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Scene: Steve and Eddie in their 50’s on a lazy Saturday morning.
Sleepily Eddie rolls over and curls into Steve’s back, pulling him close. He takes a deep breath, drinking in the clean smell of shampoo and the hint of sweat. He mumbles something into Steve’s neck, dots a kiss there and allows himself to drift back off the sleep.
Steve stirs and presses his hips back into Eddie as he stretches. He lets out a groggy groan as he rolls over to face him. His vision isn’t what it used to be. He blinks blearily into the mellow morning light.
He presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead and watches him sleep. It’s been 30 years together and Steve still can’t get over the sight of his partner. His husband. Aging had been kind to Eddie. Aside from some graying curls and crinkles around his eyes, he still was undeniably beautiful.
Steve’s hands began to roam, tracing the curve of Eddie’s shoulder, down to his elbow, into the dip of his waist and then along his ass. Eddie stirs, his deep brown eyes opening to meet Steve’s.
“Morning sweet . . .”
But Steve cuts his words off with a passionate kiss. Eddie whines softly, surprised. A low groan rumbles in his throat as he pulls Steve closer. The taste of his breath mixed with the intensity of his kiss send a cord of heat down Eddie’s middle.
Steve slides up to sit on top of Eddie and breaks their kiss breathlessly. The solid weight of Steve’s body anchoring Eddie down doesn’t do anything to the elated buoyancy of his heart as he still can’t quite believe that this is his life. In the arms of the man he’s loved for what feels like his whole life.
Eddie cups Steve’s chin, smoothing his thumb across his jaw and smiles. “I like when you wake up like this.”
Steve grins, dipping down to kiss him again. He gently rocks his hips, feeling the hard edge of Eddie under him.
“You still take my breath away.” Eddie whispers, his breath hitching subtly.
“Yeah?” Steve smirks.
“God,” Eddie rolls his eyes playfully. “As if you couldn’t tell.”
They bring their mouths together and get lost in another kiss when –
“Papa!! We’re gonna be late!” Their daughter calls from the other room.
Eddie turns his head and looks at the alarm clock. 9AM. He groans as he runs a hand over his face.
“Well, that’s your cue.” Steve chuckles.
“Me?” Eddie softly scowls at him. “What about you?”
“Izzy calls you papa.” Steve bends and dots a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose. “I’m Daddy. You know that.” He winks and starts to slide off Eddie, but he keeps a firm grip on his waist.
“But it’s not fair.” Eddie pouts, his gaze falling to Steve’s lips. “Come back.” The needy look on his face nearly makes Steve give in. Maybe they could do a quiet quickie?
“Come on, I took her to ballet class last week.” Eddie grumbles.
Steve gives him a quick peck, smiling against his lips. “Later, I promise.”
“Papa?!” Izzy calls again.
“Be right there gumdrop!” Eddie calls back, then he looks at Steve and frowns. He throws himself out of bed and Steve amusingly watches him, dressed in just his boxers, his semi hard on straining against the fabric, as he rummages through his drawer and retrieves a pair of jeans and pulls them on. “Well, will you at least make us breakfast?” He mutters.
Steve smiles. “Now that, I can do.”
Eddie gives a tight smile as he pulls on one of Steve’s sweatshirts. His curls spill around his face and in the golden morning light he looks so serene that Steve’s heart suddenly feels like a kaleidoscope of butterflies have taken flight.
He walks up to Eddie. “Hey.” He gazes at him and smiles. “I love you.”
Eddie blinks and a smile spreads across his face. “I love you too.”
for @corrodedcoffinfest day 24 prompt 'cassette tape'
rated t | 908 words | no cw | tags: established steddie, marriage proposal, corroded coffin all live together
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He doesn’t think much of it at first. They have a lot of tapes. He adds to their collection weekly, and he knows Gareth has been slipping new ones in after he visits his mom’s house. Jeff and Frankie rarely do, and prefer to keep their own tapes in their possession because they don’t want to risk them getting lost or broken. Rude of them to assume Eddie doesn’t cherish music in any form.
There’s a random blank cassette tape set in the middle of his pile of old country tapes. The ones he listens to least, and mostly just keeps on hand for Wayne. He doesn’t think it’s his, and he doesn’t think he would randomly put one in that pile anyway, but whatever.
He turns back to his Black Sabbath and Metallica pile and adds two new tapes.
–
The blank tape has moved.
He’s not crazy. It’s definitely the same tape. He checks the pile it was in last week and confirms that there’s no longer a blank tape there.
Now it’s at the bottom of a pile of Jeff’s favorite pop music.
So maybe it’s Jeff’s?
He’s tempted to pull it out and ask him when he sees him later, but if it is his, he doesn’t want him to get upset he touched his stuff.
So he decides to wait and see if it moves again.
–
Two days later, the blank tape is on top of a bunch of Steve’s tapes. He doesn’t have many tapes, so they’re all in one stack, at the bottom of their bookcase that holds all their tapes. One benefit of sharing a house is sharing everything.
But Steve rarely even listens to his tapes anymore. He prefers records at home, and most of his favorite tapes are in his glovebox.
So how did it get there? Why is it there?
Why has no one put music on this yet?
He should leave it alone. He knows it’s not his. But the urge to see if there’s something good in the case is so hard to resist.
No one else is home except Gareth, and he’s upstairs napping because he worked late again.
He can just make sure it goes right back where it was.
When he picks it up, it feels empty at first, which is even weirder. Why keep an empty case with all of their regular tapes?
But it’s not empty. He hears something moving inside.
He opens it because he has no survival instincts and kind of figures if the bats didn’t do the job, nothing in this case will.
There’s a ring. Solid silver, thick band. Shinier than anything Eddie’s seen with his own eyes.
He’d assume it’s an engagement ring, but there’s no stone, and he doesn’t think any of the guys are ready for that step with their girlfriends. Robin’s girlfriend gives off the impression she would prefer a flower crown instead of a ring, so it can’t be hers.
“What are you doing?” Gareth asks behind him.
Eddie nearly drops the case as he turns. “Nothing!”
“Why do you have that?”
“Um.”
Gareth grabs the case from him and closes it, shoving it into his pocket. “You shouldn’t have seen that.”
“Dude, it’s fine. I didn’t know you were gonna propose,” Eddie tries to laugh it off, but something feels weird. “I won’t say anything to anyone. But congrats, man.”
“I’m not!” Gareth groans. “God, I warned him. I said ‘hiding it in plain sight is stupid if plain sight is with the tapes.’ And now look.”
Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion. “If you’re not the one proposing, who is? Frankie’s only been with his girlfriend for, like, two months.”
Gareth shoves the case in his pocket and starts to walk away, muttering under his breath.
“Wait!” Eddie follows him, desperately needing to know what’s going on. “Who is about to be engaged?!”
Gareth turns around and grabs Eddie’s face in his hands. “You! You are! Steve’s just a dumbass!”
“Me?” Eddie feels his stomach drop out of his ass. Surely, he’ll look down at the floor and all of his insides will just be scattered. “But we can’t even-”
“He knows that, idiot. But he’s still a sap and he loves you and apparently he and Robin have figured out a whole plan. He told us about hiding the ring and insisted this was the best idea even when we told him it’s not, and I was right.” Gareth drops his hands and sighs. “I’m gonna hide it. You’re gonna pretend you didn’t find it. We’re gonna make sure he doesn’t get sad about this being ruined. Got it?”
Eddie nods. He’s in shock. This is like when Steve first kissed him to shut him up when he came out to him and started rambling about how he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable but he definitely had a crush on him. He can’t feel his hands. Or his feet.
Or his dick.
That’s unrelated probably. Hopefully.
When he comes back to reality, Gareth’s gone and Eddie’s unsure if he dreamt the entire thing.
–
The next day, Steve is on one knee in the backyard, holding open the cassette tape case with the ring in it, and Eddie is nodding along to something he didn’t think would ever happen.
Holy shit.
“We’re engaged.”
Steve smiles up at him after he places the silver band on his finger. “Yeah, we are.”
Prompt Day 23: acid wash | Word Count: 993 | Rating: T | CW: none | POV: Steve | Pairing(s): Steddie | Tags: implied famous CC, established steddie, Steve is DOWN BAD, down horrific, Gareth and Jeff and Frank WILL be bringing this up forevermore to embarrass Steve
“Tom Cruise,” Steve comments. “Nice. Top Gun.” He does finger guns, then is immediately embarrassed by himself – how a man who’s never actually had any kids of his own is so dad-dorky defies understanding.
Gareth grins, tugging at the lapels of his flight suit, then returns the finger guns. Steve’s not going to tell Gareth that the reading glasses he needs these days kinda detract from the look. He already wants to gag every time he remembers that this Halloween party is 80’s themed – that they’re so far past the 80’s that it’s now a party theme.
“And you’re Bowie,” Gareth observes, nodding in approval. “I bet Eddie loves it.”
“I actually haven’t seen him yet – he had to work late tonight, but he should be here any minute.”
“What’s he coming as?” Jeff asks, joining them. He’s dressed as Miami Vice – a solid choice, but there’s like at least half a dozen of them kicking around this party.
“I actually don’t know,” Steve says, frowning. “He’s been very secretive about it.” It’s unusual; normally Steve can’t pay his boyfriend to keep a single thought to himself – not that he’d have it any other way. When Eddie and the boys are on tour and Steve can’t go for whatever reason, the peace and quiet of their house kills him. He’d much rather hear, “Sweetheart, look at this bug I found in your veggie patch, isn’t it freaky,” and “My darling, my love, light of my life, I may have accidentally…” and “Did you know that to create this sound effect travelling from the left ear to the right ear he–” than live without the noise and vigour and zest for life and overwhelming love that Eddie fills their house with.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” Frank – dressed as Indiana Jones – calls from across the packed living room, dragging someone by the wrist over to Steve, Gareth and Jeff.
It’s Eddie, finally arrived, and Eddie… Eddie is dressed as Steve. His hair, cut a few months ago in what Steve had thought at the time was just an innocent desire for change finally, is all thick, luscious waves to the nape of his neck, very reminiscent of Steve’s hair in the 80’s. He’s wearing Steve’s Wayfarers, and a polo shirt he must have hunted through the boxes in their attic for, the ones that neither of them have had the time or motivation to sort through in the six (Jesus) years they’ve been in their current house. But the pièce de résistance is the acid wash jeans that are sure doing something for Eddie’s long, lean legs and for Steve’s metaphorical Eddie-boner too. His mouth goes utterly dry.
“I feel like I’ve woken up in an upside down world,” Gareth says, laughing and embracing Eddie, oblivious to the way Eddie’s eye twitches at the words upside down. “Who knew you could jock?”
“It’s like a horror movie,” Frank teases, shooting Steve a shit-eating grin. They love their token jock, but they love hanging shit on him any chance they get more.
“Where’d you even find those?” Jeff says, gesturing at Eddie’s jeans.
“They’re Steve’s jeans! Genuine vintage article,” Eddie says, looking exceedingly pleased with himself. He does a little twirl on the spot.
“Vintage, ooh, ouch,” Frank says, elbowing Gareth, and raising an eyebrow at Steve.
Steve’s not listening. Doesn’t react. His throat is like the Sahara. His blood is racing in his veins. He’s about 35 seconds and a lapse in concentration away from popping a supremely awkward boner.
This is really doing it for him.
“Guys, we’ve lost Harrington,” Gareth notes, dissolving into laughter.
“We should go before we see something that’ll scar us for life,” Jeff says, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks. Frank’s holding him up, but he’s wheezing so hard they might all go down in a second.
Eddie puts his back to them, and his tongue appears, running along his bottom lip, and if they were home alone right now then Steve might have whimpered. Eddie’s smirking, because of course he knows every single one of Steve’s tells intimately, he knows how affected Steve is right now.
“What’s doing it for you, sweetheart, the you part or the me part?” Eddie asks, voice pitched low, practically purring.
“The you part,” Steve chokes out. “You look so hot, but…”
“But?”
“But normal you is so hot too, I don’t think I’ve ever been this torn and horny at the same time in my life.” It’s a devastating paradox. Steve might never recover.
Eddie laughs, pulling Steve in by his hips until they’re pressed close together. “You are the sweetest thing baby. This is a one night only bit. Usual programming resumes tomorrow, and I promise I won’t even turn into a pumpkin at midnight.” Eddie turns around, lifting his – Steve’s – Members Only jacket so Steve has a clear view of the seat of the jeans. “I don’t fill these out like you do, I wouldn’t dream of competing long-term.”
He shakes his hips a little to emphasise his point. Steve feels like one of those dogs whose bell has been rung. They’ve been together for thirteen years, it’s kind of insane that Eddie can still have this effect on him.
“Together for a decade and change and you’re about to start drooling like you’re fifteen, grow up, Harrington,” Frank teases loudly, pretending to gag. Jeff and Gareth quickly join the bit, drawing curious stares from party goers around them.
“Ignore them baby,” Eddie croons. “Wanna go find some dark closet and make out like we are fifteen?”
“I think we should just leave altogether,” Steve says, voice still hoarse. “We won’t be missed.”
“You won’t,” Gareth agrees cheerfully.
“Whatever you want,” Eddie says, brows waggling playfully.
Steve’s already dragging him to the door by the wrist, tossing a wave at their friends. “I want the jeans to stay on.”
rated e | 744 words | no cw | tags: established steddie, oral sex, post-vecna
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The jeans don’t fit him, but he tries anyway.
They must be Eddie’s. No one else is this skinny in the hips that would have left their jeans here. And he’s probably the only one besides Jeff to wear acid wash denim still.
They don’t even go over his thighs. He’s always been thicker than Eddie, more muscle where Eddie’s scrawny, but he usually can at least get the pants on his body. He hasn’t really noticed any weight gain, but maybe the less frequent trips to the gym have caused an issue. He is getting older, and gets tricked into eating McDonald’s a lot more than he should…
A hand smacks his ass.
“Taking off or putting on? I know what I hope the answer is.” Eddie grabs his hips and tugs him against his front.
“Both. Neither.” Steve sighs. “They won’t fit.”
“Well, I wouldn’t think they do. They’re Max’s jeans.”
“How the hell did they get in our closet?” Steve laughs. She’s been living with them off and on for the last few months while she finishes up her last year of her doctorate. She hates living in dorms and has no interest in sharing an apartment with three other people, so they offered the guest room of their house. She’s so busy they barely see her. “Did you try to do laundry again?”
“Try,” Eddie scoffs, shoving the pants off Steve’s body. “I did the laundry yesterday. She asked if I could throw in some of her clothes since she won’t have time for the rest of the week and I guess I just forgot to bring those to her room with the other stuff.”
“When did she get so tall?” Steve asks as he steps out of the pants. Eddie drops to his knees in front of him and throws the pants across the room. He smirks down at him. “Are you staying down there or joining me up here?”
Eddie kisses his stomach, then his hip. His dick twitches because how could it not? Eddie being on his knees is so rare. His left knee still hurts too much, even years after he almost died, to spend too much time on the floor. They find ways to work around it, but he looks really good looking up at Steve like this.
“Think I can make you come in less than three minutes?” Eddie asks as he tugs Steve’s briefs down. He’s not hard, but he can be if Eddie keeps looking up at him like that. “I bet I can.”
“I bet you can, too. What happens when we both win?” Steve runs his hand through Eddie’s hair, pulling him closer so he’ll hurry up.
“You come. Maybe I come. We’re both right. Win, win, win,” Eddie winks as he takes Steve in his mouth.
He moans and lets his head fall back. Eddie’s mouth is so warm, so wet, so perfectly made to fit around his cock. He does things with his tongue that should be illegal. Technically are in a few states.
He’s hard already, and embarrassingly close only a minute later. Eddie’s so good at this. And the idea of him being on his knees–
“Shit, baby, I’m gonna come.” Steve gasps as Eddie doubles down, taking him all the way into his throat. He moans around his length and that’s it. “Fuck.”
Eddie slows, sucking and licking every last drop of Steve’s cum from his dick before he finally pulls away.
Steve helps him up because he has to be sore, and he definitely wants to return the favor. When he looks down, Eddie’s jeans have a wet spot.
He kisses the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Did you get yourself all worked up on your knees?”
“You know I did,” Eddie pouts. “I was already hard the second I saw your ass.”
“You wanna get changed so we can go to dinner?” Steve rests his hands on Eddie’s hips. The moment is done. They both came. He’s hungry. “Or should we table it and just eat leftovers?”
“Table our date? You don’t love me anymore?” Eddie’s eyes go big and round and sad. Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t do anything except kiss his nose. “I get you off in less than two minutes and you decide you’ve had enough of me.”
“Go get changed,” Steve pats his ass. Far from the smack Eddie gave him earlier. “We have a date to get to.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
for @corrodedcoffinfest day 22 prompt 'clap on, clap off, the clapper'
rated t | 447 words | no cw | tags: not actually unrequited crush, secret crush, forehead kiss, caretaking, open ending
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He’s exhausted. Never been so tired in his life. His whole body feels heavy, and his head feels cloudy, and his eyes keep drooping shut.
He should sleep. He needs to sleep.
The lights are on, he’s fully dressed, and there’s no way he has the energy to get under the covers. This is the fourth night in a row where he’s home past midnight and has an alarm set for five in the morning.
He needs to get up and shut the lights off at least, even if he doesn’t change. He won’t sleep well with them on. He probably won’t sleep well with his jeans on either, but he only has energy for one thing.
Frankie stands in the doorway. He doesn’t look over at him, he just knows he’s there. Probably amused, maybe a little worried.
He claps.
The lights turn off.
Jeff finally turns his head. The shadow of Frankie moves into the room.
“You got the clap?”
“Uh, no.” Frankie laughs. “The clapper. You fell asleep twice this week with the lights on. I assumed you were too tired to get up. Bought it yesterday.”
His heart flutters. He didn’t think anyone else noticed, especially not Frankie. He’s always been more of a morning person than a night owl, so he assumed he was fast asleep by the time he got home most nights.
“I always hear you come home,” Frankie explains as if he can read Jeff’s mind. “You’re not loud. I just usually wake up when I hear the door.”
“Oh.”
“Want anything before you pass out?” Frankie asks from next to the bed.
Not asking if he needs anything. Asking if he wants anything. Something about that makes his heart flutter again.
“Nah. I’m good,” Jeff says instead of doing or saying something stupid. He’s spent years holding back on his stupid crush, the worst thing he could do is ruin their friendship now that they live together. “Thanks for this.”
Frankie leans down and kisses his forehead.
Jeff’s heart stops entirely.
“I shut off your alarm. You don’t work tomorrow. Sleep in.”
Jeff nods, but he doesn’t think Frankie sees it in the dark.
Technically, he does work tomorrow. He picked up a late shift because someone’s sick and it’s the start of the holiday season. They need the extra bodies whenever possible. But since it’s late, and he’ll likely wake up way before he needs to be even with how exhausted he is, he doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll leave some food in the fridge for you when you wake up.” Frankie walks to the door, then pauses. “Night, Jeff.”
Jeff swallows and closes his eyes. “Night, Frankie.”
Prompt Day 22: “Clap on, clap off, The Clapper!” | Word Count: 997 | Rating: M | CW: push and shove, language | POV: Steve | Pairing(s): Steddie | Tags: i’m borrowing Band Manager!Steve but making it enemies to lovers, Famous Corroded Coffin, Eddie calls it Selling Out, Steve calls it Paying Our Damn Bills
“Absolutely f–”
“Language!”
“–ucking not. Absolutely not, Harrington. I don’t care what they offered.”
“What did they offer?” Gareth asks, curiously.
“Traitor,” Eddie hisses.
“A lot,” Steve says, arms folded, the world’s bitchiest expression trained directly on Eddie – the lone dissenter. “Like enough to have us on the road for a year, easy. Enough to replace your kit–” Gareth’s drumkit has seen better days, and those better days were like two decades ago, “–enough to replace all your instruments if you wanted.”
Eddie is returning Steve’s stare with equal intensity, and Steve hates that his gut heats every time Eddie narrows those big brown eyes at him. Steve might be bitchy, but Eddie’s brand of mean is bratty; the gorgeous rockstar who can get anything he wants, who can always get his way, hamstrung by the band manager who tries to keep the four of them on earth.
They’re kind of friends? In that they’d die for each other – almost did – and Eddie had decked that skeezy club manager who’d been so horrible to Steve that one time, and Steve had gone nuclear on that chick Eddie had briefly dated who had not only been using him for the advancement her quote-unquote acting career – and Steve uses the term acting very sarcastically, because she was shit – but also fucking another guy on the side. Eddie is protective, and possessive, and Steve is jealous, but if you’d asked them they’d say they fucking hate each other.
Maybe it’s fairer to say they just know exactly how to push each other's buttons and rile the other up after all these years, but the mortal enemies angle is good for media attention. It lets Eddie say bitchy things – “Our manager you know, he’s a penny-pinching asshole, you’ll have to ask him directly why we haven’t done Oceania yet,” – in the press, without grievously offending anyone important in the industry.
Jeff sing-songs, “Clap on, clap off, The Clapper!” and Eddie hisses at him too, but is ignored. “That’s easy. We should do it.”
“It’s selling out,” Eddie says loudly. No one listens.
“Can we sing it rock ‘n’ roll style, not jingly?” Frank asks, like Eddie isn’t even there.
“Of course,” Steve says congenially. He loves when the boys take his side over Eddie’s. He knows they’re sick of the both them, of their bickering and their tension. Jeff has said more than once, you know there’s a thin line between love and hate right, and Frank, who’s far less subtle, has outright told Steve to just, “Fuck Eddie, or get fucked by him, it doesn’t matter, but maybe it’ll calm you both down.”
“They want you to do the ad in your style,” Steve adds, ignoring Eddie’s louder, “Absolutely not!”
“Ed, come on,” Jeff says, ever the voice of reason. “Think of the money.”
Corroded Coffin are on the rise, and fast, but money like that would make the next year so much more stress-free. It’s easily enough to take their time recording their next album, to tour, or even to take a break from touring if they’re exhausted, without having to worry about cashflow.
“It’s selling out!” Eddie repeats, shouting, and he’s such a fucking idiot, Steve can’t take it.
“Munson, hallway, now,” he snaps, not waiting to see if Eddie follows him.
He does, arms already crossed, his expression thunderous. “I’m not letting my band join the ranks of corporate sellouts, making soulless garbage, Steve, we’ve been over this before, about the integrity of the–”
Steve shoves him, and that shuts him up quick. Eddie blinks, those life-ruining eyes all wide and shocked and Steve loves that look on him, can easily imagine it as his view from above while Eddie’s on his knees and– focus Harrington. They’ve never come to physical blows before.
Eddie’s lush mouth presses into a thin line; he uncrosses his arms and shoves Steve right back.
“Have I steered you wrong yet?” Steve says, with another shove. “Have I done anything that’s not in the best interests of this band?” Shove. “I know it’s your baby,” shove, “I know–”
Eddie shoves back again, his fingers curling in Steve’s shirt and holding on. “You just have to push me don’t you, you just have to push–”
Steve doesn’t think Eddie’s talking about the physical pushing at all, and Steve’s half-hard already because this is years of tension, years since he’d been shoved against a boathouse wall and has thought about that physical dominance ever since – at first thinking he hated it, hated the way it made him feel weaker, but then thinking about the way Eddie’s grip on his collar had yanked at the last second so Steve wouldn’t hit the back of his head on the wall…
“Just trying to get you to admit you actually want it,” Steve hisses, and he’s not talking about the band or the lifestyle or the fucking clapper ad either.
“Oh fuck you, Harrington, you already know,” Eddie snarls, and then he’s shoving Steve against the wall again and his mouth is on Steve’s – hot and hard, despite the softness of his lips, demanding and taking and not fucking asking anymore. Steve answers in kind, fisting his hands in Eddie’s hair and tugging, because they’ve been asking each other for too long – dancing around their feelings, both asking the other through inaction to make the first move, arguing like it’s fucking foreplay. Steve laughs into Eddie’s mouth, and gets kissed harder for it – maybe it was foreplay.
“I’ll do your fucking ad,” Eddie breathes against Steve’s lips, “if I get something in return.”
“You already know you can have anything you want. Everything you want,” Steve snaps. Eddie’s thigh slides between his own and he bites out a moan.
Eddie’s grin says he knows Steve isn’t talking about just payment for doing the ad. Steve doesn’t give a fuck anymore. Eddie’s mouth is worth his pride.
rated t | 779 words | cw: implied parent death (not any character we know) | tags: established steddie, good parents steddie, adopted children
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Steve didn’t actually think he would ever be a dad. Not with how much responsibility he took on with Dustin and his crew. He joked about it being practice, and still imagined maybe one day having a kid or two, but most of that wasn’t real.
When he and Eddie get together, and stay together, it seals the deal. He didn’t pay much attention in sex ed, but he knows they don’t have the right parts to make it happen and adoption isn’t gonna happen for them. At least not here in Hawkins.
He’s fine with it. He swears he is. And he means it. Maybe sometimes he wonders what it would be like, but he doesn’t regret not having any kids.
But then suddenly, they do.
A baby girl and her four year old brother needed an emergency placement and no one else in Hawkins answered when Hopper called. They didn’t have time to talk about it, Steve looked at Eddie, and Eddie nodded once.
It’ll just be for a few days while we look for their family, Hopper told them.
It may be a bit longer since they don’t seem to have any family in the state, Hopper told them a week later.
That was over a year ago, and since then, they’ve turned their spare room into a bedroom for Alex and converted the office into a bedroom for Sarah. They rearranged their work schedules so they only work when the daycare is open.
Sarah calls them both dada, and Alex has started to come around to the idea that they might be his guardians for the long haul. They never call themselves his parents because they aren’t. He had parents. They died. Steve and Eddie can’t ever be them.
–
“We have meet the teacher tomorrow. Don’t forget,” Eddie finishes folding the last of Sarah’s clothes. “Alex is nervous.”
“About what? We already know who he’s gonna have,” Steve takes the pile of clothes from the bed and turns to the door. “Or did he forget?”
“He knows he has Will. But apparently he’s worried that he’ll accidentally call him Will instead of Mr. Byers,” Eddie gives Steve a small smile. “I told him no McNugget of ours will have to worry about being made fun of by other kids, especially over something so small.”
Steve snorts. “McNugget?”
“Yeah,” Eddie stands and grabs the empty laundry basket. “Like your nuggets, but different. A derivative of chicken nuggets, I guess.”
“Oh my god, you can’t be serious.” Steve nearly drops the clothes on the floor. “You are not calling them that.”
“It’s cute! And Jeff came up with it!” Eddie half-laughs as he leans in to kiss Steve’s cheek. “Alex thinks it’s funny.”
“You called him that to his face?!” Steve sets the clothes back down on the bed and covers his face. “He just started to get comfortable with the idea that maybe he could call us his dads at school.”
Eddie pulls his hands from his face. “You’re being too much about this, Stevie. It’s just a silly thing, and he laughed.”
“But what if he hates it and is just scared to say that?”
Steve might be taking this too seriously. It’s just a little joke. And Alex laughed about it. He wouldn’t have if he didn’t think it was funny. Jeff would have made sure they didn’t ever call either of them that again if Alex was bothered. Sarah is too young to care, but if they put a stop to it now, she’ll never even know.
“Alex isn’t scared to tell us how he feels,” Eddie tells him. And he knows that. “You don’t have to be so overprotective.”
“I know,” Steve sighs. “I just wanna do everything right.”
Eddie pulls him close and Steve lets out another sigh against his neck.
“You want me to make sure no one calls them that?”
“No. If he’s fine with it, it’s fine. I can’t believe that joke stuck for this long,” Steve huffs a laugh against Eddie’s shoulder. “And now it’s evolved.”
“All good jokes have to grow with the group. That’s what keeps them relevant.”
“But at the expense of our kids?”
Eddie kisses his head. “You and I both know that jokes at the expense of someone show how much we love them. Now, I do believe your oldest McNugget needs a bedtime story.”
“I’m going, I’m going.”
“And this time, maybe he can sound out some of the words like we said we wanted him to do?” Eddie points a finger at Steve and raises his brows.
pharmacy tech Steve who gets to watch his favorite patient/customer/client trans Eddie become more happy and comfortable with himself over the years as his testosterone prescription works its magic
until Eddie gets laid off and loses his health insurance, so he no longer has access to his meds. except, Steve is still an athlete, and he knows more than a few gymbros who know how to get their hands on testosterone Without a prescription
thus, in a hilarious turn of events, Steve ends up becoming Eddie's illicit-drug-dealing boyfriend
rated e | 555 words | no cw | tags: secret steddie, established steddie, anal sex, eddie has a big dick
📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖
"I heard he has a small dick."
"I heard it's like a...what do they call it...micropenis?"
Eddie smirks to himself, trying to hide it behind his hand as he looks down at his textbook.
"Maybe that's why he doesn't even try to flirt with girls."
"I heard it's because he's gay."
First thing they've gotten right yet, Eddie thinks to himself.
"I don't think any guy would want him either if he had a micropenis."
Eddie snorts. He feels the girls look over at him, but he pretends he's busy reading. He doesn't even know which textbook this is, let alone what he's supposed to be reading.
"My cousin lives in New York and said that they have a bunch of gay guys who are super into that."
"I guess everyone has weird quirks. My boyfriend has no hair down there. It just doesn't grow."
"God, I wish."
A hand covers Eddie's shoulder and he jumps.
"You shouldn't listen in on private conversations, Ed," Steve whispers in his ear before he sits down across from him at the table. "It's rude."
"Well, when they're talking about your dick, it's fun to tune in and see what they have to say," Eddie explains, nudging his knee under the table. "Did you know there's a rumor that I have a micropenis?"
Steve blinks at him, then laughs. "You?"
Eddie nods. "Me."
"I'm still sore from two days ago," Steve's cheeks turn pink at the admission. "They have no idea."
--
"Fuck that's good. Jesus."
"Eddie's fine."
Steve covers his mouth with his hand, rolling his eyes as he rides him faster. "Don't talk. Please."
That's fine with Eddie. Sometimes he doesn't know what to say anyway. Steve's so goddamn perfect, especially when he's like this. Bitchy, needy, desperate. He can't believe Steve even likes him, let alone wants to fuck him.
Or get fucked, he should say. Sure, Steve likes fucking Eddie sometimes.
But the second he saw what Eddie was working with, he said it would be a crime to not have his dick inside him as often as possible. Which is often enough that Steve has a bit of a limp more often than not. It's his own doing.
"You're so fucking big," Steve moans as he leans down. "Feel so full."
Eddie grips his hips tighter, driving his hips up as Steve finds a rhythm for them to follow. He's got stamina that Eddie can't match even on his best days, but damn does he try. He has to get creative sometimes, find things that make Steve feel even better so that he pushes him closer to the edge faster. It's a bit like a competition for them, and Steve lets him win sometimes.
Steve whines and pulls his hand off of Eddie's mouth after a deeper thrust.
"You want me to touch you?" Eddie offers, even though he knows Steve doesn't. He likes when he comes from just this, just Eddie's dick pushing relentlessly against his prostate.
As he expected, Steve shakes his head. He's predictable.
Eddie loves that about him.
Eddie loves a lot of things about him.
"I'm close. You can come now," Steve allows.
--
"You coming over tonight?" Eddie asks as he closes the textbook.
"Is your dick still huge?" Steve winks. "Yeah, I am."
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Written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt “years” | wc: 444 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: canon divergent after s4, future fic, modern day, grumpy old men in love | title from the song by Mother Mother
———
The itch of nostalgia gets to Eddie sometimes. It sends him up the creaky attic stairs to pull a green Rubbermaid bin out of storage. Even among all the boxes they’ve accumulated through the years, it’s easy to find the right one. Steve’s neat handwriting on the side proclaims it to be full of “Eddie’s journals: 1986-1992.”
The notebooks weigh a ton, and Eddie isn’t as strong or as stable as he was in his youth, so he doesn’t bother trying to get them downstairs. He sits on a dusty camp chair, sweating in the early fall warmth, and is transported back in time.
As he flips through the pages, he remembers those days vividly. Snippets of song lyrics and melodies, often scribbled in the dark upon waking from a dead sleep. Little doodles of potential tattoos to replace the ones lost to scars and skin grafts. Plans for a new Hellfire campaign. Recipes for the simple meals Steve would cook and drop off for Eddie and Wayne. Movies that Steve recommended, songs that Steve liked, books that Steve had never read but needed to.
Eddie smiles at how soon his love for Steve becomes evident in his writing. Months before he put a name to the feeling, even longer before he dared to bare his heart to Steve, their mutual fascination already leapt off the page. It’s an unexpected blessing to have documentation of those days, now that he’s older and his memory isn’t as sharp.
He’s a few notebooks in, humming to himself as he rediscovers one of the first openly romantic songs he ever wrote for Steve, when his husband’s voice floats up from the main floor.
“You better not have broken a hip up there!”
“Nah, just my neck!” Eddie hollers back.
Steve’s snort is audible as he reaches the base of the ladder. “I’m not carrying you down. Your corpse will have to rot up here.”
Eddie catches the genuine worry on Steve’s face as he appears from the trapdoor. It quickly melts into mild exasperation, his very favorite of Steve’s expressions.
“I thought you were looking for the Halloween stuff,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes as he settles on the floor beside Eddie. “Not camping out on memory lane.”
Eddie sighs dramatically. “What could I do when the greatest love story the world has ever known is right here at my fingertips?”
“Oh, yeah? Whose?” His eyes sparkle when Eddie glares down at him.
“Can’t I be a sappy freak on our anniversary?”
“You’re my sappy freak all the time and I love it.” Steve squeezes his hand. “Come down, before our dinner gets cold.”
Prompt Day 19: rattail | Word Count: 997 | Rating: G | CW: none | POV: Max, Eddie | Pairing(s): Steddie, Lumax | Tags: Eddie will do anything for his spiritual daughter, Max, rattails are not appropriate wedding fashion, walk 'em down Wheeler to the rescue
“Munson, look at me. I need you locked in to the mission.” Max follows this statement by pointing two fingers at herself, and then turning them on Eddie. He’s still looking over her shoulder, grinning, so she snaps her fingers right in front of his face. “Edward, focus.”
“How can I? Look at him.” Eddie sighs dreamily, propping his chin in his hand.
Max follows his line of sight. Steve glances over, in the midst of tucking his shirt in, his brow wrinkling in sweet confusion as he realises they’re talking about him. “He’s a dude in a suit, Eddie,” she says flatly, turning back to her favourite idiot.
“He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Eddie says, with a winsome smile. If he was a cartoon character, he’d have literal hearts in his eyes.
“Hon,” Steve chastises gently. There’s so much love in his tone, that Max would have to rip him for it, if she didn’t have much bigger fish to fry right now.
“Eddie!” she says, slapping her hands together in front of him. “I am deadly serious. If Dustin Henderson still has that rattail at my literal wedding ceremony this evening, I am going to commit murders, starting with you.”
“I already said I’d handle it,” Eddie says, still all moony.
“Yeah, we got it sorted, don’t stress,” Steve says, but he’s just as bad – he goes around to the back of the couch, sliding gentle fingertips over Eddie’s neck, leaning down when Eddie tilts his head back. Max pinches her brown bone exasperatedly while they kiss. “You look good too,” Steve whispers against Eddie’s lips, like Max can’t hear every word still.
Eddie does clean up nicely in a suit, and for all he’s hamming it up, Max knows he is taking the whole event very seriously. He’s giving her away, after all, the running Mom-Steve and Dad-Eddie joke brought to its ultimate conclusion. He’d cried when she asked him, and she certainly won’t be letting him ever live that down.
El comes back into the room with the hairdresser in tow, and Max can’t help but grab Eddie by the tie and shake him before she goes to sit down. “Munson. Rattail. I’m serious. Get it done.”
***
Contrary to popular belief, Eddie is taking Max’s imperative extremely seriously. Not in the least because his favourite of the children, his princess, his angel deserves the wedding day of her dreams, down to the tiniest detail, but also because he too hates Dustin’s rattail. He’s tried to tell him, but the stubborn little shit just won’t listen – long hair is metal, short hair is cool, Steve’s swoops and waves of chestnut perfection is the most gorgeous– anyway, Eddie won’t get off track again. The point is, that ratty little string of hair at the nape of Dustin’s neck is horrible, and it has to go.
“Dustin is missing,” Steve says grimly, opening the door to the suite the Party boys are all staying in just as Eddie is raising his fist to knock jauntily.
“Beg your pardon?” Eddie says.
“Dustin is–”
“No, I heard you–Jesus H. Christ, these kids. Come on.”
Thankfully, they don’t have to go far – they find Dustin strolling into the lobby alongside Jeff, who has a friendly arm slung around his shoulder. Eddie spies Gareth following, looking disgruntled, with a suspiciously scissor-shaped object in his pocket. Eddie exchanges a look with Steve.
“Eddie! Steve! I’m having the best day,” Dustin says cheerily. “Will and Mike bought me breakfast this morning, and Jon and I had the nicest chat while he was showing me the spots he’s picked for photos. And then just now Jeff took me to shoot some pool and drink beers. Oh! And earlier, Frank took me out to lunch – there’s a dumpling place up the road, God, it was so good–”
Eddie tunes out – he and Steve are having a non-verbal conversation, to the effect of; “Are you hearing what I’m hearing?” “I am, I’m hearing we aren’t the only ones who received the same assignment today.”
Maybe Eddie should feel insulted that Max didn’t trust him and Steve to get the job done, but it’s her wedding day and she’s getting exactly what she wants if it’s the last thing Eddie does. He’s not entirely sure his Stevie feels the same – he’s got that gorgeous pouty-sad look he gets, and Eddie loves it when that look is not being used on him. Jeff and Gareth sidle over to them.
“That kid is the slipperiest little fucker on the planet,” Jeff says darkly.
“It’s like his bones are liquid. Every time any of us have gotten close enough to cut that thing off, he slips right out of our grip,” Gareth adds, sighing in defeat.
Eddie hears the clicking of heels, and he looks up, spotting Nancy and Robin coming down the stairs, the former with a look of steely determination on her face and something glinting and silver clutched in her hand. Within a split second, Eddie’s mind is made up; he shrugs out of his suit jacket and hands it to Steve, who shoots him a panicked look.
“Ed, what are you–”
Dustin shrieks like a little girl when Eddie tackles him to the ground, right then and there in the lobby. He screams even louder when Nancy brandishes the scissors, but Corroded Coffin swarms in to help.
“Hold him down, hold him still!” Nancy orders over Dustin’s shrieking. “Hold him!”
***
Later, at the end of the aisle, Eddie takes Max’s face between his hands and just looks at her for a moment; his princess, his beautiful, smart, strong, spunky girl. He’s so proud of her. He kisses her on the forehead, hugs her tight and doesn’t let go until she does first, and then guides her hand into Lucas’ outstretched, waiting palm. Her smile is incandescent, and there’s not a rattail in sight.
rated t | 633 words | no cw | tags: established steddie (but they were a secret before), friendship, haircuts, gentle bullying from friends
🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀
Of all the things he thought he’d see, Eddie with a rattail is at the bottom of the list, if it’s on it at all.
This has to be an accident. A haircut gone wrong. A dare. A bet. Something.
No one’s saying anything, so maybe he has to be the one.
Good lord. It really does all fall on him sometimes.
“What’s up with the hair?”
Eddie doesn’t seem bothered by his question, but he also doesn’t seem like he plans on answering it. He’s just kind of sitting there, plucking his guitar, pretending he didn’t show up with the oddest look yet. Which is saying a lot for him since he thrives on trying new things.
“Just trying something new.”
Jeff reaches out and touches it. Luckily, he still left it longer than usual everywhere else. Whoever cut this for him knew what they were doing and obviously cares a lot about him. Realistically, they could just cut the rattail off to match if he hates it and he won’t even have to wait very long for his hair to get back to the previous length.
“Is there a reason you wanted the something new to be…this?” Everyone’s looking at them now, probably grateful Jeff was brave.
“Seemed like a good idea?” Eddie shrugs. “I dunno. I didn’t want anything major right now. Steve said he’d fix it if it got fucked up.”
Ah, Steve. Makes sense that he was willing to be the one doing the damage and the one to save the day if it went wrong. Jeff doesn’t know exactly what his deal is or what Eddie’s deal is about him, but he knows there’s something going on there. He’ll figure that out eventually.
For now, he’s worried about the fucking pitiful braid hanging from the back of Eddie’s head.
“Has Wayne seen this?” Jeff twirls it around his finger.
“Not yet. Just did it last night and haven’t been home,” Eddie swats Jeff’s hand away. “But he doesn’t care about what I do with my hair.”
“Yeah, we know,” Gareth says. “He should care more.”
“Shut up. At least he doesn’t try to give me a bowl cut,” Eddie shoves him. “Or convince me to buzz it all right before graduation.”
“And you like it?” Jeff asks.
Really, that’s all that matters. Sure, they make fun of him a lot, but they’ll leave him be if he really likes it. There’s gentle bullying as a friend, and then there’s pushing too far. They won’t cross the line.
“I hate it.”
Everyone blinks at Eddie, glances at Jeff, then looks back to Eddie.
“So why don’t you cut it off?” Jeff asks the obvious question for everyone.
“Because Steve likes it.” Everyone groans. “What?”
“Since when do you do anything to please Steve?” Frankie asks. “Is he, like, your boyfriend or something?”
“Would it be a problem if he is?” Eddie snaps.
“No! The problem is you keeping a hairstyle you hate because Steve says he likes it. And also, are we sure he likes it and this isn’t a test?”
“He-” Eddie cuts himself off. “Well, he would.”
Everyone waits for Eddie to continue. When he doesn’t, Gareth shoves his shoulder.
“You let him do this to your hair, lie to you about liking it, and keep it even though you hate it. Are you in love with the guy?”
Eddie’s face turns bright red. “I mean, I like him a lot. I don’t know if I love him.”
“Oh my god.”
“Dude. You love Steve Harrington. Never saw this coming,” Frankie laughs.
“Happy for you man,” Jeff pats his shoulder. “But can we please cut this fucking thing off?”
Eddie rushes out of the room and comes back with a pair of scissors. “Please do.”
for @corrodedcoffinfest day 18 prompt 'wood paneling'
rated t | 768 words | no cw | tags: established steddie, jeff and steve friendship, good uncle wayne munson, slice of life
🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵🪵
Steve should’ve known better than to expect Eddie to be any help with this. He went into it way too confident.
Neither of them are very handy, but he assumed they could probably figure it out. How hard is nailing some wood paneling to the wall?
Really hard, it turns out.
Which is ridiculous because he has all the tools, and he knows how to use the tools, and he even knows how to nail things to other things. They’re two flat surfaces. He can do it.
He thought.
Eddie hammered his thumb within the first 20 minutes, so he’s been putting ice on it off and on for the last hour while Steve figures out how to make a two person job into a one person job when it already kind of was. He should probably call someone.
–
“This is a situation,” Jeff says with his hands on his hips, a mirror image of Steve next to him. “A bad one.”
They have made very little progress, and the progress they have made is terrible.
He’s starting to wonder why he even wanted wood paneling in the living room.
“Is it okay that a nail is sticking out on…one, two, three, four, five of the pieces?” Jeff asks as he tilts his head to the side. “Like, fully out. Take your eye out, out.”
“Hm. No. I think they’re supposed to be in,” Steve says with a sigh. “What are we doing wrong?”
“All of it from the looks of things,” Gareth laughs from the couch, where he’s decided to keep Eddie company during his “injury.” “You could call someone.”
“I did call someone. I called Jeff,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes. “Which I’m realizing is not enough for this.”
“Hey, I never said I was gonna be the answer to your problem. I was just gonna make it less of a problem.” Jeff stares at the problem. “Well, I tried to make it less of a problem.”
The thing is that if they could figure out the nail thing, the panels themselves would be on straight and even, which is good enough for Steve. The nails just won’t go in all the way. Maybe they aren’t the right size for what they’re doing.
“You could call Wayne.”
Everyone looks over at Frankie.
“What? I’m just sayin’ a guy who had to fix everything at the trailer for 20 years probably knows a thing or two about nailing wood to the wall,” he continues. “If anyone could tell you what you’re doing wrong, it’s Wayne.”
Steve snorts. Yeah, that last part is definitely true. Wayne is a my way or the highway kind of guy. He’ll be the first person to tell you when you’re doing something wrong. He’s too far to help in person, but he’s sure if he explains it over the phone he’ll know exactly what to do.
–
“Wayne called us idiots,” Steve says as soon as he comes back in the living room, where no one has moved even though he’s been gone for nearly 30 minutes talking to Wayne. Jeff’s even standing in the same spot, glaring at the wall they tried to work on. “I agreed.”
“What did he suggest?”
“Well, first he suggested not doing any wood paneling. But then said since we already started, we need shorter nails. And we need to go in straight, not at an angle. Which I guess is easy to do when you aren’t level? So he suggested we remove them all and start over.”
Everyone groans. Jeff groans loudest.
“What if you pay him to come do it?” Jeff asks. “He would. Faster and better than we are.”
Steve knows this. He thought about this while he was on the phone with him. But he’s trying very hard to do things on his own when he can. He wants to know how to do this stuff. He wants to be able to fix up his own house that he pays his own hard-earned money for.
His father’s resolution to everything was always to pay someone to fix it: the house, the pool, the car, his legal problems. Steve doesn’t want to be like that.
“He told me how to do it. I’ll show you,” Steve says instead of explaining any of that to Jeff. “It’ll be easy once we do the first one.”
–
Steve wipes the sweat from his brow and smiles.
“Okay, it definitely looks good now,” Jeff pats him on the shoulder. “We did good.”
“Yeah, we did.” Steve gestures to the kitchen. “Beer?”
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for @corrodedcoffinfest day 17 prompt 'answering machine'
this is my 100th contribution to CCF and all related popup events! i looooove exploring these characters so much and i can't wait to keep doing it whenever i can!
rated m | 904 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: miscommunications, second chances, background steddie mentioned, idiots in love, jeff/frankie (unnamed freak who has been given a name by me because i care more than the duffers)
☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️☎️
”It’s me again. Sorry. I know it’s stupid. It’s just. Well, I guess I don’t have anything new to say. I miss you. I’m sorry.”
Beep.
“Saw this wicked bass today and thought about that one you almost bought off that guy on the side of the road. You were gonna trade him, right? He laughed in your face and said he’d never trade a classic for some generic shit. I don’t even think he knew how to play. Anyway, I hope you’re doing okay.”
Beep.
“You didn’t tell me you were moving. Saw the sign in your yard when I drove by on my way to Eddie’s earlier. He hasn’t said anything, either, so. I guess he’s more on your side than mine in this whole thing. I dunno. I didn’t ask him about it. I don’t wanna put him in a position where he has to feel like he has to pick a side. I just wish you…I wish we could talk about it.”
Beep.
“I guess this probably isn’t even your number anymore. I’m surprised there’s even a machine set up for it still. So this will be the last time I leave one. I’m sure you don’t even listen to these. And you definitely won’t now. You left. I guess this is karma, right?”
Beep.
–
Jeff is lucky that he has parents who worked hard and made sure he could go to college. He’s lucky that his dad knows plenty of people in finance who needed to hire a fresh college graduate to make their company look good to prospective clients. He knows many people he went to high school with are never going to be making his kind of salary at all, let alone at 25.
He knows this. He appreciates that he’s lucky, and even sometimes happy.
But he still sees the life Eddie lives, the life Gareth lives, and he wonders how different things could be for him if he’d just not fucked everything up.
Frankie is fine according to Eddie, and better than ever according to Gareth. Steve just gives him a sad smile when he asks.
They weren’t more than best friends. Not officially. That’s the problem.
He convinces himself that’s why it hurts so bad. That he didn’t just lose someone he knew he was falling in love with. That he lost his best friend because he couldn’t admit to himself or anyone else how serious he was about them.
There was always an excuse. The band. School. The world almost ending. Twice.
And when there weren’t any left, he started making them. Frankie let him.
He pushed, Frankie let him.
He pulled away, Frankie let him.
And now Jeff is living alone in Chicago a few blocks from where Steve and Eddie settled. Gareth is in Boston on some scholarship program that lets him study at different Ivy Leagues every year. He doesn’t know the details. Frankie is close enough that Steve and Eddie visit him every couple of months, but not close enough that it’s a day trip. That’s all he knows.
–
”God, I hope this is your number and Steve didn’t pull a fuckin’ prank on me. He would. Anyway. If this is Jeff. I just wanted you to know I did listen to all those messages you left on my answering machine before. Even the one you thought I wouldn’t hear. I’m in Chicago next weekend if you…I dunno you probably don’t want to. But if you wanted to meet up, Steve has my number. I told him to give it to you if you ask.”
Beep.
Jeff blinks back tears. Frankie’s voice is the same. He doesn’t know why he thought it would be different.
He calls Steve and asks for his number. He’s not coming up with any excuses now. Not when Frankie made the move.
–
They’re different people in so many ways, but there’s one thing that hasn’t changed: they’re best friends.
It’s not easy at first. Conversation is awkward as they do the typical catching up, constantly on the edge of apologies that they need but can’t get out in one night. Something changes when they settle on the couch at Jeff’s apartment.
It feels more like it used to. It feels like they can talk about anything.
It feels like Jeff wants to kiss him, remind himself of his taste so he can live off of it for another few years.
It feels like there’s hope for more. He’s ready now.
–
“We should probably talk,” Jeff says as he slides back into bed. Frankie’s sipping the coffee he brought him, sheets pooled around his waist. He’s always been pretty hairy, but apparently, Steve convinced him to wax one time last year and he’s got quite a forest now. “If you…well, if you want more of this.”
“I didn’t call for one night,” Frankie smiles over at him. “But we do need to talk. And figure out what we can handle right now. I have a pretty good job, you do too. You’ve got a house, I’ve got a house. I have a cat.”
“Always thought you’d get a dog.”
Frankie laughs. “Too much work. Do you want a dog?”
“Nah. But I’ve always wanted a cat.”
Frankie kisses his cheek. Jeff leans his head on his shoulder.
Prompt Day 16: Hypercolor | Word Count: 996 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Pairing(s): Steddie | Tags: secret relationship, bi4bi steddie (not important to the plot but important to ME hehe), eddie's ill-defined general insecurities, inconvenient handprints (or are they??)
✋🏼🤚🏼✋🏼🤚🏼✋🏼🤚🏼✋🏼🤚🏼✋🏼🤚🏼✋🏼🤚🏼✋🏼🤚🏼✋🏼🤚🏼✋🏼🤚🏼
“Where are you supposed to be right now?”
Eddie gasps the question out between hot, wet kisses. For a long moment dominated by a heady press of lips, he gets no answer, so he lifts his hands and buries them in thick, gorgeous hair, using his leverage to separate them a scant inch.
“Grocery shopping,” Steve breathes, heavy-lidded, his pupils blown and fuck, he’s so gorgeous. Eddie has long resigned himself to never getting over that fact, and actually, he loves the little thrill of lust-longing-love he feels whenever he catches sight of Steve’s face. Eddie could – has – written song after song about how beautiful Steve is, how fun and smart and badass he is, how easy it is to love him and so on and on. The rest of Corroded Coffin give him so much shit for it – how many metal bands have albums worth of love songs banked? they always tease – but Eddie’s songwriting process very much consists of dumping out what’s going on in his head in metre and verse. So it’s not his fault, really, because his head is full of Steve, like, 90% of the time on any given day.
But the thing is, no one knows the songs are all about Steve.
Which is fine, really, it is. They’d gotten close after Hell Break ‘86, squirrelled away together at Casa Harrington to keep Eddie safe from the righteous mob, and then the town had gone into military quarantine anyway. Eddie was fully recovered by then, but the arrangement was working for them, so they’d just continued on, until it was a random Thursday night and Eddie was laughing at one of Steve’s stupid dad jokes while he picked a record from Steve’s collection to play while they made dinner together, like they did every night, and being struck by the realisation that Steve Harrington was his best friend.
There was always something underneath it though, a little zing of delicious tension. Maybe they’d have danced around it forever, if not for the pesky Upside Down problem, if not for the tower, if not for Steve nearly falling off the tower. If not for nearly flinging himself off it too, to catch Steve’s arm. If not for the oh realisation in that moment.
They’d kept it secret because it was new and precious and fragile. Neither of them had ever felt that way about another boy before, and they didn’t need any external pressure on them while they figured it out, together. And now, suddenly, it’s like they’ve blinked and it’s 1990, a whole new decade, and they’ve been in a secret relationship for two years. It’s fine. Eddie doesn’t ever wake in cold sweat, unable to shake the notion that he’s not good enough for Steve, that he’s something bad and embarrassing, to be hidden away forever. Never.
He doesn’t even want to tell that many people. Just Robin – maybe it’ll stop her unbelievable knack for calling them the literal moment Steve’s getting a welcome hand down Eddie’s jeans. And Jeff, who keeps looking at Eddie like he lost some brain cells in addition to his left nipple in the bat attack, whenever Eddie brushes off the attention of girls at their shows. Jeff’s asked a few times, all sly and teasing, when Eddie is going to introduce his secret girlfriend to the band.
“Where are you?” Steve asks, the you wavering on the moan that punches out when Eddie slides a thigh between his legs.
It’s summer, which means everyone is back in Hawkins, and subsequently have completely invaded Casa Harrington-Munson, abusing pool privileges and their pantry. It’s also meant almost zero alone time, for like three weeks now, and they’re both getting a little desperate and risky. They’re so used to it usually being just the two of them in the house.
“Packing instruments,” Eddie murmurs, kissing along Steve’s jaw. “Have I told you I hate these shorts?”
They’re all the rage, Eddie knows because Steve told him so, some bullshit gimmick where the fabric changes colour between hot and cold. Hypercolor, Steve called them. Whatever they are, Eddie’s eyeballs are offended by the violet, violent blue.
“So many times,” Steve says, with a little chuckle. He makes a little noise of delight when Eddie’s hands drop to his asscheeks and stay there, holding firm handfuls. “I think they’re funky.”
“Dork. Can’t believe how much I love you,” Eddie sighs, kissing Steve senseless instead of waiting for his undoubtedly bitchy retort. “We should stop,” he says, though it’s the last thing he wants. Unfortunately, common sense has to prevail when they’ve got a houseful of their nearest and dearest, all the screaming and laughing and splashing muffled only by the walls between them. He squeezes Steve’s cheeks again, kneading, revelling in his beloved’s laughter. “Okay, now we stop.”
They tumble out of their hiding closet after a quick check that the coast is clear. When they reach the kitchen, Eddie only has half a second to process the sight before him – Jeff and Robin conspiratorially eating slices of the birthday cake Steve made for Lucas that has not yet been presented to the birthday boy – prior to the screech of “What the hell, Buckley?” that Steve lets out.
“What the hell me?” Robin demands right back, around a mouthful of cake. “What the hell you, Steven!”
“You wanna tell me why you’re ruining Sinclair’s cake?” Steve says, that flush Eddie so adores climbing his neck. He tries not to stare too long.
Jeff leans into Robin’s ear, whispering. She narrows her eyes at Steve, gaze pointedly dropping to his shorts. Her tone is triumphant – clearly she thinks she’s playing her trump card as she says, “You wanna tell me why you’re here, not grocery shopping as previously alleged, coming down the hallway like you’ve been up to no good, with Eddie’s handprints on the asscheeks of your colour changing shorts?!”
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