, the girl with the cool tattoos and the lip ring, the whole table of people. The asshole who dared to put his hands on Eddie, to put his mouth on Eddie. He doesn’t want them. He only wants Steve.

Steve can’t help it, feels the jealousy and the possessiveness as they swell inside him, going straight to his head and driving out every thought except Eddie and touch and mine, mine, mine. He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his fucking skin if he doesn’t get his hands on Eddie, any part of him that he’ll give to Steve, so he drops his hands to Eddie’s hips, rucks his shirt up until he can feel the bumpy ridges of Eddie’s ribs slot perfectly under his splayed fingers. He doesn’t keep his hands there for long, though, and then he’s sliding one hand up to drag the pad of his thumb roughly over Eddie’s nipple. With his lips practically vacuum-sealed to the side of Eddie’s neck he feels more than hears the sharp intake of breath that the move pulls from Eddie’s lungs. The other hand changes direction, dips lower to wrap around Eddie’s narrow waist. His pinky finger brushes the waistband of Eddie’s jeans where they rest low on his hips, and Steve dares to dip it under the fabric. Eddie twitches in his grasp, a quiet fuck, Steve interrupting his steady stream of panting breaths, and it spurs Steve on further, wiggling his hand under the fabric until he’s cupping the meat of Eddie’s ass cheek in one broad palm.

“Oh, shit, Steve.” Eddie whines, hips jerking forward until his cock meets the firm resistance of Steve’s thigh, and then he pulls away, pushing his ass back into Steve’s grip. Then forward again, and back, grinding messily into Steve, whimpers pouring from his lips. It’s not doing much for Steve physically - Eddie’s thigh is just a bit too narrow where it presses against Steve’s dick with every thrust, and the angle isn’t great. But the feeling of Eddie’s ass in his hand, Eddie’s cock dragging desperately against him, the sound of his panting and whining and moaning, it’s lighting a goddamn inferno inside him.

Steve can’t see him, though, not with Eddie’s face pressed so tightly into Steve’s shoulder, so he drags his left hand away from where it’s been steadily rubbing Eddie’s nipple to lace his fingers into the sweaty curls at the nape of Eddie’s neck. He only tugs a little, just trying to pull Eddie’s head back enough to see him - because fuck, does he need to see him - but the next thing he knows, Eddie sinks his teeth into Steve’s shoulder, hard, the bite stinging even through the cotton barrier of his shirt, and his whole body goes tense, and -

Oh.

Eddie slows the grinding against Steve’s leg, and Steve notices absently that the drag feels different, a little damp. He looks down and almost swallows his tongue to see the sizeable wet spot darkening Eddie’s pants, just barely visible in the light of the street lamp, and holy shit, did he -

“Eddie, fuck, did you just -”

Eddie finally releases Steve’s shoulder from between his teeth, pulls his head back slowly, and Steve’s eyes are glued to the thin strings of spit that stretch through the space between Eddie’s lips and his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie gasps, voice absolutely fucked, and the strings snap, “I couldn’t help it, ‘m sorry.” He’s squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunched in embarrassment, but he’s still grinding against Steve, movements slow and twitchy like it’s too much but he just can’t stop. It makes Steve want to swallow him whole.

“Holy shit, Eds, that’s so hot. Fuck, can you do it again?” Steve asks, practically begging, but if they’re really doing this - and by god are they doing this, then he’s gonna need to see it. To see what Eddie looks like when he comes, when Steve makes him come.

Eddie nods frantically, hair bouncing wildly around his face, and a laugh bubbles from Steve’s chest. He tugs his hand out of the back of Eddie’s pants to cup both of his cheeks, pulls him into a kiss. Kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, can’t be bothered to come up for air because he’s got Eddie’s breath shuddering through into his own mouth and that will work just fine, thank you very much. Eddie starts to sag after a minute, though, bearing more of his weight against Steve’s thigh, and shit, Eddie needs to get off his feet.

“Here, hang on, let me -” Steve wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist, holds him steady while he bends down to pick the van keys up off the ground. He fumbles with the lock, hand shaking from adrenaline and excitement. He feels like he could run a marathon, or climb a mountain, or fight a fucking rabid tiger with his bare hands and win. But he gets to fuck Eddie, like, right now, and that’s better than any of those things.

He finally wrenches the door open and Eddie falls into the back of the van. He looks unreal, like a fucking painting, all pink cheeks and wide eyes and dark curls, even against a backdrop of rumpled clothes and loose papers and guitar equipment. He pushes himself up on his elbows, then his palms. Rests his weight against one hand and uses the other to shove a box of books and figurines to the side, then wraps his fingers around the front of Steve’s shirt collar and drags him down on top of him.

He’s the one with his hands on Steve’s ass, now, mutters under his breath fucking hell, Stevie and should be illegal, having an ass this nice. His fingers dig roughly into the flesh, but the sting of it feels so good, sending what very little blood remains in his head directly to his cock. He’s so hard already, maybe the hardest he’s ever been, and he’s sure Eddie can feel it. He’s pulling Steve down hard, shifting until the angle’s right and their cocks are lined up perfectly. He’s lifting his hips up to meet Steve’s, just to press that little bit more, but there’s moonlight spilling in from the side window and Steve can see Eddie’s face twisting up, in pleasure, yes, but also pain. It has to hurt - Eddie literally just came less than two minutes ago, but he won’t stop, just keeps rutting against Steve, writhing around from the overstimulation.

“Eddie. Eddie.” Steve braces his palms against the van floor and pushes himself up, off of Eddie. Eddie’s eyes open slowly, and Steve’s fucking spellbound by the look that Eddie gives him, turned on and annoyed in perfect balance.

“Eddie, slow down.” Steve chastises gently, dropping his head just enough to plant a sweet, close-mouthed kiss on Eddie’s lips. Eddie rolls his eyes, huffs out an annoyed little breath, but he drops his hips back to the ground.

“Can you at least turn the AC on, Rodriguez? It’s a thousand-fucking-degrees in here.” Eddie asks, and he’s not wrong. They didn’t leave the windows cracked before they went inside, and the air’s sweltering and stale - Steve’s already got a pool of sweat sticking to the back of his shirt. He dutifully climbs over Eddie and reaches for the ignition. The cassette player starts up as soon as he turns the key, Steve’s Springsteen tape, and he moves for the glove box.

“Hang on, I can change it -”

“Don’t.” Eddie says, and Steve does a double take. Eddie has all sorts of tapes in there, Metallica and Slayer and Black Sabbath and a whole slew of others that Steve couldn’t name. Surely he doesn’t want -

“It’s - you can leave it. Really.”

“You sure?” Steve asks, and Eddie presses his lips together, nods.

“Okay,” Steve agrees, double checking to make sure the AC is on the highest setting before moving back to Eddie, “I mean, it’s no Journey, but -” he jokes, and Eddie snorts, pinching at his side.

Steve slowly lowers his body back to Eddie’s. He pushes a stray curl off of Eddie’s forehead, tucks it behind his ear, then bends down to ghost his lips over the side of Eddie’s face, across his temple, his cheek, bypassing his lips altogether to kiss over his chin. There’s the slightest scratch of stubble, barely there, but it buzzes against Steve’s lips, makes him feel a little like he’s being electrocuted, but in a good way. He follows the feeling down, bites gently on the bump of Eddie’s Adam’s apple just to hear the sharp hitch of his breath. He moves further, shifting his body down to compensate for the movement, and he can feel Eddie’s dick, already hard again, press against his stomach. He chooses to ignore it for now - all in good time - in favor of finally getting Eddie’s clothes off. He quickly loses his own shirt, desperate to feel Eddie’s skin against his. He tugs at the hem of Eddie’s shirt and Eddie follows, lifting his right arm up for Steve to lift the fabric off and over his head, sliding it down the length of his left arm and then tossing it blindly over his shoulder. 

There’s so much of Eddie in front of him now, all pale skin and dark tattoos and shiny, purple-pink scars. Steve sucks a kiss into Eddie’s collarbone, fits his teeth around the curve of it just for fun, and oh, Eddie must like that, if the strangled moan and twitch of his hips are anything to go by. Steve should’ve known that Eddie would be into biting, honestly, the feral motherfucker that he is. After all, he has a rapidly-developing double crescent of bruises on his own shoulder as proof.

He keeps going, reluctantly releasing Eddie’s collarbone to alternate between deep, wet kisses and sharp bites to the skin of his chest. He covers one side, then the other, stopping to drag the flat of his tongue over Eddie’s nipple. Eddie’s hand tightens in his hair at that, the rings snagging painfully in the strands, and Steve’s eyes nearly roll back into his head at the feeling. He meets the edge of a scar and follows the line of it, traces his fingers over what his mouth can’t cover. Eddie’s squirming beneath him, breathing out a litany of curses interspersed with Steve’s name, but he falls silent when Steve’s hands reach the button of his jeans.

Steve looks up, up, up the plane of Eddie’s body, past the scars and tattoos and bite marks and bruises and up to Eddie’s face, where his eyes are so wide, his lips barely parted.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, not willing to move a muscle until he has permission, and Eddie’s eyes flutter shut.

“Please, please, please.” He begs, hands slipping from Steve’s hair to his own waistband, fingers tangling with Steve’s as he fumbles at the button. Steve bats his hands out of the way, slips them undone with one quick movement. He feels his heartbeat pick up, swallows down a hysterical sort of laugh at the realization that this is it. He’s about to see Eddie’s cock, right here, at this exact moment. It feels a bit like the point of no return - which is stupid, because he’s been swapping spit and grinding against Eddie for the better part of a half hour - but where he might have expected fear or regret there’s only anticipation. He takes a deep breath, wraps his fingers around Eddie’s jeans and boxers, and tugs them both down in one smooth motion.

It’s -

Holy fuck.

It’s a cock, obviously, which is to be expected, but Steve didn’t know it would be like this. It’s pretty, which is probably not a word he should use to describe a guy’s dick, but it is. Flushed so pink, covered in Eddie’s come and still leaking more from the tip, shining as it beads out and starts dripping slowly down the side. The part of his scent that’s just Eddie is so much stronger here, and it makes Steve feel a little lightheaded. He reaches forward without thinking, wraps his fingers around the length of it, and Eddie fucking squeaks, arm flying out and knocking into one of his amps.

“Oh, fuck.” He gasps, and Steve’s cock throbs painfully at the desperation in his voice. This is Eddie’s first time, no one’s ever touched him like this before, no one but Steve. He doesn’t know how, doesn’t know why, but he’s the one Eddie is trusting to do this for him, to do this with him.

He’s hit with a sudden pang of sadness.

“Wish we had a bed.” He quips, only half-joking, as he starts to move, sliding his hand up and down the length of Eddie’s cock.

“Bed, shmed.” Eddie pants.

“I’m serious. You deserve it, all of it. A bed, and the goose pillows, and like -” Steve pauses, picturing it in his mind, “- flowers.”

Eddie swallows, waves a lazy hand in the direction of the back doors.

“There’s a bush outside, that basically counts.”

Steve hums thoughtfully, squeezes a little tighter on the upstroke, “Not what you deserve, though. It should be perfect.”

“Yeah, well, you’re here, so -”

“So?”

“- so, s’pretty perfect to me.”

Steve’s hand slows to a stop, and he hold’s Eddie’s gaze, watches as Eddie twists his mouth anxiously, like he knows he’s shown his hand. Steve feels something bloom in his chest, something that feels dangerously close to love. He surges up, presses his mouth to Eddie’s and tries to pour everything he’s feeling into the kiss. He can’t stop, doesn’t ever want to stop kissing Eddie, but the steady stream of precome leaking from Eddie’s cock is smearing against Steve’s hip, and the only thing Steve wants to do more than kiss Eddie forever is to see him come undone. There’s a little pop between their lips when they separate, and Eddie frowns as Steve moves back.

“You’re distracting me.” Steve explains, and Eddie’s frown deepens.

“From what?”

Steve smiles.

“This.”

He dips down without warning and wraps his lips around the head of Eddie’s cock. He has one hand braced against Eddie’s hip for balance, which is a stroke of dumb fucking luck because Eddie’s hips buck so violently that the van creaks beneath them.

“Christ!” He shouts, quickly devolving into choked-off moans and gasps. It’s pretty flattering, honestly, because Steve’s not exactly pulling out all the stops here. He knows the logistics, has been on the receiving end often enough to have a general idea of what to do, but it’s still uncharted territory. He’s so wet already, so much precome pouring out of his cock that Steve’ll be surprised if there’s anything left when he actually comes. He sucks gently on the tip for a few moments, uses his hand to work the rest of his length. And the taste isn’t, like, great, objectively speaking, but something about the knowledge of it being Eddie, of it being because of Steve, is actively rewiring his fucking brain, making him dip his tongue into the slit, desperate to taste more. Eddie’s shaking beneath him, whimpering out oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck as his hands flex uselessly at his sides, and Steve closes his eyes, lets the sounds Eddie’s making fill his head. Steve holds Eddie’s cock in his hand, pulls off to drop soft, wet kisses down the length of it. Then he presses his tongue to the thick vein underneath and licks it, base to tip, and Eddie cries out -

“Stop, stop!”

Steve pulls off immediately, terror creeping into his gut, but Eddie just reaches out a trembling hand to cup Steve’s cheek.

“Steve, Stevie, need it. Need you to fuck me, now, please -” He begs, and Steve cups the hand on his face with his own, fits the bumps of Eddie’s knuckles under his fingers and turns to press a kiss into his palm.

“Okay, okay. What’s the over-under on you having lube back here?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “The what-what?”

“The - lube, do you -”

“No, no, it’s -” Eddie shakes his head, “- don’t need it.”

And then Eddie’s grabs Steve’s hand, draws it back to press between his cheeks, fits Steve’s fingers over his hole, and fuck. It’s hot, and slick, and Steve is hit with the realization that Eddie planned for this, that before he’d picked them up Eddie had been in his trailer, in his room, with one-two-three fingers buried inside his ass, stretching himself out. The realization that the entire drive down he’d been sitting a foot away from Steve, asshole slick with lube. The realization that this could have been for someone else, anyone else.

Jealousy consumes him, white hot. Some sort of sound escapes from his throat before he can stop it, not a growl but something close, and he presses forward, just one finger. It slides in with no resistance. Eddie’s so slick here too, inside, so hot, and Steve pulls his finger out, adds another when he pushes inside again. He drops his head to take Eddie’s cock into his mouth, desperate for as much of Eddie as he can have. He only takes him about halfway down, careful not to overdo it on his first time, and he’s more focused on working Eddie open, on making sure he’s relaxed enough, making sure he’s ready.

“Fuck, Steve, so good, feels so fucking good, oh shit -” Eddie’s hands are twitching in his hair, and he keeps making these little aborted movements, torn between pressing up into Steve’s mouth and down against his fingers, “Jesus Christ, your fingers are - so big, so - shit!”

And oh, that might be a problem.

Because Steve has pretty normal-sized hands, in his opinion. Normal-sized hands, with normal-sized fingers.

His dick, on the other hand -

Two fingers quickly turn to three (and how could they not, with Eddie begging so sweetly?), and Steve’s sort of floating in some place that might be heaven, mouth full of Eddie’s cock and fingers buried in Eddie’s ass, twisting and spreading until -

“Fuck!”

His fingers nudge something, almost like a little bump inside Eddie, and Steve’s a little shocked because none of the girls - ‘ none,’ like he’s fucked more than two girls in the ass ever - have reacted like that. But Eddie damn near rips the hair clean out of his scalp and almost breaks Steve’s nose with his knee when he jerks, so Steve thinks it’s safe to assume he’s doing something right. He moves his fingers again, looking for that little bump, and then he finds it. Brushes against it again, and again, and when he looks up Eddie’s in tears.

“Make me come, please, Steve, fuck -”

Steve wraps his free hand around Eddie’s cock, pulls his mouth off just enough to say, “yeah, fuck, Eds, c’mon, come for me, wanna see it -”

Eddie’s ass squeezes so tight around his fingers that they’re almost pushed out, and Steve has enough forethought to wrap his lips around the head of Eddie’s cock just as he starts to come, the taste of him flooding Steve’s mouth. And Steve hasn’t come in his pants in years, not since he was practically a virgin himself, but it’s a damn close call. Eddie’s whole body is shaking, little hiccupping sobs escaping from his mouth, and Steve stills the fingers inside him, holds Eddie’s cock between his lips until the last spurt of come hits his tongue. Then he pulls off, slips his fingers free as gently as he can, and moves back up the length of Eddie’s body, covering him with kisses as he goes.

“Felt so good, feels so good, I didn’t - didn’t know it could feel like this.” Eddie says between gasping breaths, and Steve shushes him softly, wipes the tear tracks on his cheeks away with the pads of his thumbs. He kind of wants to crack his own ribcage open, wants to pull out everything that’s inside and offer it up to Eddie, whatever he wants. Wants to give Eddie everything. His body, his heart, all of it.

He keeps kissing Eddie while he works his own jeans off, and Eddie’s trying to help but his hands won’t stop shaking. They manage eventually, between the two of them, and then Steve’s boxers are next. When Eddie finally catches a glimpse of Steve’s cock he lets out a watery laugh.

“What the fuck, Steve?”

Steve just rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, doesn’t really know what to say. What, this old thing? Nah, it’s nothing, I’ve had it for years.

“Well, we had a good run, but, uh, there’s not a goddamn chance that thing is fitting inside me, so -”

Steve’s heart drops. He knows he’s big, okay, that’s not really a shock. But, he’d still been hoping -

“Steve? Steve, oh my god. I’m joking. God, don’t ever make that face again, my heart can’t take it.”

“It’s your first time, we don’t -”

“Steve, I swear to god, if you don’t get inside me in the next ten seconds I’m gonna collapse in on myself like a dying star.”

“We really don’t have to, I know it’s -”

Eddie grabs his face in both hands, squeezes so tightly that Steve can feel his cheeks squishing together, his lips puckering like a fish.

“Steve. Fuck. Me. Now.”

Eddie’s looking at him, really looking at him, and even though his eyes are still glassy with tears, Steve can see the fire inside them, the determination. 

Shit. Shit, okay.

Steve spits wetly into his hand, reaches down and spreads it over the length of his dick, hips twitching from the contact. He’s so worked up, shit, but he’ll die before he comes too soon. No, it’s Eddie’s first time, and Steve’s gonna do it right.

“Steve? Just - just go slow, okay? No one’s ever -” Eddie trails off, and a bead of precome rolls down Steve’s knuckles, his cock pulsing in his hands at Eddie’s words, at the reminder. He catches Eddie’s eye, and the little fucker is smirking.

“Oh, you’re evil, Munson.”

Eddie pouts, shakes his head.

“Not Munson. Eddie.”

“Eddie.” Steve whispers, reverent, as he slides in. Just the tip, because he’s going slow, and it’s like the air is punched out of his lungs. Eddie’s so hot, and even with Eddie’s fingers and Steve’s working to stretch him out he’s still so tight. Steve can’t fucking breathe. Eddie’s eyes widen and Steve watches his face carefully, reads pain and pleasure and something that he can only decipher as holy shit before Eddie squeezes his legs around Steve’s waist, so tight that Steve can’t move at all.

“Wait. I know I was being an asshole when I told you to go slow earlier, but - Jesus Christ, you’re gonna split me in half with this thing.”

“I’ll go slow.”

“S-slow, please.” Eddie echoes.

Contrary to his words, Steve doesn’t move at all. Won’t move until Eddie’s lip isn’t curled in pain and his fingers loosen their iron grip on the skin of Steve’s back. It takes a minute, a minute that Steve fills with murmured praise, things like so beautiful, and doing so well, and can’t believe I get to do this with you, and perfect, Eddie, you’re perfect. The last one seems to hit a bit harder than the others, and Eddie chokes out a broken sob before he throws an arm around Steve’s neck and pulls him down until they’re chest to chest, until he can bury his face in the juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder. The force of his movement makes Steve’s cock slide another inch deeper, and Steve opens his mouth to apologize but Eddie just lets out a little oh. And then, like a dam breaking, he’s tilting his hips up to take Steve deeper, deeper, and then Steve’s hips are flush against Eddie’s and he’s as far as he can go into the all-encompassing heat of Eddie’s body.

It’s almost too much - the feeling of Eddie so tight around him, the way Eddie’s nails are biting into his shoulder blades, the smell of Eddie’s hair as it brushes against his nose, and Steve finds himself biting back tears. He wants to move, wants it so much he can hardly bear it, but even more than that he wants to make this perfect for Eddie, to be exactly what he needs.

So he waits, loses himself in the feeling of Eddie’s walls fluttering around him as he adjusts to the intrusion, and bides his time by pressing kiss after kiss into the sweaty skin of Eddie’s neck. He doesn’t even know which hickey doesn’t belong to him, can’t find it in himself to care when it’s surrounded by a dozen more, ones that Steve put there, that Eddie let him give. He adds another, just because he can, gently tugs the thin skin between his teeth and bites, feels the way Eddie’s nails tighten on his back in return.

Finally, after thirty seconds and also an eternity, Eddie uses the hand in Steve’s hair to pull him back gently. His bangs are sticking to his forehead, eyes red-rimmed and pupils blown, his lips kiss-swollen.

He’s beautiful.

“You can - you can move. Please.” And fuck, it’s that word. Hearing stubborn, bull-headed, rebellious Eddie offer it up to him so easily, so sweetly. It’s going to be the death of him, Steve’s convinced. And Steve lives only to do Eddie’s bidding from now on and until the end of time, so he follows Eddie’s command, makes sure to draw back slowly, just like he promised, and pulls Eddie into another kiss as he goes. When he pushes back in, just as carefully, Eddie breaks the kiss with a curse, his nails carving in harsh lines down the planes of Steve’s back. Steve feels almost dizzy with the knowledge that they’ll be deep, they’ll last at least a week, long enough that he could drive back down here to Indy and get them tattooed, could keep this part of Eddie with him forever.

It doesn’t seem to feel any less intense for Eddie, even as Steve starts up a steady pace. He’s making so much noise, panting and whimpering and cursing, and Steve can feel him tightening arrhythmically around his cock, like his body can’t make sense of what’s happening. He tries to soothe him, peppers his brow with sweet kisses and uses his free hand to pet at his hip, but Eddie’s too far gone, lost completely in a haze of overwhelming pleasure. Steve watches, amazed, as Eddie’s cock starts to harden against his thigh. He reaches out to grab it and Eddie lets out another sob, sounds so fucking wrecked. He’s sensitive, Steve’s sure, being two orgasms deep, so Steve sticks to brushing his fingers up and down the length of him, not so much stroking his cock as just spreading his precome, more focused on the way Eddie’s hips are rocking up to meet his. Eddie reaches down suddenly, fumbles for a moment before slipping his hand between his legs, feeling around for the place where their bodies meet. Steve pulls out slowly, lets Eddie drag his fingers across the length of Steve’s cock as it leaves his body.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh -” Eddie pulls his hand back, drags Steve into something that he can’t even call a kiss, really just a clash of teeth and tongue. Eddie licks into Steve’s mouth like he’s gonna die without it, and then he sinks his teeth into the plush of Steve’s bottom lip, and comes.

It’s just as much of a surprise to Eddie as it is to Steve. Eddie’s eyes fly open, and he can’t catch his breath, gasping desperately as his ass tightens around Steve’s length, as his cock twitches weakly and offers up just one small pulse of come. It pulls Steve over the edge, so quick and forceful that he barely realizes what’s happening. He drives his hips into Eddie, pushes in as deep as Eddie’s body will take him, and starts to come, spilling out rope after rope of come inside Eddie’s tight, wet heat, and Eddie drops Steve’s lip to cry out.

He stays inside, after. Just for a minute, while he tries to slow his heartbeat back to something close to normal. And Eddie doesn’t seem to be in any hurry, one hand smoothing over the back of Steve’s head and the other over the curve of his ass. He’s murmuring something, and once the blood stops rushing in Steve’s ears he can decipher some of it, hears so good, Steve, you did so good. Hears better than I ever could have hoped for. Hears only ever wanted it with you, and has to bury his face in Eddie’s hair before he says something stupid back, something like I’m in love with you and can I do it again? Please let me do it again.

It’s later, when Steve’s finally pulled out and he’s watching, mesmerized, as the come leaks out of Eddie’s ass, that he gets it.

“Oh my god,” He looks up, meets Eddie’s expectant eyes with a grin, “I filled your tank.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion for a moment before his cheeks flood with embarrassment.

“Jesus Christ. Fucking Buckley.”

They do end up getting dressed, eventually. Eddie’s pants are pretty much ruined, but he manages to find a pair of basketball shorts in the clutter that he definitely took from Robin, who definitely took them from Steve. They open the back doors - figure they should probably air out some of the sweat-and-come smell before Robin gets back - and sit on the edge, legs dangling out the back. They share a cigarette as Eddie knocks his shoulder into Steve’s, over and over and over, and Steve doesn’t bother to hide his smile.

Robin comes out of the bar a few minutes later, something that they’re too wrapped up in each other to notice until a shrill whistle gets their attention. Even from across the parking lot and the street they can tell that she’s a mess, all wild hair and inside-out clothes. She gives Steve and Eddie two hearty thumbs up, smile splitting across her face. Eddie looks over and catches Steve’s eye, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before he turns back, throwing two thumbs up in return. Robin freezes, her mouth dropping open in shock. Her eyes shift between Eddie and Steve, back to Eddie, and then she throws her head back, overjoyed, letting out an enthusiastic “whoop whoop!” that echoes in the quiet of the night.