⋆˚꩜｡𝓭𝓳𝓾𝓶𝓶𝔂 🛼⋆.ೃ࿔

Your record player spun in the corner, volume turned down so low it was barely more than a warm hum of bass and soft vocals, the kind of song that made everything feel slower and more intimate. The magazine on your stomach had long since been abandoned. You were stretched out on your bed, one knee bent, the other leg dangling off the side, when you heard it- the faint, deliberate scrape of something against the outside of the windowsill.

Your pulse jumped.

Steve’s face appeared first, half-lit by the golden light. His hair was messy, cheeks flushed from the cool air, and that familiar, trouble-making smile curved his mouth the second he saw you. One leg was already hooked over the frame.

You sat up fast, heart hammering, and pressed a finger hard to your lips.

He froze instantly, eyes flicking toward the door like he could hear your parents too. Then he nodded, mouthing quiet, and began to climb inside with exaggerated care. His boot touched your floor without a sound. The leather of his jacket creaked just once- a soft, rich sound that made you wince- before he stilled again, listening. When nothing from downstairs changed, he carefully reached back and eased the window shut behind him, sealing out the breeze and the risk of any noise escaping.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Hotter.

Steve crossed to you in three silent steps and dropped to his knees beside the bed so you were eye-level. Up close you could smell him — the cool spearmint on his breath, his cologne, and the faint clean scent of whatever soap he’d used that morning. His hand came up to rest on your knee, thumb stroking slow circles through the fabric of your clothes.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice low and rough, barely more than breath. “Parents home?”

You nodded.

His grin turned slow and wicked, eyes darkening as they dropped to your mouth. “Then we really have to be quiet, don’t we?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He rose just enough to kiss you, one hand sliding around the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. The first press of his mouth was soft, careful- a question. The second was deeper, hotter, his tongue brushing yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that made heat bloom low in your belly. You made the smallest sound and he swallowed it immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek like he was both soothing you and reminding you to stay silent.

“Shh,” he breathed against your lips, the word warm and damp. “Can’t let them hear how good I make you feel.”

You nodded, already a little dizzy, and tugged him up onto the bed with you. The mattress dipped under his weight and you both froze, listening to the faint creak of the springs. Downstairs, the TV kept playing. A pan clinked. Safe.

Steve moved over you slowly, deliberately, settling between your thighs like he had all the time in the world. The cool leather of his jacket brushed your arm before he shrugged it off and let it slide to the floor with almost no sound. Then he was braced above you on his forearms, the heat of his body sinking into yours through your clothes. His hair fell forward, soft against your forehead. You could feel the steady thump of his heart where your chests almost touched.

“Missed you so fucking much today,” he whispered right against your mouth, voice low and strained. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this. About you.”

His lips found yours again, slower but deeper, the kiss turning wet and hungry. One of his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, palm hot and a little rough from work as it smoothed up your side. The calluses on his fingers dragged lightly over your skin, raising goosebumps. When his thumb brushed the underside of your breast through your bra, you arched without meaning to. The bed gave the tiniest creak.

Both of you went perfectly still.

Steve’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back to you. He pressed a finger gently to your lips, then replaced it with his mouth, kissing you quiet while his hand kept moving- higher, bolder, slipping fully under your bra to cup you properly. His thumb circled your nipple in a slow, teasing stroke that made your breath catch hard in your throat. You turned your face into the curve of his neck to muffle the soft, desperate sound that tried to escape.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin there. His voice was husky and quiet, every word vibrating through you. “Bite my shoulder if you need to. Just stay quiet for me, baby.”

You nodded against his skin, breathing in the warm, clean scent of him. His hand kept working under your shirt, slow and deliberate, while his hips rolled forward once- just enough for you to feel the hard press of him through his jeans. The friction made your thighs tighten around his waist. The mattress creaked again, louder this time.

You both froze.

Downstairs, footsteps moved across the kitchen. Your mom’s voice called something to your dad. The sound of running water started.

Steve’s forehead dropped to yours. His breathing was harsh and controlled, chest rising and falling against you. After a few long seconds the sounds downstairs settled back into normal.

“Jesus,” he whispered, a shaky, quiet laugh escaping. His hand was still under your shirt, warm and possessive. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

But he didn’t pull away.

Instead his mouth found the side of your throat, open and hot, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. He sucked lightly at the spot where your pulse hammered, then soothed it with his tongue. Every sound you made was muffled against his shoulder or swallowed by his kiss. His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of your bottoms, dipping just beneath to stroke the sensitive skin there. The heat of his palm, the slight roughness of his fingers, the way he touched you like he already knew exactly what you needed- it was killing you in the best way.

You could hear everything so clearly in the quiet room: the wet sound of his mouth on your skin, the soft drag of fabric as his hand moved, the low, constant hum of the record player, your own ragged breathing, the distant clink of dishes downstairs. Every tiny noise felt amplified. This is a dangerous game.

Steve lifted his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, lips red and shiny, hair messy from your fingers. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, gaze dropping to watch the way your mouth parted for him.

“I should go,” he whispered, even as his hips pressed forward again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of how much he wanted this. “Before your dad comes up here.”

But he didn’t move to leave.

His hand stayed under your shirt, fingers still teasing, and his mouth found yours again- deeper, slower, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. The golden light in the room was fading into softer dusk. The house kept moving downstairs. And Steve Harrington was on top of you in your bed, touching you like he couldn’t get enough, whispering filthy, sweet things against your ear every time you had to bite back a sound.

“Love how quiet you’re being,” he breathed, voice wrecked and low. “Such a good girl when you have to be. Think you can stay quiet if I keep going?”

His fingers slipped a little lower, teasing the edge of your underwear now, and your breath hitched hard. He caught the sound with another deep, careful kiss, swallowing it down like he wanted to keep every little noise you made just for himself.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that- tangled, breathing hard, touching each other in the fading light while trying so hard not to make a single sound that would give you away. Every creak of the bed made your heart race. Every time footsteps moved downstairs you both went still, eyes locked, grinning against each other’s mouths even as your hands kept wandering.

Eventually Steve pulled back just enough to look at you properly, cheeks flushed, breathing uneven. He brushed his thumb over your swollen bottom lip and smiled, soft and a little dazed, but the heat in his eyes hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I really should go,” he whispered again. But his hand was still under your shirt, warm and possessive on your skin.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting, that troublemaking spark still bright even as his fingers traced slow, teasing circles just above the waistband of your bottoms.

“We have to be fast,” he’d whispered against your mouth a few minutes ago, even as his hands were already tugging your bottoms and underwear down your thighs. “Your parents are right downstairs. Quick and quiet, okay?”

You’d nodded, already dizzy from the way he was touching you, the way his fingers had slipped between your legs and found you wet and ready. But the second he pushed inside you- slow at first, then deeper with a low, shaky groan he had to bite back- any thought of “quick” started to dissolve.

He felt too good.

Thick and hot and stretching you just right, the drag of him on every thrust sending sparks up your spine. The mattress dipped under his weight as he settled between your thighs, one hand braced by your head, the other gripping your hip to keep you steady. The first few thrusts were careful, controlled, the bed giving tiny, dangerous creaks that made both of you freeze and listen. But then you clenched around him and Steve’s rhythm stuttered. His forehead dropped to yours, breath hot and ragged against your lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You feel so good. I’m trying- trying to be quick, but-”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead he rolled his hips deeper, slower, like he couldn’t help it. The stretch, the fullness, the way he hit that spot inside you on every stroke- it was too much. You bit your lip hard to stay quiet, fingers digging into his shoulders through his sweater. The scent of him filled your nose every time you turned your face into his neck. The wet sound of him moving inside you was filthy in the quiet room, barely covered by the low hum of the record player.

You tried. You really tried to keep it fast. But every time he pulled out and pushed back in, your body arched up to meet him. Your thighs trembled around his waist. Little helpless sounds kept trying to escape your throat and Steve kept kissing them away, swallowing them, whispering against your mouth between thrusts.

“Shh, baby… I know. I know it feels good. Just stay quiet for me- fuck, you’re so wet-”

His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight, perfect circles that made your vision blur. The pleasure built fast and hot, coiling tighter with every careful thrust. You were getting lost in it- the heat of his skin, the way his hair brushed your forehead, the soft grunts he couldn’t quite hold back, the way he kept murmuring how good you felt, how perfect you were, how he didn’t want to stop.

Neither of you heard the footsteps on the stairs until it was too late.

Three sharp knocks on your bedroom door made you both freeze.

Steve went completely still inside you, buried deep, his whole body rigid. Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were sure your mom could hear it through the door.

“Hey, honey?” Your mom’s voice came through, casual and way too close. “Dinner’s almost ready. Come on down, okay?”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out at first. Steve was still inside you, thick and throbbing, and the second you tried to speak he had to bite back a groan because you clenched around him involuntarily. His hand flew up to cover your mouth gently, eyes wide and wild with panic and something mischievous.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice.

“I- I’ll be down in a minute,” you managed, and it came out shakier than you wanted. Breathy. Strained.

Steve’s thumb stroked your cheek soothingly even as his hips gave one tiny, involuntary roll, like he couldn’t stop himself. The movement dragged a spark of pleasure up your spine so sharp you had to squeeze your eyes shut.

“You okay in there?” your mom asked, still right outside the door. “You sound a little off.”

Steve’s hand was still over your mouth. His forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard through his nose. You could feel every inch of him inside you, the way he was fighting not to move, the way his cock twitched when you clenched again without meaning to.

“I’m fine,” you called out, voice trembling. You cleared your throat and tried again, forcing it steadier. “Just… finishing something. Be right there.”

There was a pause. Steve’s hand slipped from your mouth to your throat instead, thumb resting lightly over your pulse like he needed to feel how fast your heart was racing. His eyes were locked on yours- dark, desperate, full of heat and the thrill of almost getting caught.

“Okay,” your mom said finally. “Don’t take too long. Your dad’s already at the table.”

Her footsteps retreated down the stairs.

The second they faded, Steve let out a shaky, quiet laugh against your lips and thrust once- deep and slow- like he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You almost came while she was talking, didn’t you?”

You nodded, biting your lip hard as another roll of his hips made pleasure spark white-hot behind your eyes. He felt even better now, the risk making everything sharper, hotter. He started moving again- still trying to be quiet, still trying to be quick- but the rhythm was losing its control. Every thrust dragged a muffled sound from your throat that he caught with his mouth or his hand.

“I know, I know,” he breathed against your ear, hips snapping a little faster, a little deeper. “Feels too good to stop, huh? You’re squeezing me so tight- fuck-”

The bed creaked. You both froze for half a second, listening. Nothing from downstairs.

Steve’s hand slid back between your legs, rubbing your clit in fast, desperate circles as he fucked you harder, chasing both your releases now that the immediate danger had passed. His breathing was ragged in your ear, voice low and filthy.

“Come on, baby. Come for me. Be quiet- be so fucking quiet-”

The coil inside you snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in a wave so intense you had to turn your face into his shoulder and bite down on the fabric of his sweater to keep from crying out. Your whole body shook. Steve followed right after, burying his face in your neck as he came with a low, broken groan he barely managed to muffle against your skin. You felt every pulse of him inside you, the heat of it, the way his hips kept jerking through it like he didn’t want it to end either.

Neither of you moved. Just breathing hard, hearts pounding, sweat cooling on your skin. Steve was still inside you, softening slowly, his weight warm and heavy on top of you.

He lifted his head, hair messy, cheeks flushed, and gave you a crooked, dazed little smile.

“…We are so bad at being quick,” he whispered.

Downstairs you could hear your mom calling something about the food getting cold.

Steve didn’t pull out right away. He just stayed there, forehead against yours, breathing you in, fingers tracing slow patterns on your hip like he was memorizing the moment.

“Think we can get away with round two after dinner?” he murmured, voice low and teasing, even as he finally, reluctantly, started to ease out of you. “Or are we pushing our luck?”

He looked at you with that spark in his eyes- the one that always meant trouble.

“Sneak back in in an hour.”

You smoothed your clothes one last time in the hallway mirror, trying to look normal. Your legs still felt shaky. Between your thighs, you could feel the warm, sticky evidence of what you and Steve had just done- his cum slowly leaking out of you with every step. You’d wiped yourself as best you could in the bathroom, but it wasn’t enough. Every time you moved, you felt it: wet, warm, and constant. A filthy little secret soaking into your underwear.

You took a breath and walked into the dining room like nothing was wrong.

Your mom was setting down a big bowl of pasta. Your dad was already seated. The smell of garlic bread and sauce filled the room. You had just pulled out your chair when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” your mom said, heading for the front door.

You heard it open. Then her surprised, happy voice:

“Steve! What a nice surprise. Come on in, sweetheart.”

Your stomach dropped.

A moment later Steve stepped into the dining room, smiling that easy, charming smile like he hadn’t just been inside you ten minutes ago. His hair was still a little messy. His cheeks were still faintly pink. But he looked perfectly put-together.

“Hey baby,” he said politely. “Sorry to drop by so late. I was driving by and figured I’d say hi real quick.”

Your mom lit up. “Nonsense, you’re always welcome here. We were just sitting down to eat. Why don’t you stay? There’s plenty of food.”

Steve’s eyes flicked to you for half a second- just long enough for you to catch the dark, knowing spark in them- before he looked back at your mom with that innocent smile.

“I don’t want to intrude-”

“You’re not intruding,” your dad said, already standing to shake his hand. “Sit down, son. Grab a plate.”

Steve sat right next to you.

The second his body was beside yours, the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of sex hit you. You shifted in your seat and felt another slow, warm trickle leak out of you. Your face burned.

Steve reached for the pasta like everything was normal, serving himself while your mom asked him about work and his day. He answered easily, all charm and politeness, one hand resting on the table.

His other hand dropped beneath it.

Fingers brushed your knee first. Light. Casual. Then they slid higher, settling on your thigh with a gentle squeeze. His palm was warm through your clothes. He didn’t move it right away- just let it rest there, heavy and possessive, while he took a bite of garlic bread and nodded at something your mom said.

You tried to eat. Tried to focus on your plate. But every time you shifted, you felt the mess between your legs. And Steve’s hand stayed exactly where it was on your inner thigh.

After a minute, his thumb started moving. Slow, lazy strokes along the side of your thigh. Gentle. Soothing. Almost innocent. But every pass of his thumb felt like a reminder of what he’d done to you. What was still happening inside you.

You shot him a desperate look.

Steve didn’t even glance your way. He just smiled at your mom, answered a question about his car, and let his hand squeeze your thigh again- firmer this time. His fingers spread wide, covering more of your leg, thumb still tracing those slow, deliberate circles.

“Long day?” he asked you suddenly, turning to look at you with that same easy expression. His eyes were darker up close. “You look a little flushed.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out right away. His hand gave your thigh another slow squeeze.

“I’m fine,” you managed. “Just tired.”

Your mom glanced at you, concerned. “You sure, honey? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Before you could answer, Steve leaned across you to reach for the salt shaker. As he did, he murmured low enough that only you could hear:

“Still leaking, aren’t you?”

His hand never left you. If anything, it slid a little higher, fingers pressing into the soft muscle there with just enough pressure to make your breath catch. He sat back in his chair like nothing had happened, sprinkling cheese on his pasta and joining the conversation again like he wasn’t currently driving you insane under the table.

You could feel everything.

The slow, steady leak of his cum every time you moved. The heat of his palm burning through your clothes. The way his thumb kept stroking, slow and rhythmic, like he was calming you down and teasing you at the same time. Your body was still sensitive from earlier- every brush of his fingers made your stomach tighten.

Steve took another bite of pasta, chewed, and smiled at your dad like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

The rest of dinner passed in a haze of tension. Steve was the picture of politeness- charming your parents, laughing at your dad’s jokes, complimenting the food. It was getting harder and harder to act normal when every time he leaned close to grab something, he’d murmur something filthy just for you.

“Bet you’re still so full of me.”

“Can’t stop thinking about how wet you were when I pushed inside you.”

“Gonna be leaking for hours, baby.”

You were squirming by the time your mom brought out dessert. Steve stayed for one slice, then stood to help clear the table. In the kitchen, while your parents were distracted in the living room, he caught you by the waist and pulled you in for a quick, deep kiss- his tongue sliding against yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck like he wanted to keep you there.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your mouth when he finally pulled back. “This is torture. Sitting there hard as a rock knowing what’s inside you.”

He kissed you once more, fast and filthy, then let go just as footsteps approached.

At the front door, the goodbyes were normal. Your mom hugged him. Your dad shook his hand. Steve turned to you last, pulling you into a soft hug that looked innocent from the outside.

But his mouth brushed your ear.

“Leave the window unlocked,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “I’m coming back in an hour. Be ready for me.”

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

You helped finish cleaning up on shaky legs, the mess between your thighs a constant, sticky reminder. Your parents went to bed eventually, the house going quiet. You lay in your room in the dark, heart pounding, window cracked open just enough.

When the hour passed, you heard it- the familiar soft scrape against the windowsill.

Steve climbed in, quieter this time, boots hitting the floor without a sound. The second he was inside, he was crossing the room to you, pulling you into a kiss that was all heat and relief. His hands were already pushing your clothes off, his own following, until he was settling between your thighs again, hard and ready.

This time there was no desperate rush to finish before someone knocked. He took his time- slow, deep thrusts that made the bed creak softly and both of you freeze every few minutes to listen. But the house stayed silent. Your parents were asleep. And Steve was inside you again, thick and hot, stretching you perfectly, his mouth on your neck, your shoulder, swallowing every sound you made.

“Missed this,” he breathed against your ear, hips rolling steady and deep. “Missed you. Fuck, you feel so good- still so wet for me. Such a good girl.”

You came first, face buried in his shoulder to muffle the moan, body shaking around him. Steve followed soon after, groaning low into your neck as he pulsed inside you, hips jerking through it like he couldn’t bear to pull out.

Afterward, he stayed for a while- forehead against yours, fingers tracing your skin, both of you breathing in the quiet dark.

“Next time,” he whispered eventually, voice soft and satisfied, “we’re doing this when they’re out of town. I want to hear every sound you make.”

He cleaned you up gently with his shirt, kissed you slow and sweet, then dressed and climbed back out the window with one last troublemaking grin.

“Lock it behind me. And call me when you wake up. Wanna know you’re still feeling me.”

The window shut. The night settled.

You lay there in the dark, body warm and aching in the best way, the faint scent of him on your sheets, the secret of what you’d done still humming under your skin.

And somewhere down the street, Steve was driving home already planning the next time he’d find his way back through your window.

Thank God you’re all the way out instead of back at camp where your middle school-age campers are tucked away, sleeping in their cabins on the hill.

At Camp Woodwick, the last night of their month-long summer session always ends on the Fourth of July. Which is tonight. And on the last night, the counselors don’t have a curfew, so the whole lot of you can pitch tents down by the lake and watch the fireworks show. 

It was fun for awhile, but after a handful of lackluster campfire stories and couple burnt marshmallows, Steve announced he was going to bed. The guys complained, begging him to light some fireworks with them, but he said he was going to turn in anyway. 

Right after his eyes caught yours. 

You excused yourself shortly after him, not even really sure why. And as you changed into your sleep shorts and a t-shirt, and settled into your sleeping bag, you blamed your sour mood on the heat and the bugs.

Assuring yourself that it had nothing to do with the fact that you and Steve Harrington have been at each other’s throats for weeks.

Tonight is is counselor’s night out! It’s supposed to be a fun end-of-the-summer bash for all the adults who were paid a few grand to babysit. It’s the night everyone looks forward to the most. 

You should be having fun—being young. Whatever that means. 

At some point between the whole saving-the-world-and-barely-escaping-with-your-life-thing, you became somewhat of a stranger to that idea. Your life had been, for lack of a better term, flipped upside down. 

Steve groans again. Hot embers flare to life in your core, stirred up by the sound of his thready voice. So low and breathless. 

He has to shut up. What is he thinking, jerking off like this with people nearby?

Granted, your tents are the furthest away from everyone else’s, and no one has really gone to bed yet. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. But between the sticky humid air clinging to your skin, and the sharp whistles from exploding fireworks, when Steve moans softly again you finally just…snap. 

Ripping the blankets off yourself, you rustle around your tent for your flashlight, grumbling and muttering in the dark.

God, you have to do everything yourself, don’t you? 

You wince as your tent opens with a loud zip that punctuates the darkness surrounding you. Peeking over your shoulder, you can see the smoke from the campfire in the distance, curling up towards the stars. A few of your fellow counselors are still lounging around the fire, but most of them are small shadows dotting the lake’s edge. 

Steve pitched his orange tent under a tree. 

Stupid. 

Doesn’t he know that the roots will mess the tent stakes up? You’re surprised he could even get them in the ground. Honestly, it will probably fall down on him tonight. 

You hope it does. 

His tent is dark and quiet, but you march over anyway, flashlight raised so the beam falls straight on him when you turn it on. 

You yank on his tent’s zipper. It gives easily. A muffled curse comes from inside, and you click on the flashlight to reveal Steve lying on his side, bare chest rising and falling as he squints into the bright beam.

“God, you never could stay quiet, could you?” You say, bullying your way through the tent flap and zipping it back up behind you. 

Steve scrambles to throw his sleeping bag over himself, but it does practically nothing to hide his raging boner underneath. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He snaps, glaring up at you. 

Despite yourself, your eyes catch on a delicious bicep, and his muscled shoulder in the shine of your flashlight. That chest hair has taunted you all summer long. It’s been torturous pretending you didn’t know what it felt like against your bare breasts, against your back...

You clear your throat. “I just thought I’d let you know the whole camp can hear you jerking off.”

“What? I’m not—Jesus.” His big hand drags down his face, even as he pulls the sleeping bag up higher. “Get out.”

Whoops, there you go again, getting distracted by his hands. 

Maybe you should close your eyes, or turn around—something—because looking at him stretched out in the dark like this is making you think wicked things.

Your lips twist in a mocking smirk, and you gesture down to the sleeping bag. “Oh, c’mon, Steve. Why are you so embarrassed? It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.” 

Lots of times, actually. 

Through the years, you’d been there for everything—watched him get captured, tortured, and sacrificed for others. But after it was all over, and the dust settled, you fell into each other a different way. 

Because it wasn’t the days plagued with Demogorgons, evil Russians, or even Vecna that were the worst.

It was the days that followed.

The hollow darkness you experienced as the world kept moving on, oblivious to the memories that plagued you both. You had to learn how to live normally again, and something about that was both relieving and excruciatingly lonely at the same time.

The nightmares had a way of sticking to you like blood you couldn’t get off no matter how many times you scrubbed yourself raw in the shower. 

It was in those shaky, sweaty, middle-of-the-night fever dreams that you and Steve found solace in each other. Because when it all became a bit too much, you could dig your nails into someone else’s skin, feel a slick, hot mouth against yours—ground yourself in something intrinsically human just to prove that after everything, you still are.

But all that came to a screeching halt last summer. 

“Okay,” Steve sighs, shifting a little and squinting up at you. “Let’s say that I was. You wanted to come over and…cockblock me? From myself? And turn that thing off unless you want everyone to see two silhouettes in here.”

You click the flashlight off immediately, plunging you both into darkness. 

Maybe you should rescind your previous statement. Because now, without being able to see him, his proximity is somehow affecting you even more. 

You can hear his soft breaths, smell the lake water on his skin. And underneath it all, the familiar sounds and scents of him that opens a gaping hole of nostalgia in the pit of your stomach. 

You try to laugh, but it comes out cold. “You think I give a fuck if you’re rubbing one out, Harrington? No. I came over here because you’re fucking whimpering and moaning—”

“—I was not whimpering.” 

“—and you’re incapable of keeping quiet—yes, you were, and I was getting sick of hearing it. So, either do it quieter, or find someone to cover your fucking mouth.”

As you were talking, your vision adjusted to the darkness. Which is a very bad thing, because now you can see him again. Specifically the outline of his mussed hair as he lifts his chin to meet your gaze. 

“You offering?”

Your breath catches.

You should say no. You should tell him to go fuck himself—literally— and leave right now. He can let the whole camp hear him for all you care. 

But instead, you hesitate. 

Now, Steve is smart. Smarter than he gives himself credit for, that’s for sure. And there are certain patterns he’s picked up on with you over the years. Like, when you pause like that, the answer is almost always a yes. 

Which is why the second you go quiet, and the distant laughter of the other counselors fills the space between you, he’s already batting the sleeping bag off his lap. 

“I knew it,” he says. The fabric slips off him just as a firework bursts overhead, and your eyes drag over his body. The lean, tan muscle from all his time outside this summer, down to his long, hard cock jerking against his happy trail. “You’re so busy acting like you hate me, wanting to play this game where we bitch at each other all summer, and now you’re making up excuses to come into my tent—”

“Oh, trust me,” you scoff, tearing your eyes away to meet his again. “It’s not an excuse.”

“No?” he says softly, leaning back on one arm and gesturing at his body with the other. “Then, prove it.”

“Fine, but I’m only staying to keep you quiet,” you warn him, pinning him with a harsh look. 

“Sure. Whatever,” Steve rasps, watching as you drop to your knees beside him. 

Your fingers curl into his sleeping bag beside his shoulder, but you’re careful not to touch him. 

He wishes you would. 

You gesture impatiently at him, your hand a shadowy blur in the dark. “Go ahead and get it over with. I’m not sitting here all night. God.”

Steve rushes to obey, and when wraps his hand around his cock again, the rush is so intense it’s almost painful. The way you’re sitting there just watching him is making his head feel fuzzy, and his dick swell.

And look at you—pretending to not be affected in the slightest watching the flushed head poke out of his fist over and over as he jerks off in front of you. God, you turn him on so fucking much. 

Steve heaves a stuttering breath, and his head drops back onto the ground as the pleasure pools in his gut. He thinks he’s doing a good job being quiet. But he can’t smother the moan that escapes him the second your warm hand brushes his shoulder.

“Steve,” you hiss, warning lacing your voice. 

“Shut me up, then. Goddamn.” He groans, his cock twitching in his palm. “What are you even here for? I could do this myself—” At that moment, your hand finds his chest and, well, your fingers might as well be a defibrillator. His hips jerk, mouth dropping open in pleasure. “—oh, fuck yeah.”

Your touch is heaven. His eyelids threaten to shut as your fingers brush through his chest hair, over his ribs— so sure, and steady, soothing and warm. Like his flesh and bone is a map you know by heart. 

He’s panting, desperate not to make a sound and give you a reason to take your hand away while your palm trails lower.

He raises his chin to catch a glimpse of your profile as the fireworks crack in the sky, raining down in bright fizzling pops that he feels in his chest. 

Honestly, he should’ve known this is how the summer would end with you. 

He’s known it, and yet, he’s run from it. 

Because the last time he had you…God, he’s been such an idiot. 

Last summer, when you came home from college for break, he’d been sitting on your doorstep. A silent understanding passed between you two, and then you’d grabbed his hand and taken him up to your room.

Afterwards, you were laying under him, sweaty and warm, eyes glowing with…with something that made his heart tug painfully. And suddenly, it all got to be too much. 

He’d been craving you all semester. As if you were a long drag from a cigarette. And that gnawing ache didn’t surface with anyone else. Only you. 

His chest swelled up tight, and the bridge of his nose started to burn, and he realized… he was scared. 

Terrified, actually. 

Because what if the both of you reaching out for each other was nothing but a trained response, like Pavlov’s dogs or some shit? What if you had built this trauma bond…thing? He wasn’t entirely sure what that even meant, but he knew that no one could know him so intrinsically, so deeply, so invasively and still want him anyway. 

So, Steve proceeded to do the stupidest thing possible by dropping a kiss to your forehead, pulling his clothes back on, and walking out the door. 

He told himself it was for the best. Months after, even though he thought of you constantly, and still woke up slicked in sweat, hands flying to his wounds in the dark, he never called you. 

But when you showed up at Camp Woodwick, looking to earn some cash over the summer, same as him, all the walls he’d built up between him and his past came crashing down. 

So, he pushed you away. For weeks. It was worse than he thought it would be, though. Because when he pushed, you pushed back harder. 

His head swims with the knowledge that after a whole year without you, you’re here. You’re the same. Familiar. The smell of your hair, down to the soft breaths escaping to ur lips. 

He’s still hard as a rock, but his hand isn’t cutting it. Not when what he really wants is right here in front of him.

Steve curses under his breath. “You wanna help me out, sweetheart? Give me that mouth?”

“W-what?” You snort. “You can hardly be quiet with your own hand, Harrington. You think you’re going to survive that?”

“Please? Just lick it. Just the tip.”

“Stop begging. Also, be qu—“

“Right. Right, I’ll be quiet,” Steve grumbles. “Just—if you’re gonna fucking march in here and tell me to do it faster, then the least you could do is help me out.” Another firework squeals, then pops, showering you in gold as you blink down at him.

Boisterous laughs drift over the water, and your eyes flick up instinctively to meet the tent wall before your bottom lip disappears between your teeth. His stomach flips in anticipation. He knows that look. 

“C’mon,” he urges, fighting back a smirk. “You know how I like it, baby.”

Shit. 

Steve knows that pet name has always been your weakness. You’re not sure exactly why. Maybe it’s because it reminded you that on the outside, you were just friends. But in bed…you were his.

You shouldn’t fall for a cheap trick like that. Look at him, biting the corner of his mouth like he’s trying not to smirk. Cocky bastard. 

But, even so, you make the mistake of glancing down his body.

His hand slips away in a silent invitation, revealing his heavy cock jutting out from his soft tummy and you lose the war.

Rocks dig into your knees under the tent floor but you hardly pay them any mind, your clit already throbbing in anticipation of touching him. 

“Fine. But only because it’s faster.” You say.

Your hand curls around him, reveling in the hot, velvety feel of him in your palm. A sound slips from his throat, sudden and unbidden. 

You jerk your head up, and he can’t see your face clearly in the dark, but he knows your body language. The message is solidified when you bring your other hand up to rake through the hair on his chest, digging into his pec in warning. 

Steve’s hand lands on yours, and the warmth seeping through his fingers doesn’t just make your pussy clench, it also makes your nose burn. 

You turn your attention back to stroking him, ignoring the tightness in your lungs. Ignoring the way you’re practically holding hands across his chest.

“God, you’ve been kind of a bitch to me all summer,” Steve grunts, thrusting up into your touch. “You know that?”

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you. “Steve, you can’t call me a bitch at the same time you’re fucking my hand. Either we’re fighting or we’re fucking. Pick one. Jesus.”

“I don’t know.” His head falls back against the ground with a heavy thud. “We’re pretty good at both, apparently. God, your hand feel so g—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hiss.

“Sorry! Sorry.”

Another firework shrieks into the sky, exploding in a loud pop, and showering you both in a flash of red. It lights up Steve’s body, illuminating the scars along his side. Long jagged things, carved deep under his ribs.

You can’t help but remember the panic that seized you when the Demobats descended on him. You’ll never forget the sickening horror that coursed through your body when you looked over to see him pale and shaking, dripping in blood. 

You swallow hard. Then, as if pulled by some invisible string, you lower your head and brush your mouth against his skin. His core muscles flex at the soft glide of your tongue on his belly, but he tenses as your lips trace his scar line.

“Don’t—” he rasps. Suddenly, his hand flies down and tugs your chin away. 

“What?” You whisper against his skin, a little teasing. But when you flick your eyes up to his, he looks away, raking a hand through his hair. Your hand slows around his cock and you frown. A thread of anxiety coils in your gut. 

“What?” you repeat. “I was there, too, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He lets out a short laugh, but the warmth is gone from his voice. “I just—really don’t want to be reminded of that right now.”

You pull back, hands falling away from him instantly. 

Another bottle rocket screams, punctuating the heavy beat of silence that follows. Steve notices the shift in you, the way your body locks up in hesitation. 

Sighing heavily, he raises his palms to his face and digs them into his eyes. 

“Sorry, I’m—that was fucked up. I’m sorry.”

You sit back on your heels, suddenly unsure, and your eyes drop to the ground. 

He combs through his hair again roughly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I was just…there’s a kid here that reminds me of a little Eddie, and the scars—”

You smile softly. “Reed, right? I’ve been thinking the same thing all summer.”

“Every time I see those scars, I think about the bats, and then I think about losing Eddie, and then with you here—” He gestures towards you and he trails off. 

You don’t need him to finish the thought, though. You can see it in the way his chest heaves, and the slight crack in his voice. 

With a sigh, you settle down onto the ground beside him. He shuffles wordlessly, giving you room to lay on the other half of his sleeping bag. 

“It’s okay, Steve. This is how it always was for us. Just—two people trying to get through it, you know? To feel something again.” 

“Oh yeah? Is that all were?” His voice is deeper now. Huskier. It makes a lump build in your throat. “Was that all it was for you?”

You watch the light show fall across the tent ceiling together, muted little orbs glowing through the fabric. 

“No,” you say softly. “But everything hits me at once sometimes, too, you know. And when that happens...fuck, I just need you. And that feeling…” The words fizzle out and fall like the embers in the sky, and your hand reaches up to clutch at your chest—like it would be easier just to rip out your heart and show him.

Steve hesitates, swallowing hard. “It’s not…bad, right? That feeling?” 

“No, Steve. It’s not bad.” 

A quiet moment passes, then he blows out a breath. “At college, they have these therapists. Robin dragged me to a session once, so I went.” You turn your head to look at him, but he keeps his eyes above. “I was scared, like, what if they didn’t believe me, you know? And, well, I’m not sure if Dr. Treya really believes me, but that doesn’t seem to matter much. She treats it all like it’s true, anyway.”

There’s a loud squeal of a bottle rocket, then laughter somewhere in the distance. 

“I’m sorry we fought the last few weeks,” you whisper. “I was angry. But mostly just hurt. By last summer.”

Steve sits up a little at that, his strong arm bracing his torso as he looks down at you. “And you had every right to be,” he says. “I was a coward for leaving like I did. I got scared, I think. But, I’m getting better. At least, Robin says I am.”

You chuckle. “I’m sure she’s right.”

“But I am sorry, too. For that, and for…just for everything.”

You gaze up at him, and the urge to cup his face and bring his lips down to yours grips you by the spine. But Steve lays back down next to you before you can say anything. 

“I’m proud of you for going to see a counselor,” you say into the dark after a long moment. “Does it help?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “But I wish there was something I could do, too, you know? Other than just talk about it.” 

He takes the world upon his shoulders, this boy.

He deserves to know that, at the end of the day, someone has him. Someone wants him. Not just for what he can give, but for who he is. He’s been pushing you away because you had that for him, and he didn’t know how to accept it. Until recently. 

You see that now. 

His bare arm is so warm against yours. You follow it down with your fingers until you find his hand, threading your fingers through his. 

“Steve, you’ve already done so much. For everyone.”

His hand practically swallows yours. Long fingers, with blunt tips. They just remind you of all the ways he’s used them to pull orgasms from your body, one after the other.

All he does is give, give, give. Even when you give him hell all summer, fuck, he gives that right back. 

Your hair whispers against the sleeping bag as you turn to look at him. His brown eyes meet yours, and his soft exhale ghosts across your cheek.

You search his face for permission, because he already knows what you’re asking. When his expression softens, just enough, you don’t hesitate. Hooking your leg around his waist, you roll on top of him and sit up. 

“Let me take care of you,” you say.

He sucks in a breath at the sight of you rising above him, his hand coming to land hot and heavy on your thigh. 

Scooting backwards, you lower your mouth to his torso. He hisses, his other hand flying to tangle in your hair. His cock has softened slightly against his hip, but you can fix that with your mouth in no time. 

His chest heaves with a shaky breath. “Wait, no. No, baby.” 

You suck a soft love bite on his hip before raising your eyes to his. “You don’t want it anymore?”

“No—shit, of course I want it, but—” He snorts, but his hand finds yours and he tries to pull you up. “If we’re going to do this, I want to do it for real. Not to distract each other. Not like we used to. Can…can you do that?”

You nod once. Then again. “Yes. Yes, of course, Steve. I wasn’t—I was just—” your heart slams into your throat. “I still love you.”

A slow, sweet smile spreads across Steve’s face. Your cheeks flush, and you try to squirm away, but Steve squeezes your thigh, urging you to find his eyes again. And when you do, you see that familiar heat is back. 

“Good,” he says. “Now we can get down to the real question of what the fuck do you think you’re doing barging into my tent when I’m masturbating, you little brat?”

Heat licks up your spine, and you bite back a grin. “I told you! You were being loud.”

“Yeah, sure, now tell me the real reason.”

“That is the real reason!”

“Don’t lie to me.” 

You open your mouth to argue, but his hands clamp down on your hips before you can, and in one smooth motion, he flips you so you’re on your back. Your heart slams against your ribs as he pulls you down under him, his chest rising and falling against yours. 

“Just admit it,” he says, a cocky grin twisting his lips right over yours. “You wanted me to lick that pretty pussy for you, didn’t you?”

Your panties dampen instantly, pulsing in anticipation of feeling his mouth on you after so long. 

You might have been at each other’s throats for weeks, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t like it. You saw it in his eyes by the campfire and by every rough two-hand touch football game. Every time your face went red and you mouthed off at him he’d just smile and lift his eyebrows as if to say, ‘is that all you got?’ Maybe crook two fingers at you with a cocky tilt of his head, urging you to ‘give me more.’ 

Well, you could definitely give him more. 

“I don’t know, Harrington,” you sigh, tilt your head against the tent floor in mock confusion. “I hardly remember what getting head from you is like.”

His grin turns wicked. Then suddenly, he’s moving—greedy hands tugging at your shorts. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, voice dripping in that mocking tone that always makes you wet. “I thought maybe you’d want me to do that thing my tongue that always—” A whimper escapes your throat and he breaks off mid-sentence with an openmouthed laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He crawls down your body, taking your shorts and underwear with him, and you gasp when something hard and hot brushes your thigh. Glad to see he’s sporting that erection again. You feel a fleeting disappointment at the fact you haven’t gotten to suck him off yet, but it’s probably better this way, to be honest. 

It’s literally impossible to make Steve Harrington be quiet while getting a blowjob—

Without warning, he plunges two fingers deep into your slick channel. Your breath stutters, hips bucking into his palm on instinct. He groans out loud, but you’re too blissed out by the stretch that you can’t even get onto him for it. 

Lungs seizing, heart pounding, you squirm on the slippery fabric of his sleeping bag, trying to get even closer. Your nipples harden against your T-shirt, begging for his touch. For more of him.

You peek down your body just in time to see his head disappear between your thighs, and then his mouth is on you. God, his tongue is so warm and wet against your clit, and his skillful fingers stroke you just right. In and out, then curling into the spongey spot inside that has your mouth dropping open. 

“Missed those sounds you make,” he says, voice muffled against your pussy. 

Shit. 

You hadn’t even realized you were making noise. You dig your knee into his side in retaliation and he chuckles, squirming away before diving in again.

He licks messy, broad strokes, tasting you on purpose, getting you all over his tongue. When you grind up into his face he grabs you by the hips and moves with you, following your every wriggle and writhe. 

Yep, his mouth still makes the world feel dull, reducing your hearing to the whoosh of your heartbeat in your ears as everything else just fades away into mind numbing bliss—

“Shut up,” Steve says, pulls back from you with a wicked grin. His face is covered in your arousal, glinting in the firework light, and the sight makes you clench around his fingers. “Seriously, shut up if you don’t want them to hear you.” 

“Wha—Steve!” You whine, canting your hips up into his mouth again as he lowers himself back down to you. “H-help.”

He shrugs. “I’m not the one who gives a shit if they hear.”

The vibrations of his voice against your clit rips a moan from your throat, unbidden, and your lips cinch together. Your hand flies to your hip, finding his fingers there. You try to pull his hand up but he shakes off your touch, holding onto your waist and puling you roughly against his tongue. 

You whine in protest, and go to pull on his hand again, but that’s a mistake. 

He brings his palm down to your inner thigh with a sharp smack that has your back arching off the ground, your eyes narrowing in warning. 

“Cover your own mouth, sweetheart, fuck,” he chuckles, giving your clit a soothing series of licks. “I’m busy.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper, but it quickly turns into a needy whine when he sucks the swollen nub into his mouth. 

Steve continues to stretch you out on his fingers, murmuring dirty things into your pussy as he does. How sweet you taste. How tightly you’re squeezing his fingers. But you barely hear any of it. 

You’re so wet—both from his mouth and your arousal—that your inner thighs slick together when you try to squeeze them. He yanks your legs apart again, and you’re powerless to stop him because the pads of his fingers are dragging out tendrils of pleasure from your spine you haven’t felt in a year. 

Thankfully, the fireworks seem to be reaching a peak outside— loud bangs and pops going off every few seconds help drown out the sounds of your needy pussy and blissed-out sighs. Because frankly, you don’t have the brain power to think about anything except how desperately you need him inside you. 

You whimper again accidentally. “Steve—” 

“Okay, baby,” he replies instantly, knowing what you need by the tone in your voice alone. His fingers slip out and he rises up over you, your knees falling open eagerly as he lines himself up.

When he notches the tip of his cock at your entrance, your cunt greedily sucks him in. He gasps, hips bucking forward instinctively, and neither one of you are able to stop the mixed groans that ensue from finally, finally being connected like this again after so long. 

Big hands scramble for a hold on your waist, blunt nails pinching your skin as he drags himself back, then forth, slamming up into you with a depth that makes you sob.

“Still fuckin’ made for me,” he groans. “Goddamnit.”

You’re panting, arms wrapped around his shoulders, biting the skin of your forearm to keep from moaning as his hips roll slow and deliberate. 

“Good girl,” he praises, and you shudder, feeling the ache grow sharper. “Staying so quiet, look at you. You can’t ask me to be silent when you come around me, okay? Fuck—that’s like being tortured all over again.”

You shoot him a withering look even as you writhe underneath him. “That’s not funny.”

He laughs, and his silhouette shifts over you, his cock driving deeper and hitting that spot inside you that makes you see sparks that aren’t there. “Sorry, sweetheart. I just—oh yeah, grind that clit into me. That’s it.”

 Your hands rake through his hair, desperately trying to hold onto something. But the force behind his thrusts causes you to pull on the strands, and, well, that was a mistake. 

His teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder in order to stay somewhat quiet, and oh—fuck. How could you have forgotten what pulling his hair does to him? Stars burst behind your eyes as the fireworks crackle overhead, and the tension between your hips coils tighter. 

“Fuck—Steve,” you gush. “Please.”

“What do you need?” He rasps against your throat, sucking and biting. “I’m all yours.”

Little tremors course though your legs as your orgasm builds, the swollen head of his cock nudging those spots deep inside that ache for him. 

Only him.

“You need me to kiss you?” he says, breath hot in your ear. “Need me to shut you up?”

You nod frantically. 

“Go on, ask me for it.”

You whimper, too far gone to play the game anymore. “Kiss me, Stevie. Please, please—” 

“Fuck,” Steve groans at the nickname he hasn’t heard in so long, and instantly lowers his mouth to yours. 

The first brush of his lips against yours makes you want to cry. 

“Missed you, baby,” he says, then kisses you deeper, his tongue dipping into your mouth and swirling with yours. “So much. Missed kissing you. Missed talking with you.” He hesitates, pulling back slightly before planting one soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Missed loving you. But I guess I never really stopped, did I?”

Your eyes connect for one heartbreaking, devestatingly sweet second before you pull him back down, pouring your love for him into the gentle, yet desperate stroke of your tongue against his. 

Feeling you kiss him like that snaps something deep inside him. 

Your inner muscles clamps down around him as his thrusts turn messy and hard, and his hands run over your shoulders, your breasts, your hips, pulling your body back down to meet his every thrust. 

The pleasure builds to an insurmountable level as he rips your shirt up to capture your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and making you want to scream. 

You flatten your palm over your lips, whimpering through the gaps in your fingers over and over, squeezing your eyes shut as Steve pushes you higher and higher until finally—you’re falling. 

Your teeth bite into your fingers hard to muffle your moans as your pussy clenches down like a vice on Steve’s cock rhythmically, your orgasm rushing through you. 

He lets out a choked sound above you, and with the way his chest falls in a sequence of familiar pants, you know he’s close. Through the pleasured haze, your other hand flies to cover his mouth just in time for his orgasm to hit. 

“Mmhmm, mhhhmm.” Steve whines loudly, as his body tenses, and his cock twitches inside you. And you have no choice but to shove your fingers inside his lips, forcing him to suck on them as he reaches his peak. His eyes roll back as he bullies his cock against your cervix, painting your walls with his come, even as his tongue strokes your knuckles tenderly and reverently.

It takes awhile for the both of you to come back down to earth, but eventually, you let your fingers fall from his mouth and he laughs breathlessly, dipping to give you one last slow kiss before slipping out of you. 

He fumbles around for his T-shirt in the darkness and then cleans you up with care, which makes your heart twist. Once he’s done, he settles on his side, and pulls you into him, your back pressed to his chest. You burrow into him, his arm settling around you, and it’s amazing how quickly your lashes start to fall, wrapped up in this familiar comfort. 

“So…truce?” Steve whispers into the crook of your shoulder. You laugh softly.

Even under a hazardously leaning tent, and a sky littered with mini explosions, the world seems a little less dark right now. The past, a little less heavy. 

Maybe it’s because neither of you are running away from it, anymore. But rather, facing it. Together.

And because you know, without a shadow of a doubt, Steve Harrington’s heartbeat will always be in your future.

“Truce.”

a/n: the tent definitely collapses on top of them five minutes later, by the way. also, my idea originally was not nearly as angsty, but don’t you just love it when characters highjack your story? god, the fics always turn out so much better that way.

You did your best to adjust your expression and be empathetic. “Okay, well that didn’t happen with Sheryl, did it?” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re still stuck on Sheryl.”

He shrugged, letting himself relax a little. “Eh, not really. She was fun, but clingy.”

You sighed, leaning forward like a scientist observing him under a microscope. “Other than like… the finale, was the sex good?”

“Yes! And the date was perfectly fine too.” He sat up straighter, crossing his arms across his chest. He was telling the truth… mostly. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t amazing. It was just… fine. He gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for letting me talk to you about this. Robin would be all weird about it.”

You smiled teasingly. “Oh, Robin would’ve bailed the moment you said the word cum.” You altered your voice into a shockingly accurate impression of your friend. “‘Ew, Steve! I don’t want to hear about the details of hetero sex. I faked mono during sex-ed for a reason.”

“She would’ve agreed about Katie’s tits, though,” Steve insisted. “She’d pretend to be mortified that I’m objecting women or whatever, but she’d agree.”

You laughed and shook your head at his words, and he felt a tiny tug in his chest— some sort of like, stirring, big feeling.

He didn’t get it. The two of you had been friends since Freshman year, when you moved next door to Carol and she dragged you to every hangout, big and small. He always sort of figured that Carol was trying to set you up with him, but neither of you ever made a move.

He wasn’t sure why he felt that uncomfortable ache in his chest when you smiled lately. There had never been any feelings there in all the time he’d known you, right? Sure, he thought you were hot— that’s why he had to give you dating advice all the time—but that was different.

"Maybe you just need to find the right girl, or something,” you said earnestly. “Like… maybe your dream girl is right in front of you, and even if your brain doesn’t know it, your body does.”

You tucked your permed hair behind your ear and it made his stomach drop like he was on a roller coaster. And he was confused about how such a tiny sensation could feel so overwhelming when he heard the bells above the door ring.

The girl approached the counter with big brown eyes and hair that looked a little fried by bleach and perm solution. He did love curls, though.

“I called this morning,” she said, her voice low and sultry. He liked sultry. “Some guy named Keith set aside Footloose for me? Should be under Rebecca Martin, or Becky, maybe.”

Steve smiled and turned on the charm.

Becky wasn’t the hottest thing to moan during sex, but Steve Harrington wasn’t a quitter. He’d just… avoid names in general.

Steve was a gentleman. They’d gone to dinner a few nights prior, and he’d been polite and kissed her at the front door. It had gone well enough to tell Robin about, which was saying something. He liked her sense of humor, she was sweet, and her perfume was so nice that it was practically addicting.

The second date wasn’t as formal. Movie at his place, stealing his parents’ fancy wine out of the cabinet like a high schooler. It started innocently enough that he wasn’t even sure if he should go any further, keep things cool, really see this one through this time.

But, Jesus Christ, did she have other plans. Pretty, pink manicured nails traced along his thigh, dimpling the fabric of his jeans, which were already tight enough. She played coy— eyes on the movie, a satisfied smirk on her lips as her hand paused just below where he wanted it. He squirmed, just slightly, feeling his dick stir with interest. She batted big doe-eyes at him and furrowed her brows in a very practiced manner.

“Something wrong?” She asked, and he could see the amusement in her gaze as her hand wandered up, cupping the bulge that was swelling in the front of his jeans. She sprung into action after he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, making quick work of the button and zipper so she could wiggle her hand beneath his boxers.

Her hand was deliciously soft, and he liked the soft gasp of surprise that escaped her when she took him into her hand and gave a testing stroke. It was dry, and a little uncomfortable until she spat into her hand and started over. It felt good. She felt good.

“Do you wanna go to your room?” Her words were damp against the column of his throat, no doubt leaving pink stains from her lipstick.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah. I want to.”

——

His cheeks were burning as he watched Becky redress, hurriedly tugging her panties up her legs. Her annoyance and disappointment was blatant in her features, and it made his chest ache with mortification.

“That doesn’t—“ He shook his head. That doesn’t usually happen sounded like a stupid excuse, especially considering that his last hookup had ended similarly. This time had been worse. “I don’t know why that happened.”

She shrugged, shimmying into her denim skirt. “It’s whatever, Steve.”

“No, no I mean it,” he said, trying to fight the frown on his lips, trying to seem at least a little… casual about it all. He’d gone down on her until she came apart right on his tongue, then he took his time to get her stretched out and ready for him until she couldn’t take anymore and begged for him.

He wanted to fuck her, he wanted to feel her around him, warm and tight and pliant, blinking prettily up at him while she moaned and gasped. So why wouldn’t his body let him do it?

What the fuck?

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” As soon as he heard the pity in her voice, he nearly wanted to die. “I’m only in town to visit my aunt anyway.”

“This really never happens to me,” he insisted. The look on her face— the subtle mix of disbelief and scorn— made him feel like he was a bug under her shoe.

He didn’t bother redressing more than just tugging on his boxers as she left, and he was grateful she at least let him walk her to the door after the world’s most disastrous hookup attempt.

He groaned in annoyance as he closed the door behind him, running his hands through his mussed-up hair. He was at the phone before he even realized where he was walking, dialing the number through sheer muscle memory.

“Hello?” Your voice crackled along the line, sounding sleepy. What time was it?

“Hey,” Steve said, leaning against the wall where the phone was mounted. He didn’t need to worry about calling directly from his personal line when his parents weren’t home. Besides, he was sweating, smelled like sex, and there was something comfortable about the cool, empty room downstairs. “Am I bothering you?”

“Nuh-uh,” you hummed, and he heard something shuffle on your side of the phone. “Just painting my nails. What’s up? I thought you were busy with Becky tonight?”

His heart thumped uncomfortably and he wished he hadn’t called. “Yeah, uh, she left.”

“Oh,” you replied, and he could picture the look of soft concern you would be wearing. “You sound disappointed. Did it not go well?”

Steve scratched at his chest, the hair there still a bit tacky with sweat. “Permission to overshare?”

You paused. “Hm…” Another beat. “Uh, I guess so. Why not?”

You were quiet as Steve recounted the experience with you, right down to the horrific realization that he couldn’t stay hard and their night had to be cut short. He waited as soon as he explained Becky's departure, waiting for you to laugh or tease him.

“That’s tough, but it happens, Steve,” you said softly. “Maybe your heart wasn’t in it.”

He groaned again, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I don’t care if my heart was in it. I wanted my dick to be in it.” He paused. “That wasn’t on purpose, but you know what I mean. My heart has never been a problem before.”

“Well, stress can impact performance,” you explained. “Especially if you’re psyching yourself out about whether or not you’re going to get off. Permission for me to overshare?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Permission granted.”

“Last year when they hired me at The Gap at the mall and made me a manager for no reason, I was so fucking stressed out that I couldn’t get myself off for weeks. Like, I tried everything. You know what finally helped?”

Steve swallowed. Hard. “W-what?”

“I turned off my brain for a few hours. I just let my hands wander a bit, figured out what felt good, and explored that for a while before moving on to the next spot. Eventually, I made myself cum without even realizing what I was doing.” You paused, and he heard a nervous laugh slip past your lips. “Um, that's just, like, a suggestion.”

The mental image was enough to make his cock twitch beneath the thin material of his boxers. He swallowed, trying to block out the images of you; naked, hand between your thighs, writhing in pleasure. His length throbbed again, because despite his best efforts, the image didn’t go away.

“I’m just trying to explain that it’s super common to have issues getting off, and it’s not weird!” You said, the silence clearly making you antsy. “Did that help at all?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Robin would say this is a sign from the universe that I should just be single for a while.”

“Maybe.” You paused. “Give yourself some time, alright? You’ve been through a lot, Steve. Stuff like that is bound to catch up sooner or later.”

You were waiting for him by your next shift, sneaking past Robin to pull him aside. “Did you try it?” You asked, blinking up at him.

“What?” He furrowed his brows until you mimed jerking off and his cheeks fucking burned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t up for it.” He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that either.”

“I know, I know,” you assured, a pretty smile on your lips. “So, do you think that Becky’s not…”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again, which blows.”

You shrugged. “Screw that. You can find someone way better, alright?” He wanted to roll his eyes as you grabbed his shoulders in your hands, making him look right at you. When he tried to look away, you repeated yourself. “Alright?”

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He wriggled out of your grip. “Can you just hand me the returns cart so I can shelve them?” You shrugged and passed him the cart, eager to offload your tasks if he was willing to take them.

He needed a distraction. Because you were wearing a black miniskirt with your dumb family video vest, and a fucking Star Wars shirt he would’ve found dorky if you weren’t perfectly endearing.

You were giggling and smiling, fighting with Robin over a copy of some movie you both were dying to see before the other. He sighed as he shelved a copy of A Christmas Story, wondering why someone would’ve rented that in August.

He got the cart shelved, helped a nice old lady find a Hitchcock movie she’d liked when her late husband showed her, and even reorganized the snack counter before he finally came upon a hitch in his day.

“Steve!” Your voice was barely a whisper, coming from Keith’s office. He looked around at the store, where Robin was sitting unfazed at the main counter, and slipped past the door.

Oh fuck. You were bent over Keith’s desk, legs sprawled awkwardly, tugging hopelessly at where your shirt was caught on a screw pinning it and you to the wall. He couldn’t even fathom how you’d gotten into that position— maybe reaching for something that had fallen behind the bulky desk?

Worst of all, that stupid mini skirt. Bent over the desk, he saw the baby blue cotton of your panties. His mouth went dry. He’d forgotten why he’d walked into the room in the first place.

“Steve! My shirt is stuck on one of the screws,” you explained, squirming slightly with impatience. “I got this when Empire came out, it’s irreplaceable. Just pull the desk out so I can move.”

It took a few seconds for his brain to comprehend what was asked of him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Easy-peasy.” He grimaced. Why the fuck did he say that?

“Steve, hurry.” He tried not to look back at your ass as he approached the desk, giving it a slight tug so you were no longer pinned. You stumbled a bit before standing and tugging your skirt down, giving him a sheepish smile. “Jesus, that was so stupid. I dropped my time card clocking in from my break. Thanks Steve.”

With the desk pulled out, you grabbed it easily and waved it in front of his face. He gave a weak heh as you patted his shoulder and sauntered back out.

He leaned against the wall, relishing in how cold it was against his weirdly hot body. He wasn’t dumb. He knew you were attractive. He thought you were fucking stunning. But you were his friend, not someone he was trying to fuck around with.

Imagine his surprise when he found himself already half-hard just from barely even a glimpse of your panties when he couldn’t even get it up for the girls he was actually trying to sleep with.

“God fucking damn it,” he muttered, adjusting himself as best as he could before stepping out of the office. As soon as he hit the floor, Robin grabbed his arm and tugged him towards a box of new releases.

“Hey, Stevie, do you mind putting out the pornos? I would but… you know. I don’t really want to.”

Better and better. “Yeah, what would Gloria Steinem think if she knew you saw a VHS sleeve that showed tits?” He raised a brow and took the new box, boasting salacious titles like— Slutty Slumber Party and Cock Fight III.

She pinched his cheek with a grin and patted his back. “You’re the best, Steve.” He rolled his eyes. He knew that already.

You caught up to him before he could pass the privacy curtain that partitioned the triple X section from the rest of the store, peering down into the box.

“Let me help you put these out,” you offered, already scooping up as many titles as you could carry from the box. It was his worst nightmare come to life— an inconvenient boner, his cute friend, and a million sets of tits and dicks everywhere the eye could see.

It was blissfully quiet as he focused intensely on alphabetizing the titles. You helped him do stuff all the time, no need for him to make it weird just because you were shelving movies like Hot Groupie Fuckfest 2.

“Maybe you should sneak one of these home,” you finally said, turning the title in your hand towards him. “It could help.”

“I don’t need tapes to get off,” he insisted, maybe a little too defensively. “I like magazines better anyway. Classier.” He swore internally, realizing he had revealed something extremely private that he hadn’t shared with anyone.

You shrugged and continued shelving. “Magazines are cool,” you replied, rather awkwardly, like you were walking on eggshells. “Very classy.”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” he finally said. His mortification had gotten the best of him and the words just came out. “I’m fine.”

“Okay…” you replied, a furrow between your brows. “I never said you weren’t, Steve. I’m just—“

“Trying to help— I know but…” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Let’s drop it, alright?” You nodded in agreement and he sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The two of you stood there for a moment before you nodded back to the crate. “Okay, we’ve got, like, three dozen more to stock, so let’s just get it done.”

He hated that he’d upset you, or offended you, or made you feel any way towards him other than perfectly happy. But what was he supposed to do? The entire ordeal was utterly humiliating.

And you seemed totally unbothered as you read the back cover of some girl on girl flick, interest in your eyes. Were you into that stuff? Was that what you liked thinking about? Why was he even concerned about what you think about?

You shelved the movie and moved on— grabbing your next pile, one that took you across the room to the shelf of more taboo, kinky stuff. He stared as you got onto your knees, bending over to stock the bottom shelf. And there he was— greeted by another tiny flash of your panties under the fluorescent lights just before you tugged your skirt down.

His cock stirred with interest, toeing the line between half-hard and impossible to ignore. Jesus. Were you doing it on purpose?

“Hm? Doing what?“ you asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Because if you mean stocking the weird shit on the bottom shelf, that’s a yes. No one wants to walk in and be eye-level with Fist Fest II.”

There was something about your smile then— sweet, like you had no idea the torment you were putting him through. He wanted to cry. “I’ll be right back.”

Robin ignored him as he practically darted past her and into the back rooms. He didn’t even bother clocking out for his break before he ducked into the employee’s only bathroom and locked the door behind himself.

He wasn’t an animal. Typically, he had self control. But a week of being unable to get off combined with your obliviousness as to what you were doing to him had him ready to jump out of his skin.

He fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking echoed off of the tile walls as he practically ripped it off. He made quick work of the button and zipper of his fly, practically moaning with relief at the lack of restriction. He spat into his hand before he shoved it into his briefs, crying out in relief before he thought better of it and bit onto his fist to keep quiet.

This, he realized as he grew frustrated with the lack of mobility and pulled his dick out at work, was a new low for him. Teeth cut into the meat of his palm as he fucked his hand in earnest, muffled moans coming out strangled and desperate. There wasn’t time for teasing, for drawing it out like he usually did when he was alone. It felt like his body was a rubber band, stretched and poised to snap.

And, god help him, he was thinking about you. Of you bent over Keith’s desk, legs gangly and awkward, ass in the air, wriggling to try to free yourself before caving and asking him for help. Steve was a gentleman. He only spared one look of shock before averting his eyes. But fantasies didn’t hurt anyone.

Fantasies about you doing it on purpose— arching your back and wiggling your hips invitingly because you wanted him to see you like that. In another world, where you wanted him and he wanted you, he would’ve relished in that scenario. Of you teasing and entrapping him in some game of cat and mouse. Of fucking you over the stupid squeaky desk and covering your mouth so Robin didn’t hear. Biting into your shoulder to keep himself quiet.

He came thinking about you, a guttural, desperate moan cutting into the air despite his best efforts to stay quiet. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a release until he was coming down, his hand sticky and warm, cum painting the tile in front of him.

“Jesus fucking— goddamn it.” His voice wavered, most of his energy sapped. He felt pathetic as he stuffed his softening length back in his briefs and tugged his pants up, wincing at the sensitivity. And he felt even more pathetic as he grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and cleaned up his spend from the bathroom wall at his fucking workplace.

A sudden loud knock sounded on the door, nearly making him yelp. “Are you okay in there, dingus?” Robin asked, her genuine concern masked by the sarcasm that dripped from her tone. “You ran past like you needed to shit, or something, so I wanted to check.”

He sunk onto the gross bathroom floor and banged his head against the wall. Dying, he decided, would have been less painful than whatever this was.

It had been days, and he had yet to cum unless you were at the top of mind. It had to be a coincidence, like he’d Pavlov-ed himself into only getting hard if he thought about you.

No. That wasn’t exactly true. He could get hard, he just couldn’t cum unless he thought about you. There was a big difference, and it meant he wasn’t totally broken after all. It meant he could fix it.

The most inconvenient thing about it was the fact that he had to jerk off before any shifts with you or he’d have to repeat that first bathroom session, which was something he really, really wanted to leave in the past.

There was a possibility that there was something to the situation at hand— that the reason for his body’s reaction to you was beyond just physical. But that was dumb, and every time that tiny voice in his brain told him to consider it, Steve just shook it off.

His phone rang at his bedside and he sighed, tossing the book he’d been trying to read for the past hour with no avail.

“Yeah?” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He really needed some glasses, huh?

“Hey, Steve, it’s me.” Your voice was like music over the phone, and he sat up quickly, like you were there to witness his lazy, slouchy morning. “I was just calling to ask if you could cover my shift this afternoon. I know it’s a big ask since it’s so last minute, but I can totally pay you back double sometime.”

He scratched the back of his neck. Fucking Keith was on the schedule tonight, and they hated each other. Then again, it wasn’t like he had any plans. He couldn't risk another failed hookup, or word might get around that he was a limp dick loser. “Mhmm. Shouldn’t be too bad,” he lied.

You sighed with relief on the other end. “You’re a lifesaver, Steve. I thought I was gonna have to cancel my date.”

His heart stuttered for a few moments before he recovered and tried to act casual about it. “Date? I didn’t even know you were…” He trailed off, unsure of how to even finish that sentence. His voice was higher than usual, so he cleared his throat to brush it off.

You laughed. “Yeah, I know it’s been a while. I figured I should stop waiting around for something to fall into my lap and just put myself out there, or something. You know, just… casually, nothing too serious.”

Oh. He didn’t have the right to feel disappointed, and yet… He wanted to tell you not to go, to stay home like normal, and keep things like they were already. He didn’t want to imagine you with some random Hawkins asshole right now, especially when he couldn’t think of a single person in city limits who might be worthy of your time.

It was crazy. He’d set you up on plenty of dates and coached you through even more. He didn’t have any reason to feel weird about it now.

“Steve? Did I lose you?” You asked softly. “I know you’re still dealing with… you know, everything. I don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want me to. God, hearing you talk about getting laid while I was having a dry spell used to make me want to rip my hair out.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Go have a good date, and don’t let him have all the fun, alright?”

You laughed, and he could picture you wrinkling your nose the way you always did when he said something dumb. “I would never. Thanks again, Steve.”

You were giddy at work the next morning, a pretty glow about you, an unusual chipper attitude that you shared with every single guest. You weren’t even being particularly snarky with him or Robin.

“Good night?” He asked, despite not really wanting to know. God, it was like there were two halves of himself constantly working against the other.

You smiled brightly, and he almost winced. “It was so good. I think you know him— Andy from Varsity baseball in ‘84. He graduated a year earlier than us and goes to Purdue. He’s living at home while he’s doing an internship for some financial firm.”

“What happened to just being casual?” Steve asked, brows furrowing as he looked at you.

You laughed in lieu of a response and grabbed the box of merchandise for the latest new releases. He stood there dumbly until Keith knocked into his shoulder.

“Back to work, Harrington,” he said in that stupid, asshole voice of his. “These returns aren’t going to shelve themselves.”

——

“You’re glowering.” Robin whispered into his ear a few days later, so close it made him jump out of his frustrated stupor and back into reality.

“I’m not, I'm just focused,” he insisted, even though his eyes were burning holes into the back of Andy’s head. He hit stop on the tape he had successfully rewound and put it back into the case, then back into the cart for shelving.

It was the sort of monotonous task that gave him time to ruminate. And to glower.

Why was Andy even there? Just to distract you from work and charm his way into your pants? Again? You’d been shelving the same tape of The Outsiders for twenty minutes, at least.

God, he sounded like Keith. Wasn’t that terrifying?

“Do you remember him from high school?” Steve finally asked, sparing a glance back at Robin. She shrugged, and he whipped his gaze back to the two of you. His hand was on your hip, dangerously close to grabbing your ass. Classless, asshole college guy. “Yeah, I figured. He graduated in ‘84. Third baseman.”

Robin snorted. “I bet.”

“Cute. Very charming, Robin,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. He stopped the tape and slipped the cover back on. “Whatever. He just doesn’t seem her type, that’s all.”

Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand before he could reach for the next tape. “Steve. Andy is exactly her type. Sweet guy, athletic, charming…” She raised her brows, like she was trying to make a point. But to Steve, the only point she seemed to be making was that Andy was the total package and he was a loser.

“I’m not glowering,” he repeated, if only to prove it to himself. “I’m just trying to finish up the rewinds since we’re down an employee.” He gave a lazy gesture towards the front of the store, where you and Andy were making eyes at each other.

Not jealous. Not jealous at all. Just… sexually frustrated. That was an easy fix.

His Rolodex was filled with girls who he’d fooled around with. When he got home, he flipped through the remaining names, each eliciting vague memories.

Deanna was hot… she had a weird laugh though. Not like you. Your laugh was a nice, warm sound. He liked your laugh more than anything. As a friend. Of course.

Maybe Kelly? She was sweet, pretty. Not as pretty as you were, obviously, but who was?

He tried calling a few, but most of them wanted nothing to do with a guy who’d forgotten to call for a few months. After his third rejection, he gave up entirely. He didn’t really have it in him to lead another girl on, anyway.

Maybe there was something there he should acknowledge. That itching, stirring feeling of want that had started to fester months ago. Gnawing at the edges of each interaction he had with you. Maybe it had always been there and his dumb body was making him do something about it, just like you’d said.

He was in a mood for the next week. He hadn’t felt this pent up since after graduation, when he had to wear a sailor uniform and perform a public humiliation ritual for minimum wage.

You sidled up to him at the register at closing, where he was getting a sick sort of satisfaction in checking on all of the late charges about to hit the overdue rentals.

You were dressed like you were going to go on a date later— with one of your favorite tops and that goddamn mini skirt. Even worse, you were smiling a pretty smile like you wanted something, which made the itch of irritation claw at his tongue. “I’m not taking another one of your shifts so that you can go out with Andy,” he said sternly, with a narrowed glance at you.

Your brows raised and you gave him a look that told him he was being an asshole, which he already knew. “Okay, one, I wasn’t going to ask you to take one of my shifts, and two, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

He just huffed. “Sorry, long day.” Long month. “I’m being a dick.”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, you are… but I forgive you.” You brushed your hair back and leaned imperceptibly closer. It probably wasn’t on purpose, but your arm pushed against his and you were so warm, and you smelled like the Avon perfume your mom always bought you. ”Let’s hang out tonight. I feel like I only ever see you at work lately. I’ll rent us a movie, grab some dinner on the way… it’ll be just like old times.”

The realistic part of his brain told him it was a bad idea. He’d been plagued with graphic, explicit images of you playing in his head at the worst of times. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to be normal about hanging out at your place.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. It would be the thousandth time he’d been over, but the odds of him getting an inconvenient, persistent boner around you were frustratingly high.

But his alternative was going home to sulk alone and sink deeper into his funk, so he nodded. “Yeah, sounds fun.” It would be fine. He could persevere.

——

Your basement had always been his favorite place to hang out. Unlike his own parents who wanted input into every facet of his young life, your parents let you do whatever the hell you wanted to the space, as long as they could store their treadmill and your mom’s Tupperware stock.

It was lit with old Christmas lights and covered in tchotchkes that you had found in garage sales. Old quilts, your grandma’s macrame, needlepoint throw pillows. It was like an estate sale had crawled inside to die, and he loved it.

The couch had an uncomfortable spring that always dug into his thighs, you picked a really dumb movie, and you had slightly burned the popcorn on the stove, but he couldn’t complain. Maybe he did need this.

”So… are you still seeing Andy?” He asked when the movie hit a lull. It wasn’t that he wasn’t paying attention, it was just hard to focus.

You laughed, shaking your head. You were sprawled across the ugly floral couch, legs in his lap, curled up facing the TV. “Ew, no,” you said with an eye roll. “He was fun at first, but I was just kind of using him, you know?”

Did he know? Probably not, but he nodded like he understood anyway. He took another handful of the mildly-burnt popcorn and watched you out of his periphery (which was, admittedly, not what it used to be).

He tried to focus on the movie some more, but it was you that broke the silence next. You shifted your legs a bit to get comfortable before he felt your gaze on him. “So, how’s your problem?” You asked.

His cheeks felt hot, like his entire head had been shoved under the heat lamp in Dustin’s turtle’s tank. “Oh,“ he cleared his throat. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know, actually. I haven’t been on any dates since Becky, so…”

“Really? Why not?” You asked, brows knit.

His expression was incredulous. Why not? Oh, nothing too bad— just that I can’t get hard lately unless I’m fantasizing about you. “Why do you think? This is totally reputation killing stuff here. I’ll be lucky if the entire female population of Hawkins doesn’t think my dick doesn’t work.”

You shifted closer, but your legs were still heavy in his lap, which he was growing increasingly conscious of. “What about when you’re alone?”

His heart started to hammer as thoughts flooded his brain of the session he’d had in the shower that morning, which had been, in part, fueled by a quick perusal of his photo album from last summer and the handful of pictures of you in a remarkably high cut swimsuit.

“Uh…” His voice was higher than usual, and he tried to bring it back down to Earth before continuing. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, glancing only briefly at your lips before forcing himself to look back up at your eyes. “Normal. It’s normal.”

“So, if that's normal, what do you think about when you’re alone?”

His throat feels tight as he tries to think of something to say other than you, you, you, you. You in your stupid granny pajamas, you in the backseat of his car, you bending over to shelve DVDs… you had burrowed into his mind and totally corrupted it. He squints, like he’s considering anything else. “Um… normal things. Just… normal stuff, you know?”

You sighed out a soft huh, and there was something in your gaze that made his stomach flip. It was an expression he’d never seen you wear so plainly, especially not towards him. Pure, hungry desire, so obvious that he had to have been imagining it. “Steve,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes, swallowing. “Mhmm? Yeah?”

“You’re hard right now.”

He glanced down as you shifted your legs again and had to swallow a pathetic moan at the tiniest amount of friction. And, well, he was obviously, undeniably hard in his jeans.

“Oh, that’s just… y’know, from me remembering all of the totally normal stuff that I—“

The rest of his lame excuse was swallowed by the warm press of your lips against his. Lapped away as your tongue slipped into his mouth and took every rational thought away with it. It was slow and sweet, like you were trying your best to savor every second of it. Jesus, had you always been that good of a kisser?

When you pulled back, with spit-glossed lips and met his gaze, he felt so turned on that his head started to swim. He couldn’t find words for how he was feeling, for how he’d been feeling, so he offered a meager, “You’re really good at that.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, and his heart did that thing again, which felt more embarrassing than the obvious bulge straining in his Levi's. For once, his body’s ability (or lack thereof) to function was the least of his worries.

“I don’t know how much more obvious I can possibly make it,” you said softly. “I’m really into you.”

His brows furrowed. For a second, he thought he might have slipped in the shower, died, and woken up in a very forgiving afterlife. “What? Since when?”

You swallowed and chewed your lip sheepishly for a moment. “Um, on and off since I’ve known you, but, like, very much on since graduation.”

It was like a fog had lifted over his memories. The lingering touches and flirty eyes across the rooms. The late nights on the phone, where it felt like talking to Steve was the only place you wanted to be. And, frankly, it had been all he wanted to do too.

Maybe he had been a total idiot this whole time. A dense, oblivious dumb ass who had been ignoring his dream girl because she was one of his best friends first.

Then his brows knit deeper, forming two parallel furrows between your brows. “But you were just dating Andy.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “I was trying to make you jealous, which obviously worked since Robin told me that she caught you pouting.”

Robin. “I didn’t pout,” he insisted, but he knew that lying was futile. He had just… glared in Andy’s general direction. “Okay, fine. If that was on purpose, I’m guessing your panty flashing was too.”

That seemed to make you pause. Your head tilted, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, my what?”

He blanched, embarrassed. “You know, the time you wore this same skirt, and you got stuck on Keith’s desk. You were messing with me, obviously.”

He could see the gears turning in your mind as you thought back to when you’d gotten stuck on the desk. As soon as the grin split across your features, he wanted to melt right into the shitty couch cushions and die next to the fucked-up spring. “You think I’d risk my Empire shirt just to turn you on?” You questioned, frankly offended at the insinuation. When his face went pink with embarrassment, you looked positively giddy. “Oh my god, Harrington you perv—“

He had you pinned on your back before you could fully form the insult, planting kisses to your neck. “You’re so evil,” he mumbled into your throat, lips grazing, soft and wet against your fluttering pulse. Each kiss made you squirm beneath him, which wasn’t doing much to help him cool down. “You’ve been driving me crazy, like you’ve got some sort of witchy spell on me.”

You giggled, and the sound went straight into the warm, gooey center of himself. “Did it turn you on?” You gasped softly. He groaned as you hooked one of your legs around his thigh and pulled him closer against you, so he was grinding directly against your core.

Did it turn him on? It had led to one of the most humiliating moments of his life, of which there had been many. It was embarrassing, but the sound of your laughter was like a drug to him, so he’d throw himself into the fire for your amusement. “It turned me on so much that I had to jerk off in the employee bathrooms,” he mumbled against your throat.

That was a dumb thing to admit. A dumb, gross, creepy thing to tell one of your best friends. Your oldest friend! Stupid, stupid Steve—

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said finally. One of your hands came up and he shivered as he felt your nails combing through his hair. “But you could have just told me, dummy. We could’ve run out to my car so I could take care of it for you.”

Just the thought made his hips buck against yours, seeking sweet, sweet friction between your thighs. “Don’t say things like that,” he groaned. “If you talk like that it’ll fucking kill me, I swear.”

He pulled back, just to see the sharp, wet glint of your teeth as you smiled up at him. You drove him crazy. Before, it was just in the normal ways, like when you made him give you a ride into the city and didn’t give him gas money, or when you drank too much at a party and puked on his new sneakers.

This was new. He felt stricken by some new form of hysteria, where something as tiny as the smallest twitch in your brows made him feel overcome with intense need. Jesus, he’d never been so pent up in his life. He felt the soft pressure of your leg tugging him close again, then the slow roll of your hips against his.

"Fuck," he panted. It was embarrassing, frankly, how gone he already was. He leaned down, capturing your lips with his again, and relished in the slow drag of your tongue against his.

He'd never loved a kiss so much in his life. With you beneath him, grinding up against him and moaning against his lips. The way your tongue felt tangling with his. He got too lost in it— in the kiss, in your bodies pressing together. After a while, the kissing got lost and it was just the two of you, panting into each others mouths as you slowly ground against each other.

You pulled back first— lips kiss-swollen and slick. It took everything in him not to kiss you again.

“So…” You murmured, peering up at him. When you bit your lip sheepishly, he wanted to bury his face in your throat and groan. He watched, hypnotized, as your tongue slipped out and wet your lips. “Everything definitely feels like it's working like normal.”

He nearly whined as your other hand moved down and palmed him through his jeans. Your fingers pressed against his button, working it undone. He groaned as your hand wriggled past his waistband to grope him through his briefs.

It all felt so good, too good. Your thumb brushed over the damp fabric clinging to his weeping tip and he swore he saw stars. "Ah, just… just wait—" He choked out.

You froze, brow quirked. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm, and tried to think about horrible, disgusting things to keep from coming too soon. Demodogs, Russian torture, Tommy Hagan's gym locker, mopping random kids' puke off of the Scoops Ahoy tile. "What? Is it happening again?"

"No, no, the opposite," he panted. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to control himself as best as he could, given the circumstances. You showed him a little bit of mercy and slipped you hand free, which he was immensely grateful for.

"So I beat the curse, huh?" You asked with a coy smile. "Becky Martin and Katie Frey can totally suck it."

Steve laughed, despite everything. "Jesus, you are the curse," he said, meeting your gaze. "For the past month, I could only get off if I was thinking about you." He swallowed, feeling vulnerable with you looking up at him. "Like I said… witchy spell."

He sat back as you pushed at his shoulders, encouraging him to sit back against the cushions. His eyes widened as you shifted into his lap, the weight of you warm and comfortable there. When he glanced down at where you sat on his lap, where your skirt rode up your thighs, he got a head rush. "You know…" You trailed off, looping your arms around his neck. "Usually, I'd never sleep with a guy who said I'm a curse."

He groaned as you tugged at the hair at the base of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat. He laughed weakly, eyes half lidded as he looked at you. "Usually," he echoed.

You nodded and leaned closer, so he could feel the warm buzz of your proximity. Like every cell in his body was vibrating with the desire to just press against you. "Well, someone needs to fix that attitude of yours. You've been really bitchy for the past few weeks." He scoffed at your words, but couldn't fight the smile on his lips.

You sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned expanse of his torso. He hummed contentedly as your fingers combed through his chest hair, just exploring the newly exposed skin.

Your hands trailed down, following the trail of dark hair on his tummy that disappeared into his briefs. He swallowed hard as you wrapped your hand around his cock, warm and tight. He wanted to see though. He wanted to look at the way your manicured hand fit around him, so he tugged his pants down and moaned at the sight.

"You must really want this," you murmured, lips twitching up in what he could only recognize as pure triumph. "You're dripping." The pad of your thumb swept over his tip, gathering slick precum to make the glide of your hand smooth.

It didn't take much. Actually, it took a mortifyingly small amount of attention. Your hand just felt so good wrapped around him, and it was the very thing he'd been fantasizing about for the past month. You, in his lap, with your hand around his pulsing cock and your lips on his throat. It couldn't have been more than three pumps of your hand, not even enough time to get a good rhythm, and he was crying out with pretty moans and shooting thick ropes of cum all over his abdomen.

His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon as you worked him through it. "Fuck," he panted. "Nngh— You've gotta— Ah, fuck— 's too much." You relented, like a benevolent god, and released him from your grip, so his dick twitched and softened against his stomach.

"Is that how you sounded when you faked it for Katie?" You teased.

"Oh, fuck off," he panted, a smile splitting his features.

When his mind cleared enough to have a little bit of shame, he realized how embarrassing it was that he'd finished so fast. Maybe you were into him for other things, but he didn't want to risk losing you now. So as he hastily tugged his pants back up, he stumbled through an explanation. "I'm not usually, like… I mean… I do have stamina, typically."

"I actually think it's really sweet, Steve. It's like a compliment." He was going to argue more, then you licked the cum from your fingers to clean it up and he nearly blacked out at the sight. He couldn't wait a second more, he had to have his hands on you.

"Alright, your turn," he said, and before you could say anything, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch again. He worked the buttons of your shirt quickly, until it fell open at your sides. He sat up, just to take in the sight.

"You're so goddamn pretty," he practically groaned. With your shirt undone, he relished in the sight of your tits cupped by white lace. "I don't even wanna take it off."

"Steve," you gasped as his mouth moved down your throat and sternum, until he was planting wet, hot kisses onto the plush of your breasts. He moaned against your chest, propping himself with one arm so he could grope at your tit with his free hand. You keened, arching into the attention, and he relished in your neediness. "I think you should take it off."

Your wish was his command. Not that it was such a difficult ask. He made quick work of the clasp and let you shrug it off and onto the floor. He sat back and really had to fight the urge to whistle at the sight. "Goddamn," he murmured, letting his hands roam up your body and cup your breasts.

You rolled your eyes, but he could see the tiniest bit of bashfulness in your eyes. In the back of his mind, it was kind of weird. Not bad weird, just… different. You were the person he went with to the hair salon and watched the Bulls with. It felt odd to have you pinned beneath him, moaning softly as he squeezed the plush of your tits and teased your nipples.

To your credit, you let him take his time. You let his hands wander and explore at his own pace. Your breath hitched as his hands dipped lower, until he was hiking up the fabric of your mini skirt to reveal your panties. Baby blue.

"Oh, fuck you," he groaned, meeting your gaze. "It was on purpose, you liar."

You grinned, and the smug expression you wore made him feel like his chest was going to implode. "I don't know what you're talking about, Steve. Do you really think I'd play mind games to torment you when you're pent up and needy?"

Yes, actually. He huffed and shifted down your body. He felt right at home with your thighs bracketing his head. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

The pastel of your panties betrayed just how affected you were, much to his amusement. He ran a thumb over the damp patch at your center and felt your thighs tense on either side of him. "You must really want this," he said with a grin, echoing your previous teasing.

"Jesus, of course I do," you said, breath shuddering as he thumbed at your clit through the sodden fabric. "You're, like, my dream guy, and you're about to go down on me."

Your dream guy. Steve's pulse thrummed as he took it in. You were incredible, way too good for a Hawkins loser who spent his shifts renting video tapes. To be fair, you were also spending your days shelving video tapes, but he always felt like that was a brief stop in your life that you'd move on from.

But if you thought he was good enough to be your dream guy, maybe there was something worthwhile left in him after all.

He kissed your clit through your panties almost reverently. His tongue laved over the fabric and he groaned at the taste of you saturating the cotton. God, you were like heaven. He could have stayed like that for hours— just tasting you through your panties. Each lap over your center just soaking the fabric more, until it clung to the shape of your lips like a second skin.

It wasn't enough though, and he was too lost in his desire to be particularly patient. He wanted his tongue on you, in you, licking up every drop of your juices until he made you spill more onto his tongue. He sat up and tugged your panties down, then quickly repositioned himself between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders.

Steve's tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he took in the sight of your pussy. Slick with arousal, twitching with anticipation. He ran his thumb up the seam of you, spreading you open. He relished in the cute twitch of your clit as blew a puff of cool air over your heated, sensitive skin.

"You're really pretty," he murmured. "So wet for me. And so goddamn responsive." He grinned up at you from between your thighs, relishing in the way your tits heaved with each shuddery breath.

His tongue lapped at your center, tasting just how badly you've wanted him. You writhed beneath him, thighs tensing to clamp around his head before he finally just held them apart. He started to taste you in earnest then, lapping up your juices, stroking the bud of your clit with the flat of his tongue.

You tasted so good, practically gushing onto his tongue as he feasted on you. His tongue pressed against your entrance, just barely dipping in so he could feel the way you clenched around the intrusion.

"Fuck, Steve," you panted. Your hips bucked, practically grinding against his mouth. He moaned against you, nuzzling his nose against your clit. "That's— ah, fuck— that's really good."

He smiled against your pussy, giving a few more slow, wet kisses before he sat up. In the dim light of the basement, you could see where his face was slick and shiny with your spit and juices. "Gonna stretch you out a little for me, okay?"

You nodded, propping yourself on your elbows to see him better. He pressed another sweet kiss to your clit before he eased his middle finger into you. If he hadn't already fully recovered from his first orgasm, just the feeling of your walls clenching around his finger would have done it for him.

It took a minute for him to learn your body. Where to touch, what spots inside made your legs shake. You took two fingers easily, squirming as he pressed his fingers against a sensitive, spongy spot. Your eyes rolled back and his head thumped against the arm of the sofa, which made him grin.

"Right there, huh?" He teased. He applied a little more pressure and felt you gush around his fingers. Yeah, right there. He wrapped his lips around your your sensitive clit and sucked until your thighs trembled on either side of him.

"Steve!" You gasped, back arching. Your voice was high and breathy, he'd never heard you so desperate before. He knew you were close— he could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. "Oh, fuck. Jesus christ, like that— Just like that—"

When you finally came around his fingers and on his tongue, he had never heard such a perfect sound before. Soft, keening moans and pretty cries of his name. Your clit twitched against his tongue, and when your sweet moans finally turned into overstimulated whimpers, he relented.

You panted, chest heaving breathlessly as you came down from your high. You propped yourself up on your elbows and giggled as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Holy shit," you gasped.

He grinned, crawling up your body to plant a slow, sweet kiss on your lips. He could feel you smiling into the kiss, until his teeth knocked with yours and he had to pull back with a sheepish laugh. "Think you can give me another one?"

You raised a brow. "I can, but do you think you can?"

He laughed. Jesus, he'd been hard since he'd gotten his hands on your tits. "I definitely can."

Your gaze was on him as he stripped the rest of his clothes off— kicking his socks, jeans and briefs into a messy pile on the floor. For the first time in a long string of hookups, Steve Harrington felt self-conscious under your scrutiny.

"You're staring," he said weakly, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Usually, the second he was undressed he had a partner ready to jump his bones, but you just took in the sight of him.

"Only because you're really hot. You're forgetting that this is the culmination of every teenage fantasy I've ever had," you finally said, shifting to sit up. He hummed contentedly as you ran your hands up his chest then traced over his broad shoulders

"How did this next part go in those fantasies, huh?" He asked.

With a tiny grin, you pushed him back onto the couch, which creaked under his weight. "Well, usually," you began, straddling his hips. "They start like this."

Oh. Steve swallowed, peering up at you with wide eyes. Your hands splayed over his chest, fingers dimpling the muscle of his pecs. He groaned as you gave a slow rock of your hips, gliding your cunt along his length.

You were so wet and warm on top of him, and the precum dribbling from his tip only added to the sticky mess. All he could do was watch, totally slack-jawed as you ground your hips against his.

Well, he could also reach up and play with your tits. So he did. His heart thrummed at the soft and pretty sound that fell past your lips as he tugged and pinched your nipples.

You didn't wait any longer, not that he would have made you. There was something so sexy about the way you took control— taking his cock in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and begin to slowly sink onto him. His hands quickly moved down to your hips, squeezing tight as you took inch after inch.

Jesus, you were taking it like a champ. With your head tossed back and your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew you really fucking loved it. He wanted you to love every bit of it.

"That's it," Steve goaded, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. "Just a little more, honey. You've got it."

You moaned, lips parted as you sunk down. Warm, wet, tight until you were fully seated. A furrow formed between your brows as you stilled, accommodating to the size of him. "Fuck," you breathed, fingers tensing on his chest.

He wanted to squirm, to buck his hips deeper, to force you to finally move. But he could behave, he could let you have this. You gave a slow roll of your hips and he groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. "You doing okay?"

A cocky smile broke across your lips, and when you laughed he felt your walls squeeze around him. "I'm doing great," you said, punctuation your words with another slow grind. "I'm just trying to make sure you can last long enough to enjoy it."

His cheeks went hot with embarrassment and arousal, the smirk faded into mild offense. "Don't be cute. I'm fine."

"Yeah?" You began to move faster, your thighs colliding with his with each bounce onto him. You took him as deep as you could, then rose up until he was just about to slip out of you, only to slam back down. In, out, in, out, in, out. "Is this what you've been thinking about every time you jerked off?"

Had he thought of this? And then some. Steve had learned that he could be very creative when he needed to be. "Something like it," He managed, eyes squeezing shut as you gave a particularly sinful swivel of your hips.

He groaned, head falling back, neck bared as you rode him within an inch of his life. At least, that's what it felt like. Pretty moans and soft ah, ah, ahs slipped past your lips like his cock was punching them out of you. He moved his hands, grabbing your ass like he had any semblance of control over what you were doing to him.

Who the fuck taught you to ride dick like this? And should he thank them or murder them?

"Fuck, Steve," you panted. "Should've known you'd feel this good. No wonder you have a fucking harem around you."

He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about another girl ever again. In one steady motion, he had you pinned to the couch. From beneath him, he relished in the way your eyes went wide with surprise. He didn't just feel good, he was good. He wanted you to know how good he was for you, how good he could make you feel.

"You feel goddamn perfect," he groaned. As soon as the compliment passed his lips, he felt you squeeze around him, pussy fluttering as he drove into you again and again. "So wet and tight, so pretty. Can't believe I've wasted my time when you've been right here."

Steve moved his mouth to your throat, licking and sucking and biting at all of the soft skin there. He wanted to leave a mark. He wanted Andy to show up to Family Video the next day so he could beg for a second chance, only to see you'd already moved on.

But he couldn't focus too much on vindictive pettiness when you were so beautiful beneath him, with your eyes wide and full of so much want. Had he ever felt so wanted before? So needed? Your legs wrapped around him, heels digging in to drive him deeper.

His thrusts slowed, until he was buried deep inside of you and grinding nice and slow, rubbing against the soft, sensitive spots inside of you that made you drip around his cock.

It was then that he pulled back, meeting your gaze as he ground into you. Your eyes fluttered, rolling until he saw the whites of them. "Jesus Christ," you gasped. "Fuck, Steve, just like that. Feels s'good."

He grinned, preening at your praise. He propped himself up on one arm, then snaked the other between your bodies, so he could rub at your clit. The second his thumb rubbed over the slick bundle of nerves, your walls squeezed around him so tight he could hardly move.

You cried out prettily, nails cutting into the meat of his back. "Just a little more, yeah?" He cooed. He moved his thumb a little faster, feeling the way your clit twitched against the pressure.

"Fuck—" You gasped. "Steve, god, don't stop, please—"

He could feel that the band was going to snap. Your gasping breaths and whiny moans were as much of an indicator as the fluttery way your walls clamped down on him.

Steve wasn't much better off. He could sense his impending orgasm like the buzz of lightning about to strike. A tightly wound spring, a dam about to burst. But, god, he wanted to feel you cum first. "C'mon, I've got you, sweetheart. Just give it to me."

It was a goddamn miracle that you came when you did— crying out nice and pretty as you clenched around him like a vise. The sound of his name falling from your lips, with your body enveloping him like you were made to… it was everything he'd been craving for the past month. Probably longer, if he was honest with himself.

He barely managed to work you through your orgasm before it all became too much. He pulled out and spilled onto your tummy with a guttural moan.

"Fuck," he panted, collapsing onto you. He should have been disgusted about the warm slickness of his cum sandwiched between your bodies, but he was so sated that he couldn't bring himself to care. "Was it okay for you?"

Steve propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. God, you were pretty. You'd always been pretty, but right now you looked so perfect.

You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, it was great," you replied. "Really great, actually. I guess it was okay for you too, considering I'm glazed with your cum right now."

He laughed sheepishly and rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

The two of you dressed in comfortable silence, mopping yourselves clean of fluids and sweat with a few towels sitting on top of the washing machine… that promptly went right back in for another clean.

You hopped on top of the machine when it was running, peering over at where Steve stood. "Penny for your thoughts?" You asked. He glanced over and his heart thrummed. Even in shitty lounge wear with your hair pulled back in a banana clip, you looked like a supermodel.

"Just thinking about work tomorrow," he confessed. Your brows knit in confusion as you looked at him. Work? Now? "I don't know how we're going to share a shift without me going absolutely crazy and wanting to get my hands on you. Especially now that I know that I can."

You grinned, and Jesus, he wanted to just jump your bones again. "Well, it's just you and me on the schedule tomorrow," you reminded him. "Maybe we close at lunch so you can help me with restocks? Just to make sure your problem is completely solved. I don't want you relapsing."

He knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd ever have a problem getting hard again. Not with you around, looking like the finest goddamn thing to ever set foot in Hawkins, Indiana. "Might as well," he said. "Just to be sure."