insurance is still pending so idk what I'll have to pay, but i do know that we've met our deductible, and all that's left of our out-of-pocket max. is $2,437.30 so hopefully I won't have to pay any more than that
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Music is…fine. It’s good, even. You can dance to it, you can sing along, you can set the mood, but it’s not, like, a passion.
Steve listens to what’s on. He likes Queen and Bowie and Madonna and Duran Duran and pretty much anything that gets air time on the radio. I mean, they’re the experts, right? If anyone knows good music, it’s probably the people who make money picking it out for other people.
But he can never tell Eddie that.
It’s too cute to watch him get himself worked up.
“Yeah, I mean, Hal and Oats, man. They’re pretty hardcore. Private eyes, they’re watching you.”
Eddie’s eye twitches to the beat of Steve’s snapping. “Hardcore,” he grits out.
Steve hums and nods obliviously, turning back to the dishes he was in the middle of doing while Casey Casum counted down the American Top 40.
“Hard. Core.” Eddie is absolutely steaming. This is great. “Hall and Oates.” Steve wants to turn back and pinch Eddie’s cheeks, but they’re so close to the Full Munson Rant. He needs to be strong.
“Yeah, I think they took a lot of risks. Out of Touch is divisive, you know? My parents hate it. That means it's good.”
Tom Petty comes on at the perfect moment.
Three.
Eddie’s shoulders pull back, puffing up like an offended kitten.
Two.
His arms stretch to the sides, ringed hands flexing like he’s gearing up for a fight.
One.
“Much like the aptly named singer of the lovely song we are currently being tortured with, the top 40 is just that, petty. Drol. Empty. ‘I won’t back down.’ PLEASE. What is he even fighting for? He doesn’t even say, not a single leg to stand on. And don’t get me started on Daryl and John! They wouldn’t know good lyrics if they…”
Steve turns off the water. Eddie doesn’t notice as he turns around and watches, lost in his own self-righteousness. Whatever nonsense he’s saying goes in one ear and out the other. Steve just likes to watch him work.
Eddie’s lucky he’s so damn cute, otherwise, he might even be a little offended.
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rated G | 606 words | no cw | tags: pre-steddie, lost in the upside down, recovery turns into rescue
Steve’s digging a hole.
In fact, he’s dug several – they pockmark the grey, ugly dirt, like yawning mouths of endless darkness. Things chitter and scratch in some of them, and the sounds set his teeth on edge.
But Steve can’t worry about that. He’s got a hole to dig.
Should this be his priority when Vecna’s trying to crash their worlds together like a really bad game of dodgem cars?
Probably not.
But again – care factor zero.
Because the plan is to make the Upside Down go boom, permanently. To light the fucker up, to ensure Vecna and the Mind Flayer can’t get a sixth go at this.
But before they do… Steve has to get him back. He can’t leave him there anymore. It’s been eating him alive, since the plan was made. Who cares if he’s nothing more than bones, Steve’s beyond worrying about that. He’s lived with the guilt – his plan, his demand, without so many words, that a man who genuinely believed he had nothing to live for do whatever it took to keep Dustin safe – every day since he died, and the thought of failing him one last time… Steve can’t live with it anymore.
Eddie.
Red lightning pierces the violet skies. The Upside Down version of Forest Hills creaks, and the only other sounds are Steve's huffs of exertion and his shovel hitting dirt over and over.
But… but there’s still no Eddie. Steve’s dug a dozen holes and there’s no Eddie and he doesn’t understand. He and Nancy had buried him shallowly, not wanting to just leave him, but knowing his body couldn’t be explained to anyone normal, and not wanting the government goons to take him away on the Rightside Up and never give him back – or worse, give back some false horror, like they tried with Will.
But Steve has dug and dug and dug, and there’s no trace of him.
He throws his shovel down and he sits on the mound of dirt and buries his face in his hands. Tears come; hot tears of guilt and regret and grief, everything he’s bottled up and pushed down for over a year. Since 1983, if he’s being completely honest.
Something rustles and air whooshes past him – Steve jerks his head up, heart beating wildly, gaze searching, but he only sees the gloom and the long shadows amongst the weird dead trees.
But then he looks down… and there’s a Bopper, laying between his feet. Like an offering.
“Who’s there?” he calls, picking it up and standing. Stupid, he thinks. The who’s there person always dies in the movies.
For a moment, everything is silent, but then Steve hears another rustle and he follows it to the edge of the treeline.
“Anyone?” he demands. He looks down at the Bopper on his hand. “Thank you for this,” he says, gentler.
The shadows rustle again. “It’s okay,” Steve beckons. Some buried instinct tells him everything is alright, that he’s not calling to a demogorgon or something equally bitey.
It melts out of the shadows like it was made of them – like he was made of them. Steve sucks in a sharp breath. Hope flares dangerously.
“Eddie?” he breathes.
Eddie flinches back, there’s a flash of overly long incisors and the shadow of wings flaring out. Steve follows, reaching out, cupping Eddie’s cheek with zero fear. Eddie doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move either, so Steve does – he wraps Eddie in a fierce hug. Everything that’s felt so wrong for eighteen months finally feels corrected.
"Plenty of touching on my end," Steve mumbled.
"Cheeky," Eddie teased. "We need to get out of our underwear before things get gross."
"Point."
Eddie rolled off of Steve long enough for both of them to wiggle out of their underwear, but then was right back snuggling against Steve's side.
Oh wel got all sorts of naughty under the cut *wink*
"Fuck."
"Not tonight, but we'll get there," Eddie replied with a grin before continuing on his exploration of Steve.
Eddie allowed his hands to roam freely from Steve's ass to his thighs then up to his chest, all the while kissing and sucking at Steve's skin.
"Eddie … oh Eddie …"
Eddie grinned against Steve's skin as Steve gripped at Eddie's hair, tugging it even as he writhed under Eddie.
"What - oh Eddie - I - fuck!"
Eddie grunted as Steve tugged at Eddie's hair as he came, Eddie following shortly after.
"Fuck," Eddie grunted as he collapsed on top of Steve. "Couldn't tell you the last time I came untouched."
"I know you do." Eddie ran his hands down Steve's sides, then around to explore Steve's ass. "Love your chest hair."
"Used to -" Steve gasped when Eddie licked one of his nipples. "Wax … in high school. For swim."
"A tragedy." Eddie licked Steve's nipples again and Steve whimpered.
"Dyed it once," Steve admitted. "Partner hated it was grey."
"Well they're an idiot," Eddie murmured. "You're perfect."
"So soft," Eddie whispered, nuzzling Steve's chest. "But yet so strong." Eddie's hands settled on Steve's sides and Steve felt his muscles clench.
"I — I run," Steve whispered back. "Work out."
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"Plenty of touching on my end," Steve mumbled.
"Cheeky," Eddie teased. "We need to get out of our underwear before things get gross."
"Point."
Eddie rolled off of Steve long enough for both of them to wiggle out of their underwear, but then was right back snuggling against Steve's side.
Steve to Eddie after they drift apart and Steve stays in Hawkins and ends up marrying a woman out of convenience, always haunted by what could’ve been.
the whole mutual thing is really overhyped on this site. sometimes interests don’t match up and that’s the only reason why there isn’t a mutual following. if you’re a regular in my inbox or my notifications, i have visited your blog before. if i didn’t want you around for any reason, you would be blocked. so yeah. you can spam my notes and/or talk with me (and possibly become my friend) even if i’m not following you back. no worries.
Every Drummer (gay porno mag) has had one quote written into its contents page since 1976: "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away."
It was said by Henry David Thoreau, a famous naturalist and poet who wrote essays about and took part in the Transcendentalism movement, which happened in America in the mid-19th century. You don't care about this, nor do I.
But I do like the comedy of Eddie quoting this out of the blue, and one of the many intellectuals of the Party saying, "Ah, Henry David Thoreau," and Eddie turning to them and going, "Hm? Oh, is it?"
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This section actually comes right after the snippet I shared in my original WIP Weekend post here:
“Funny, that's just what his uncle said,” Eddie shot Steve a wink. “Now, me personally? I don't think there's such a thing as too much time spent with dear old Eddie boy. Who could tire of his company, when he's so charming and handsome? Certainly not I, Steve Harrington.” He placed a hand on his chest as if in deep sincerity.
Make me write!
I've got brainrot about 2 idiots from the 80s @spectrum-spectre - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
