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A story about a reluctant hero, a cursed king, and a love that transcends space, time, and maybe even death itself.
I wanna give both a huge thank you and the biggest round of applause to @just-my-latest-hyperfixation, the most amazing, patient and clever person ever and an absolutely fantastic collaborator.
The King's Gift was so much fun to work on, and I hope everyone has had as much fun reading each chapter like I did (and I hope you enjoyed the illustrations too 🫣😆)
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.
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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?!”
When Eddie’s next Corroded Coffin gig comes up, Steve decides merch should be a priority. He drags Will into a late night screen printing session in the garage, determined to make shirts that don’t look like arts and crafts. Between ruined blanks and ink everywhere steve secretly adds a small “Property of Harrington” print on the back. Just big enough for Eddie to see.
At Show night, Steve shows up before they go on. “Got a surprise for you,” he says with a huge grin.
Eddie cups his face and kisses him. “What’s that, Stevie?”
And Steve beams and pulls the shirts out of the bag.
Eddie stares. “No way. Holy shit.”
“You like it? Now you’re a real band,” Steve says.
“I love it. Are you kidding me?” Eddie flips the shirt and reads the back. Property of Steve Harrington. He barks out a laugh and yanks Steve in by the collar, kissing him.
Steve kisses him back, smiling against his mouth. “So everyone knows.”
Eddie pulls away, eyes glinting. “Fair’s fair, Steve. If I’m branded, you’re getting branded too.”
Steve raises an eyebrow, already flustered. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, dragging him toward the back table where there’s a sharpie. He pops the cap and scrawls across Steve’s chest, right over his heart Property of Eddie Munson.
“So now everyone knows you’re mine, baby.”
Steve looks down bright red then back at Eddie. “Always.”
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Eddie shifts closer, head coming to rest on Steve’s chest. His voice goes quiet and says “I… sleep better when you’re around.”
No teasing, no deflection like he would usually do being honest. And Steve’s arm tightens around him. “Good,” he murmurs. “‘Cause I breathe better when you’re safe.”
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