I like it when the boys kiss each other

ALF's dressed in a little black t-shirt printed with Born to Rock and has a little guitar and record. It's fitting for Eddie, and Steve knows he's gonna love it, even if it costs almost a full hour's pay to buy. 

Steve's still trapped in his minimum wage job while he goes to night school to get his teaching degree. It's gonna be worth it, even if it's taking forever.

They hand over his food, and the puppet.

It's got a chef's hat. No, no, no.

Steve hands it back.

"The rock star one. With the guitar. Please."

They grumble, and after a little searching, he's handed the correct one through the drive thru window.

"Thank you," he says, taking it, and putting it with the other one in the Hawaiian shirt. 

It's over. He has them all. Fucking finally.

None of this is new to Steve. He's picked Happy Meal toys and collectable glasses. Dragging them into their house for his little packrat of a boyfriend to squirrel away into his collection of junk masquerading as treasure.

Steve opens the front door, and closes it quietly behind him. ALFs tucked safely away in his backpack. The other ones are in the back of his closet, under his old sports equipment. Eddie would never look there. 

It's where Steve hides all the stuff he doesn't want Eddie to find. 

Eddie's asleep, and Steve's quiet as he stows his back in the closet, before toeing off his shoes. Getting undressed, then sliding into bed. Eddie doesn't rouse, but Steve's not surprised. By this time of night, Eddie's well-medicated in one way or another. 

They need to find a specialist, someone that can look at that leg. Two years later, and it's somehow worse than it was right after the bats. Steve worries Eddie's done more damage walking on it the way he has, shifting everything out of alignment in the process.

Steve's working days, going to school at night, and saving all his extra cash, puppets notwithstanding, so they can get Eddie in somewhere soon. Maybe after the first of the year. 

Eddie's still asleep when Steve gets up for work the next morning. He stealthily stows the puppets with the others, running his fingers over the velvet box hidden away with them. It's not a fancy ring, not real gold or anything like that, but Steve picked it out for Eddie.

Wanting to ask.

Wanting forever.

The time just hasn't been right.

He's probably rushing, anyway. It's only been two years. Nobody is sure after only two years. 

But Steve feels sure.

He also knows any proposal he'll offer Eddie can't be made good on, at least not legally, but he still wants Eddie to know he's in it. For the long haul. Totally committed.

Steve isn't afraid of commitment, it's all he wants. To stay. To love and be loved.

Steve's lacing his Nikes when Eddie stirs, rolling over to press his face to Steve's back.

"Mornin'," Steve says, fondness coloring his voice.

"Mmm," Eddie says, pressing a kiss to Steve's back, through the rough polyester uniform shirt he has to wear.

"I'll be home early tonight," Steve says. 

"I'll cook," Eddie says, and Steve smiles. Cooking is a stretch. But Steve will eat the cereal or the Spagettios without complaint. 

At least it won't be a Whopper, he supposes.

The house is dark when he pulls in, and Steve feels a little crestfallen. It must have been a bad day if Eddie's already in bed before six. 

So, Steve's extra quiet when he opens the front door. Pressing it closed behind him with a gentle click.

"Hey," Eddie says, and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Fuck," Steve laughs, holding his hand to his chest. Heart beating fast.

On the kitchen table there are plates set, and a single candle. Six ALF puppets are crowded around something, like they're preparing for a ritual, and Steve knows what it is.

"Been snooping?"

"Thought I saw ALF fur this morning."

Steve nods.

"You have something to ask me?" Eddie questions, big eyes shining by candlelight.

This isn't what he had in mind, of course. He wanted perfect. But life, well, life's never been perfect. They fought monsters. Eddie's got a bum leg. Steve's working and going to school and tired as shit.

Steve bought six ALF puppets instead of four. 

But he's also got Eddie, and Eddie wants him to ask.

Steve snatches the ring box away from the ALFs and gets down on one knee in front of Eddie.

"Will you marry me?" Steve asks, forgoing the speech. Eddie knows all that already.

Eddie smiles in a way that Steve will always love.

"Yes."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

"I'm gonna come," Eddie warns, and Steve pulls his hair harder, then releases him, sliding down his body smoothly, and wrapping his lips around the head of Eddie's cock.

That's all it takes, and Eddie comes.

Easily. Too easily.

He hasn't said a goddamn word, because he feels like if he does, that it will really be the beginning of the end with Steve.

And he's not ready.

Not yet.

Steve's leg is slung over his. He's fiddling with a die cast figurine he found on Eddie's nightstand. 

"You're coming faster," Steve says, and Eddie hears what he's not saying.

"Yeah," Eddie says, "must finally be getting some sensation back. Took long enough. Fucking bats."

"That's good," Steve says, but it doesn't sound like he thinks it's good.

Steve needs a project. Needs something, or someone, to fix. 

And if Eddie's not broken anymore? Then what? 

"Good job, your magic cock healed me. You should pat yourself on the back for a job well done." 

Steve laughs, but it sounds hollow. And a little sad. 

Steve's scarce. Eddie misses him. 

But Steve doesn't reach out, so Eddie doesn't either. 

He doesn't have a reason. 

His hair doesn't need to be cut, and his cock doesn't need the patience of a saint. 

Eddie hears from Robin that Steve's taking some girl he met to dinner tonight. 

It's fine. Eddie got ten years of friendship with a side of fucking. 

Steve's about to turn thirty. Eddie's sure he wants more out of his life than this slice of fucked up hell Eddie can offer. 

He definitely deserves more. 

The bedroom door creaks open, and Eddie sits up.

Steve's standing there in the doorway, hands clasped in front of him. Rubbing one with the other, like he's soothing himself. Like he isn't sure he should be here, even if he's always welcome. He knows that.

"I just needed to see you."

And Eddie doesn't really have time to decide how he's gonna deal with that, before Steve is on top of him, face buried in Eddie's neck.

His hand finds Eddie's, and he laces their fingers together, squeezing. Holding on for dear life, it seems. 

It feels like it did at first. Steve so desperate to hang onto anything, while Eddie was just the closest life raft. 

Eddie uses his free hand to rub Steve's back. Waiting for the next move, but there doesn't seem to be one. There's no grinding into him, no hard dick at all, just Steve breathing against his skin in warm puffs of air.

Snaking his hand under Steve's t-shirt, Eddie plays with the hair above the waistband of his jeans. It's soft, and his back is warm. Steve sighs, relaxing a little more to Eddie's touch. 

"Wanna talk about it?" Eddie asks.

They don't talk about their situation, but they do talk about everything else. 

Steve can tell him anything. 

Steve shakes his head and Eddie's not gonna make him. Instead, he just shifts, pressing his lips to Steve's rough cheek. His five o'clock shadow is scratchy.

Did he not shave before his date?

Steve sucks in a breath, "I can't. Not tonight."

Eddie pulls back, and slides his hand further up Steve's back.

"I can't be in charge of anything or anyone," Steve murmurs, and Eddie scratches his blunt nails against Steve's warm skin. "Not even you. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to do anything for me," Eddie says, "you can just lay here."

And Steve squeezes his hand harder.

"Can I do anything for you?" Eddie asks, and Steve's breath hitches. He pulls his face away, and looks in Eddie's eyes. Like he's searching. Or asking permission. Eddie doesn't know which. 

Eddie pulls his hand from beneath Steve's shirt, and lightly touches the side of his face, "What do you need?"

Steve closes the distance, and slides his lips along Eddie's. It's soft, chaste, and nothing like what they usually do together.

Eddie kisses him back. 

And they keep it up until Eddie feels flush, beard burn heating up his face. 

He pulls back, chuckling. 

Steve licks his lips, and Eddie smiles at him. 

"I couldn't go tonight. You've broken me." 

Eddie's smile falls, and Steve just squeezes his hand harder. 

"In a good way. I just want you. Any way you'll have me, but preferably for real."

Real. Eddie wants real. 

Steve continues. "It's always felt real, even if you've kept me at arm's length. Even if you have all these rules on how I get to touch you." 

Eddie swallows the lump that's in his throat. 

"Even if you did everything you could to keep me from loving you. It was impossible. But I pretended. Until you still cut me loose." 

Eddie squeezes Steve's hand this time. 

"I didn't mean to cut you loose, I thought you wanted to go."

Steve laughs, but he's not happy, "I've never wanted to go. Even if we're not compatible. Even if I wanna get fucked, at least sometimes. Even if I want to go slow, and soft, and hold your hand, at least sometimes, too."

"You can do all that," Eddie says. 

"I want you to know I love you, and that scares me, because nobody wants me to love them." 

Eddie nods along, "I want you to love me, because I've loved you for years and didn't know how to change what we were."

Steve laughs, this time it's a bright sound. A giggle. 

"I'm gonna tie you up and kiss you all over." 

"Promises, promises," Eddie says, pressing forward, kissing him again.

It's a good place to start. 

Steve slides his fingers up the small braid, closer to the scalp, tugging with a little more pressure, pulling Eddie's head backwards as he hammers into him. Eddie wishes he had half the confidence Steve has. Eddie can pretend. Steve just exists.

"It looks fucking stupid," Steve says. "You look like an asshole."

"I am an asshole," Eddie retorts.

"You look like trailer trash."

Eddie's fingers clutch the sheets. Then, he reaches back and taps Steve on the thigh. It's subtle, but Steve will get the message and redirect, just a little.

"Well, if the shoe fits," Eddie says. 

Eddie has never found anyone that could make him buzz with desire like Steve does. Eddie asked for this. To feel something. To find a way to feel the roil of desire building anywhere in the way his cock just can't anymore. He feels like he needs his brain stroked. To feel the build-up there instead. He's asked to be put down, to be put in his place, to get off in other ways, and Steve just nodded along like Eddie was asking what the weather was like.

Steve didn't ask questions. He rarely does. He's always just rolled with whatever Eddie throws at him. There's something intoxicating about having Steve Harrington, known bitch, let loose on you while he fucks you good. 

To have someone that doesn't give a fuck if Eddie takes an hour to come. Someone that knows it has nothing to do with them, honest.

Someone that doesn't mind his broken parts, inside and out.

It's something Eddie doesn't want to inspect too closely, or he's sure he'd make connections he wouldn't like.

Overall, Steve does great. He's a natural. Coachable. There's just some things that don't scratch the right itch for Eddie. Poking at his tax bracket? That's one of them.

So, yeah, Steve might miss the mark from time to time, but it never takes him long to redirect and get it right.

"You'll never amount to anything. Not looking like this."

That's much better. 

Eddie hums in agreement, loosening his jaw to take some of the pressure off that Steve's applying by holding his hair. 

"I can't stand looking at it," Steve says, leaning over and grabbing his scissors off the nightstand. 

"Steve," Eddie whines. 

Then, he hears the metallic snip, before his head falls forward landing on the pillow. 

Steve smacks his shoulder with the cut off thin braid, then tosses next to Eddie's face. It tickles his nose. 

Then, both of Steve's hands are on Eddie's sides, gripping, pushing him into the mattress. 

Fucking him harder. Eddie's just along for the ride. 

"This thing was ugly," Steve says, toying with the cut off rattail with one hand. His other, warm and heavy, is hand resting on Eddie's thigh. Grounding.

He's always so grounding that Eddie never wants to be without him. 

And that's a dangerous thought.

"You gave it to me," Eddie mumbles around the cigarette in his mouth, and Steve chuckles. 

"You let me," Steve says.

"Well, clearly I'll let you do lots of things to me." 

Steve scoffs, "Not everything."

It's Eddie's turn to be indignant. 

"Like what? Call me trailer trash?" 

Steve's grip tightens, "No. You know I don't think that. You told me to talk shit. I was talking shit. I'm not good at this. I'm so sorry that I can't read your mind."

Eddie shakes his head, "Not that. I don't care about that. Just. Nevermind."

"No, not nevermind," Steve says, getting more agitated. Eddie passes him his cigarette, and Steve takes it.

They bicker like this. It's nothing new. They've been in each other's pockets for almost a decade now. 

"It's nothing," Eddie says, trying to placate him. Because that's far easier than the truth.

"Eddie," Steve says on an exhale of smoke. Fuck. Even that is somehow smooth. Eddie does not get how Steve is just like this.

Eddie's standard feels like he's a wet cat that's still just standing around in the rain. Broken, and a little unlovable. Steve? Steve's something else entirely.

Eddie shuts this down. It's dangerous. He can't say what he wants. He can't.

If Steve wanted him like that he'd already have him. Steve always goes after what he wants.

"Are you gonna fix my hair?" Eddie asks, changing the direction of the conversation. Steve hums, letting him.

"Yep, I've got just the thing," Steve says, and Eddie should be scared, but he isn't.

The buzz of the clippers should scare him. But it doesn't. Whatever. It's hair. It'll grow back. Eddie's been through too much to worry about what his hair looks like. He likes giving Steve free rein over it.

Steve runs his fingers along Eddie's buzzed scalp, checking for strays, Eddie's sure.

Then, Steve hands him a hand mirror. 

A mohawk. Steve gave him a mohawk. 

Which, well. It's a definite improvement over the last two haircuts. 

"I'll have to trim the sides every week," Steve says, and well, that sounds like a date to Eddie. He's never gonna turn down scheduled time to spend near Steve.

"Maybe you should become a barber," Eddie says, and Steve snorts. "That's gotta be better than retail."

"Eh. I like cutting your hair, I don't give a shit about cutting anybody else's."

Eddie lets those words sink in.

"You do Gareth's," Eddie says.

"An extension of you," Steve answers, fingers still combing through the hair on the top of Eddie's head, trying to get it higher, taller.

"Wonder how tall you could grow it?" Steve ponders, and Eddie will let it grow to a foot tall if Steve keeps doing that.

Eddie leans back, his head resting against Steve's chest. Steve's hands run up and down Eddie's bare arms, and it's too much. Too soft. But Eddie's gonna allow it.

For just a minute more. Maybe two.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Eddie regrets it. Almost immediately.

"I look like I'm about to start dancing to Achy Breaky Heart," Eddie bemoans. He thought he'd look like James Hetfield and not Billy Ray Cyrus. He was sorely mistaken. As he so often is.

He looks like a goddamn fool, and the worst part is, Steve did exactly what he asked for: a flat-top mullet. 

Mistakes were made. 

"Do you like it?" Eddie asks, wrinkling his nose. 

"Not particularly, no," Steve says, honest to a fault. "It might be kinda hard to take you serious when we're fucking. I might need a blindfold. For me."

Eddie slumps. He knew he had no chance of Steve Harrington actually wanting him for anything besides sex, Eddie'd made sure of it, even before he did this to himself. But still. It's rubbing salt in the wound. 

Only, Eddie's the one that forcefully held Steve at arm's length, so he can't really be that mad Steve's stayed where Eddie put him.

"You did a good job," Eddie says, "thank you."

Steve nods, putting his snips back into their little case. He bought them at a beauty supply store while they were in the city. He's definitely gotten his money's worth, even if Eddie wishes at this exact moment they hadn't encouraged this strange hobby.

"What the fuck?" Goodie asks, and Eddie thinks that about sums it up. 

"Shut up," Eddie says, sitting his guitar case down. He's here to practice, not to get made fun of relentlessly. 

"Did you pay for that?" Jeff asks. 

"You damn well know Steve did it," Gareth chimes in, as if he hasn't been taking advantage of Steve's free barber services, too. 

"The cut isn't technically bad," Goodie says, "it just looks stupid on Eddie." 

"It looks stupid on everyone," Jeff chimes in, and Eddie feels defeated.

Maybe Steve will shave it all off for him. He can start over, and hopefully not be such a fucking idiot next time.

"I thought you couldn't take me seriously?" Eddie asks, hands cuffed to the bed frame. He yanks, digging into the wooden spindles. He likes that they're all scuffed from fucking Steve.

"I can't," Steve says, and starts stripping the pillow out of its case.

"What're you—"

But his question is cut off, muffled, from Steve shoving the pillowcase over Eddie's head.

Eddie dick gets impossibly harder, and he can feel his own breath blowing back in his face, trapped beneath the cotton.

Steve slides into him, and Eddie keens.

And Eddie comes. Fast. He never comes fast. Not anymore. He knows it's mostly about his prostate and the unexpected sack over his head. 

"Did you just come?" Steve asks, and Eddie's embarrassed. This whole arrangement began due to his sexual deviance, his delayed orgasms, if not outright erectile dysfunction, and if that's clearing up? 

Fuck. 

"Yeah," Eddie mumbles, voice muffled. 

"Shit," Steve says, and Eddie feels the bile rising. He needs the pillowcase off. He needs to wear it forever. "That's hot."

And Eddie relaxes, just a bit. Then, Steve's hand grasps at the top of the pillowcase, "Want me to pull this off?" 

"No!" 

"Want me to pull out?" 

"No. Keep fucking me," Eddie says, grateful his face is covered. 

And Steve does. Eddie isn't overstimulated. That's not really something he feels these days. 

He kinda misses it. And the hair-trigger of youth. 

But he relaxes, breath hot, wrists sore, and enjoys the sensation of Steve fucking him at whatever pace he wants. Only worried about himself for once. Chasing his own orgasm, and not just trying to coax Eddie's out of hiding. 

It's a slow, easy grind and without being able to see, Eddie focuses on the sound of Steve's breathing. The warmth of his hands gripping Eddie's hips, holding him firmly in place. 

The slide of his thick, hard cock. 

When Steve comes, it's his breathy, soft moan of satisfaction that does Eddie in. 

And all alone, here in the darkness, Eddie allows himself to feel hopelessly endeared. 

"Just shave it off," Eddie says, running his hand over the top of his head. At least Steve didn't take the flat top super close to the skin. That would would have been fucking tragic.

Steve studies him carefully, "You don't have to go full buzzcut. I can work with this. Do you trust me?"

Of course Eddie trusts him. He's trusted Steve Harrington since they stomped through the Upside Down together.

Plus, Steve can't make it any worse than this. Eddie'd committed to the buzzcut. Anything's fine.

"Do what you gotta do," Eddie says, and Steve gets to work.

Eddie has nearly dozed off, when Steve deems it finished.

"There. All done."

Eddie reaches around, and finds almost all of his length gone. Except.

"Did you give me a rattail?" 

"Yep."

"That's mean," Eddie says.

"I thought you wanted mean?" Steve counters, and well, Eddie can't argue with that.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: I've connected all four of the haircut prompts into one universe, and they'll be posted on Sundays this month.

It doesn't look bad. In fact, Eddie kind of likes it. It's just different enough that he feels like something's changed. And after everything he's gone through, it's nice to feel like he's made a change of his own volition.

It's been a rough decade. Nothing has gone right.

Except for Steve. 

But they don't talk about that, instead they just do this thing together in between the failed attempts of either of them trying to date someone else.

That hasn't happened in forever.

Literal years, if Eddie's memory isn't all fucked up. That's usually Steve's thing. Eddie is Steve's extra brainpower, and Steve is Eddie's extended mobility. They're both okay, just a little bit damaged on the bad days. On the good days? Nobody would notice anything terrible had ever happened to them at all.

Eddie longs for more of the good days than the bad, and that's what they've gotten for a while.

Robin calls them co-dependent, which Eddie thinks is rich, coming from her.

Steve might still go chase pussy whenever he feels the need to coddle and cuddle, but Eddie doesn't ask, so Steve doesn't tell. But it's been a long time since anyone has come along to put a pin in what they do with one another.

"Keep it dry for forty-eight hours," Steve bosses, and Eddie gives him a sarcastic salute. 

Less than twenty-four hours later, Eddie dabs at his hair in front of the sink, as Steve stands in the doorway.

"I said no water," Steve bitches, and Eddie wheels on him.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have shot your load in my hair then," Eddie snaps, and Steve just laughs, scratching his bare stomach with his blunt nails.

"You're the one that moved," Steve accuses.

"I had a leg cramp. You know, where all that muscle is fucked? From some bats trying to rip me limb from limb? That ringing any bells?"

Steve just smiles, unbothered. Then says, "I'm gonna head out."

It puts Eddie in an instant bad mood. Steve's always heading out, never staying, but Eddie only has himself to blame for how things are. They have an arrangement, one that Eddie very carefully crafted to his liking. An arrangement only. Not a relationship. And after Eddie pushed and pushed, making sure to plant Steve at arm's length, now he's the pissy one that Steve's stayed just out of reach.

The audacity.

Eddie made his bed, he has to lie in it.

"Why you telling me for?" Eddie snaps, turning back towards the mirror. 

Steve's reflection flips him off, before he disappears.

Hair finally washed, Eddie sits on the porch, damp curls soaking his shoulders through his t-shirt. 

Eddie can hear Steve's car coming up the road before he can see him. 

When he arrives, he slams the door, stilling in the dirt driveway, staring at Eddie.

"I've had a bad day," Steve says, and Eddie stands.

"Me too," Eddie says, and that's all he needs to say.

It's on.

Eddie's on his knees, and Steve's hands are fisted in his hair. It's grounding. Steve tugging him up and down, forcing his hot, wet mouth to glide along Steve's hard length. 

His jaw aches, and he's grateful to feel.

"That's it," Steve says, "suck my dick like I paid you to do it."

Eddie's trying. Eddie's always trying.

And he likes that Steve makes him feel like it's still not good enough. He doesn't want to coast. Doesn't want to rest on his laurels. He wants to make Steve feel better than he did the last time. More satisfied.

It'd taken some forceful redirection to scrub Steve's softness from their encounters. Those first months, even as good as it felt, it made Eddie's skin crawl. Steve petting him, or holding his hand, or god-fucking-forbid, thrusting into him gently as he stared in Eddie's eyes. Like he wanted to see his soul.

No fucking thank you.

That's for relationships, and since they don't have one of those? Eddie's out on any of that bullshit.

So, Eddie had to mold him. Had to gently lead him into a little roughness, a half-step at a time. Steve won't hurt him, but he will use his words to cut, he will pin Eddie to the mattress, or pull his hair, and that's just fucking fine with Eddie.

Eddie closes his eyes and lets Steve just fuck his mouth. Lets him ram that big cock down as far as he wants to, and when he comes, Eddie swallows. 

His own dick is hard, but pretty indifferent at being ignored, and when Steve manhandles Eddie to the couch, onto his back, Eddie knows where this is going. Steve grabs the lube off the end table, slicking up Eddie, slicking up himself, and getting a quick two fingers deep.

And then he's seated. 

Eddie prefers it the other way around, but sometimes, sometimes Steve just takes what he wants, and that? Well, that's just fine with Eddie. He'll let Steve ride his cock, chasing after whatever he needs.

It's not like Eddie's dick cares. He still gets hard, but his orgasm likes to take its sweet-ass time after whatever nerve damage the bats caused, so if Steve wants to fuck himself silly? He can go for it.

Hips rolling.

The pleasure's dulled for Eddie, the sensations lost somewhere down a tunnel, meaning all he can do is last, and sometimes, like today, Steve uses that to his advantage, pinching Eddie's good nipple, a good twist, making Eddie laugh.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Eddie's been working on this mixtape for a few weeks. Months, really. 

He needs the right songs, and that takes time. It'd be easier if he could pop down to the record store and buy all the new releases, the hot music and dub them that way, but, well — money. 

And there's the fact that the town still loathes him. Name cleared or not. It's easier to just lay low until the heat dies down.

If it ever dies down.

Eddie hits the record button. The play button goes down with it.

"Whatcha doin'?"

Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin. Gareth's standing behind him.

"Nothing," Eddie says, defensive. Curling in around the boombox. Like that's gonna hide that he's definitely doing something.

"Are you ripping this? This?"

Eddie can't reasonably explain why he's ripping a Don Johnson song off the radio. Not at all. So he doesn't even try.

"Why are you here?" Eddie asks. 

Gareth doesn't answer, flopping down on Eddie's bed. It's been hard to get used to the new mattress. He misses his old one. He misses a lot from before Spring Break. Things have changed, and he'll never be able to go back to before. It's a very distinct line in his life.

A rift.

Just like the ones that ripped through town. Only, this one was through his own life.

Eddie doesn't dig his hole any deeper. Just sits in silence, and when the song is over, he presses the button, and stops the recording. Hoping Gareth will just let this go.

Carefully sliding it out of the tape deck, and back into its case. 

He probably has fifteen or twenty minutes left worth of room. So, a handful of songs. Maybe he'll get this finished by the end of the year.

"Can I see it?" Gareth asks, holding out his hand.

"No," Eddie says, sliding it into his shirt pocket. There's nothing to see anyway. The tape, and the case, are both unmarked. Nobody would know what's on this tape except for him without listening to the whole thing.

Gareth pulls his hand back, making himself comfortable on Eddie's bed.

"It's for Steve, isn't it?"

The question hangs there, unanswered, until Jeff and Goodie bust into his room, shifting the focus.

Later, when they're alone again, Gareth taps Eddie on the chest with the back of his hand, ring clacking against the plastic tape case in his breast pocket.

"For what it's worth, I think he's on the same page."

Eddie ignores this statement, because it's too scary to contemplate that Gareth might be right.

Eddie holds onto the tape. Leaving room for one more song. Finishing it means he has to actually give it to Steve, and he's not sure he's prepared to do that. Even if Gareth seems to think Steve would be on board. 

Eddie isn't so sure.

The finished mixtape is in his pocket. Burning a hole, as they say. 

Another night of them bumming around, shuttling the kids all over town as winter hits. Steve keeps flipping the station. Looking for something. 

"There's nothing on," Steve says, and this is Eddie's window, but his heart is hammering against his chest. Fuck.

Steve surfs past 94.5 again, and Eddie pulls the tape out of his pocket.

"Here," he says, handing it over. Hand shaking, but he can blame that on the bats. Easy.

"I'm not in the mood for screaming," Steve says in a snit, and Eddie loves him. Bitch that he is. 

"It's not screaming. It's for you," Eddie says, screwing up every ounce of courage he's ever had. 

Steve shrugs, and takes the case. Sliding the tape out, popping it into his tape deck. There's a smidgen of Casey Kasem on the front, but Steve doesn't seem to mind, and when Addicted to Love comes he starts bobbing his head with it. 

It feels like a win to Eddie.

The next time he gets in Steve's car, the tape is still in the deck, Steve's said nothing, so Eddie says nothing. They're going to Indy, and with Robin in tow, Eddie's in the backseat. 

When the tape ends, Love Will Conquer All finishing it out, Robin screws up her face.

"Whichever girl made you this has got it bad for you," Robin spouts off.

Steve's eyes flick up to the rear view mirror. Eddie meets them for a second, then looks away. Like the landscaping to his right is suddenly mighty interesting.

Eddie was not prepared for the slamming on the brakes, and braces his hands against the back of Robin's seat as Steve abruptly pulls over to the side of the road.

Robin's screaming at Steve, and Eddie's about to have a nervous breakdown. Maybe he should run. 

He doesn't have time. 

Steve has yanked open the back door on the other side of the car, and is climbing in, sliding across the leather. Eddie is scrunched against the door, pinned, trapped, and Robin has turned around, looking over the headrest at the unprecedented spectacle unfolding, and this is not how this was supposed to go. Not at all.

"Eddie," Steve says. It's a full question, and Eddie nods. A quick short movement.

"Holy shit," Steve whispers, and then he's scooting closer, hands finding Eddie's face that's hidden behind his hair, turning him, lips pressing against Eddie's. 

Robin's making noise. Eddie can barely hear it with the blood rushing in his ears, but Steve's lips are warm, firm, and sure.

Gareth was right. Steve's on the same page.

Eddie's pretty sure Steve's parents did a number on him, and Steve's just freaked out. About the prospect of being outed, or maybe of even being involved with another guy at all.

"Maybe he's not on the same page," Wayne says, and Eddie would love to say he's never thought that himself, but that'd be a lie. He does worry about that, even if when he's with Steve he doesn't feel anything other than adored.

Loved.

He feels loved. 

He's just gotta feel that love very deep in the closet. It's not that Eddie wants to go parading around town, he doesn't, he's no fucking fool. But he would like to hang out in his own home without Steve turning tail every time Wayne gets within fifty feet of them.

Wayne knows. Steve knows that Wayne knows.

And he still flees.

It's rough.

Eddie hears the tapping on his window, and while it could be a murderer. He knows it's Steve. And when the glass is pushed up, Eddie makes room, scooting over.

"Welcome back," Eddie says, voice thick with sleep.

Steve laughs, "Sorry. I panicked."

Obviously.

Steve sheds his clothes, and climbs in next to Eddie, burrowing close.

"Wayne knows. There's no reason to bail out like your ass is on fire. He knows. You running doesn't make him know any less."

Steve chuckles, pressing his lips to Eddie's shoulder. "I know. It's knee-jerk. I can't help it. If it was my dad, I'd need a head start."

Eddie pulls Steve closer, "Wayne's not your dad. He asked if I've asked you to go steady yet."

Steve giggles, burying his face into Eddie's neck.

"You haven't. You haven't offered me your class ring or your letterman jacket. Nothing. Bupkis."

Eddie grins in the darkness, "Well, I have neither."

"I have both," Steve says. "Want me to ask you? Make it official?"

Eddie wants to say no, wants to act above it, but, well. This is Steve Harrington.

"About time," Eddie teases, and Steve slings his leg over Eddie's thighs.

"You wanna go steady? Be my boyfriend?"

Eddie's pretty sure he's been Steve's boyfriend for a long fucking time now. But, still.

"Yes," Eddie says, "You want to meet my Uncle for breakfast?"

Steve nods, and Eddie knows this is progress. 

And in the morning, sitting on the couch, Wayne only gives him a little grief.

"It's nice to see the front side of ya for once, kid," Wayne says, handing Steve a plate, making him blush a pretty shade of pink that Eddie will work to deepen later. 

Steve smiles, more at ease, "Thanks for being so cool."

Steve Harrington knows this because he has done it six times already.

Eddie Munson knows this because he is currently kneeling on the floor, clutching a wide-eyed kitten to his chest like a dragon guarding its hoard.

Steve clears his throat. He's in his element now, mentally ticking off the steps he's learned by heart.

STEP ONE: GIVE THEM THEIR OWN SPACE

The laundry room becomes Ozzy's temporary kingdom.

Litter box tucked neatly into the corner.

Food and water placed far enough apart.

A soft bed.

various toys.

A scratching post.

One of Eddie's Black Sabbath shirts folded carefully inside the bed, carrying a familiar scent.

Eddie gently lowers Ozzy onto the floor before immediately dropping to his knees beside him.

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay, buddy. This is your home for now."

Ozzy blinks up at him once before setting off on wobbly little legs, determined to inspect every inch of the room.

He sniffs the litter box.

The scratching post.

The bed.

Eddie's shoe.

Then promptly climbs into the shirt and curls into a tiny black ball.

Eddie beams and turns to Steve

"See?" he says. "I picked the right name."

"Yeah...you're right." Steve chuckles and nods toward the sleeping kitten

"He's very metal."

STEP TWO: SNIFF NOW, PANIC LATER

Steve hands Eddie a clean washcloth.

"Rub this on him," Steve says. "Then we'll let everyone else smell it."

Eddie gently rubs the cloth over Ozzy's cheeks and shoulders.

"This feels intrusive", he mutters.

Steve snorts.

One by one, they make the rounds.

Kitty takes one offended sniff before hissing dramatically and stalking away with her tail held high.

Gizmo attacks the cloth like it's personally insulted him before vanishing to the top of the kitchen cabinets.

Bilbo gives it a long, thoughtful sniff, seemingly considers the information, then decides it's no longer worth his attention and goes back to his bird-watching duties.

Frankie barely looks up from his spot on the sunlit floor.

Pickles immediately steals the cloth and bolts down the hallway with it.

Nugget stares at it from across the room like she's been deeply, personally betrayed. 

With every reaction, Eddie's shoulders creep a little higher.

Steve remains perfectly calm.

"All of this is normal."

"Even the hissing?"

"Especially the hissing." Steve reassures him.

Eddie looks doubtful.

"When I introduced Kitty to Gizmo, she refused to be in the same room as him for almost two months," Steve tells him.

As if on cue, Gizmo wanders past Kitty, brushes against her side, and receives nothing more than an irritated tail flick.

Steve smiles.

"It gets easier."

STEP THREE: LOOK, DON'T TOUCH

The baby gate goes up.

Steve bought it after The Kitty-Gizmo Disaster and has kept it tucked away in the hall closet.

Ozzy sits safely behind the gate while the others investigate entirely at their own pace.

Nobody is forced closer.

Nobody gets cornered.

Ozzy watches each of them with wide, solemn eyes.

Kitty hisses from a respectable distance before deciding she'd made her point.

Bilbo quietly observes from the hallway.

Frankie wanders over, sniffs the air once, then goes back to sleep.

Nugget sits down directly in front of the gate, watching with careful curiosity.

Pickles immediately attempts to climb it.

Steve redirects her before she gets too far.

Each day the hissing grows quieter.

Each day the curiosity grows stronger.

STEP FOUR: TRUST THE PROCESS 

Ozzy is finally released into the living room.

Eddie trails after him like an anxious shadow.

"Pickles, don't…Frankie, easy...Gizmo, I swear to God…"

Steve catches Eddie gently by the wrist.

"Let them figure it out."

Ozzy takes a few cautious steps.

Frankie sniffs him.

Ozzy sniffs him back.

Frankie decides that's enough social interaction for one afternoon and walks away.

Bilbo watches from his favourite windowsill, entirely content to supervise from afar.

Pickles and Nugget are the most interested, slowly circling Ozzy, taking turns sniffing him with obvious curiosity.

Then Gizmo wanders over and bats at Ozzy’s tail. 

Ozzy freezes.

So does Eddie.

Then Ozzy puffs himself up to twice his size and delivers the tiniest, fiercest swat imaginable.

Gizmo blinks.

Then calmly turns around and walks away.

Eddie stares in disbelief.

Then he whips his head toward Steve.

"Did you see that?"

Steve chuckles. "Yeah."

Eddie lets out a breathless laugh. "I was so sure Gizmo was gonna flatten him."

"He was just testing the waters."

Eddie watches the cats for another moment before looking back at Steve.

"How are you so calm?"

Steve huffs a quiet laugh. "Pff. You should've seen me with Gizmo."

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

"Turns out cats are smarter than we give them credit for." Steve shrugs, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

"And sometimes I actually learn from my mistakes."

Weeks pass.

Ozzy grows bigger.

Bolder.

Eddie grows less frantic.

Soon Ozzy is tearing through the hallway with Nugget, stealing Frankie's favourite toy mouse, and ambushing Pickles' tail whenever she isn't paying attention.

Kitty still insists she doesn't like him.

Steve catches her grooming Ozzy exactly once.

She notices him watching.

Immediately stops.

And walks away with all the dignity she can muster.

Steve wisely says nothing.

Ozzy is asleep in the middle of the living room floor.

Nobody thinks twice about it anymore.

Steve watches from the sofa while Eddie sits on the floor in front of him, entertaining Frankie with the new wand toy they got him after Eddie lost the laser pointer…somewhere.

"You know," Eddie says, "I don't think I've ever actually asked how you ended up with six cats."

Steve chuckles. "I'm a massive foster failure..." He pauses. "Actually, I hate that word."

"A foster collector?" Eddie offers. 

Steve shrugs. "I prefer foster success. Every foster found the home they needed. It just kept being mine."

He watches Ozzy twitch in his sleep before continuing.

"Kitty was the first and only one I actually planned. Robin had just moved away for college, and I was living alone for the first time. The house was way too quiet."

"So I went to the nearest shelter, and they told me she was a little diva who mostly liked naps and keeping to herself. Sounded manageable."

Eddie snorts. "And then Gizmo happened."

Steve nodded, amused, "I felt really bad leaving all the other cats behind, so after like half a year of having Kitty, I signed up for fostering. Gizmo was just the complete opposite of her and brought so much life in here, but apparently too much life for others because nobody wanted to adopt him, so I kept him, obviously."

Steve solemnly thinks back to the little orange kitten Gizmo once was and how he gained his second name (gremlin) after the first time he got tangled in the shower curtain.

"At that point I didn't even really try to get them adopted if I'm being honest", Steve continues, "Bilbo sweet-talked himself into my heart, Frankie I got after his owner died and left him overweight. I'm sure Robin already told you about Pickles, and well Nugget was just the cutest little kitten…and yeah that's how I ended up with a whole litter."

Eddie looks fondly at Steve. "Doesn't sound like a failure to me."

Steve hums and looks around the room.

At Kitty sleeping beside him on the sofa.

At Frankie jumping after the toy mouse that Eddie swivels around.

At Pickles and Nugget sharing a cardboard box.

At Gizmo on the highest point on the cat tree, probably already plotting something.

Then he looks back at Eddie.

"No." A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I just kept finding family."

Steve nudges Eddie's shoulder.

"And apparently you fit right in by bringing me yet another one."

Eddie looks at him for a long moment.

"You know," he says quietly, "you're really good at it."

Steve frowns. "At what?"

"Making room."

A faint flush creeps up Steve's neck. 

"I don't think I do anything special."

Eddie smiles.

"Exactly."

One evening, the house is quiet.

Steve and Eddie are curled together on the sofa, buried beneath the familiar pile of cats.

Kitty has claimed the armrest.

Frankie snores against Steve's leg.

Pickles is draped across the back of the sofa.

Bilbo and Nugget are tangled together at Eddie's feet.

Ozzy is asleep across both of their laps.

Eddie holds a worn copy of The Hobbit open in one hand while the other strokes through Ozzy's fur.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…" Eddie keeps reading, his voice low and steady.

Steve lets the words wash over him.

Dustin had named Bilbo years ago, insisting no cat could have a more fitting name. Steve had nodded along despite having absolutely no idea who Bilbo Baggins was. He'd promised, more than once, that he'd read the book eventually.

Somehow, eventually had turned into years.

Until Eddie.

Steve smiles to himself. Maybe Dustin had been right all along.

Maybe some stories were worth waiting for.

The cats purr around them.

For the first time since Ozzy arrived, there are no hisses.

Just seven cats, one well-loved couch, and a story finally being read exactly where it belongs.

It's finally heeeere! Hope y'all haven't forgotten about this story yet and enjoyed this little addition

taglist: @r-a-t-p-a-t-t-o-o-t-i-e @steve-loves-eddie @foreveror-never @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mrsjellymunson

They've hooked up a few times, albeit hurriedly. Eddie’s van, the break room in Family Video, midnight at Skull Rock. Always mostly clothed, or somewhere dark enough where Eddie doesn't care. So it's a new feeling, being this naked, this… open with someone.

He allows Steve's eyes and fingers and mouth to travel wherever they please, over sharp bones and spindly limbs, second-rate and half-decent tattoos, all his scars, his very being. Lets him lick and stroke and suck and sigh, focusing only on the experience and sensations, ignoring the niggling apprehensions about what Steve might be thinking or feeling and trying to believe the muffled murmurs that sound like he can't bear to leave Eddie’s skin,

“My god, Eddie. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

Steve's mouth skims over the uneven, pink flesh of Eddie’s chest. Humming, he sucks the peaked flesh of his remaining nipple past his lips. Eddie whines, gasps, hands grasping his own hair, trying to ground himself while Steve’s attention moves down his stomach and happy trail and he mumbles,

“And you taste… mmm… so fucking good.”

Soft skin slips around his cockhead, and Eddie hisses as Steve slurps his smeared precum like its manna itself before wet heat suctions around him. Eddie jerks and bucks, Steve's broad palms holding his hips static as he swallows him down. 

Eddie writhes and moans, finally yielding to the restraint, and suddenly he's succumbing to the bliss of Steve's mouth embarrassingly quickly. He grunts unintelligible warnings as his balls tighten and abs tense, and his hot spend pulses forcefully into Steve's receptive throat.

Breathing heavily, he lifts his head to watch Steve sit back on his heels, groaning as he swallows Eddie's seed. He's accustomed to them having quick hookups, and anticipates Steve'll leave now, but Steve's heavy, lidded eyes lock to Eddie's. He dips to lick a wide stripe along his softening length, suckling gently at the head to garner every drop of release, Eddie’s cock twitching valiantly even as he shudders with overstimulation. 

Hands squeeze his hips affectionately before sliding up his sides, and Steve continues watching, assessing, examining until their lips connect. Eddie tastes his tongue, himself mingled with Steve's unique flavour, and now Steve's exploring every crevice of his mouth, tongue mapping the roof and dragging around his teeth. Eddie registers Steve's hard member rutting against his damaged thigh as his mouth moves to Eddie’s jaw, hairline, earlobe, his large hands still exploring every location he can reach. 

And unexpectedly, Eddie realises this isn't an examination. It's a proclamation. Of adoration. Of addiction. Of love. 

And if Steve ever decides to crack him open and examine his soul and psyche with similar microscopic scrutiny? After today, Eddie thinks that prospect might not be quite so frightening after all.

Thanks so much for reading!

Steddie masterlist | General masterlist

"Fuck off," Steve says, and Eddie just grins. "Do we have anything to work with?" Steve asks Jonathan, redirecting his attention.

"I mean, I'll see what I can do," Jonathan says, and Eddie supposes that's all they can ask of him. Steve ain't giving him shit.

Steve volunteering to make a series of sex education informational videos is objectively a terrible idea. Get him behind the camera and he's so wooden. 

And Robin? She's even worse.

The two of them together? Oh boy.

But Eddie's keeping his mouth shut. He has no interest in being the face of VD, especially not at Hawkins High, thank you very much. Even if he feels like he could make this come across far more natural. 

"This is stupid," Max says, and Steve deflates. Eddie wants to wring her neck.

"It's not stupid. It's a teaching tool and he's doing a great job," Eddie says through gritted teeth.

He gives Steve two thumbs up.

"Nobody believes Steve's got the clap acting like that," she argues, and Eddie doesn't think she's wrong, per se, but she's definitely not being helpful either. "He sounds like a professor! Nobody is gonna thank him for calling. They're gonna yell! I'd yell!"

"We can't scare kids into not calling!" Steve snaps. "We have to make it look painless."

"It's a lie!" Max yells even louder.

"Max," Lucas says.

"These videos will be helpful to kids. We can't have them all out there spreading around the clap," Eddie says. He may think the videos are terrible, too, and probably won't do a fucking thing besides be laughed at, but still. Maybe a kernel of truth will lodge in their pea-brains to be pulled upon, if needed. 

Also, it's his job to take Steve's side and hype him up. No matter how foolish he's looking.

"I'm pretty sure I could do better," Gareth says.

"Yeah, me too," Goodie adds.

Eddie looks at Jeff.

"Oh, no, I think he's doing great," Jeff says, lying through his goddamn teeth. Smart man, though.

"If you think you can do better, well, have at it!" Steve bitches, and well, Eddie can't wait to see what happens next.

The videos aren't bad.

They aren't good either, but as far as PSAs go, Eddie's definitely seen worse make it to air on national television. Jonathan did the best with what he had to work with, and for being used at the school? They're fine.

And Eddie didn't have to tell anybody he's pissing fire or anything. So, he's taking it as a win.

Jonathan sent the finished versions today, and they are perfectly serviceable for what they are intended to be.

Steve, Robin, Gareth and Goodie all have their own videos on different topics that Steve's curriculum covers, and next fall, Steve will start using them in his classroom.

In bed, Eddie's lounging, lying in wait.

When Steve walks through the door, he very clearly narrows in on the fact Eddie's up to no good. 

"What?" Steve asks, voice slightly sharp as he pulls his shirt over his head.

"You got anything you need to tell me?" Eddie asks, shit-eating grin firmly plastered on his face, even after Steve throws his shirt at him, hitting him square in the head.

"Shut it, or it'll be so long you won't even remember what it looks like."

Eddie peels the shirt off, tossing it away, then makes the motion for locking his lips.

"That's what I thought," Steve says, shucking off his jeans, and crawling into bed.

Steve reaches over towards the nightstand, opening the drawer. Pulling out a condom, and holding it up.

Eddie sticks out his bottom lip.

"Safety first," he says, and Eddie takes it. It's probably expired. 

It takes less than a minute.

"Okay, I'm done with this. It's not worth the bit. Off," Steve says, and Eddie laughs as he pulls out, tugging off the condom. Sliding back into Steve with ease.

Steve sighs.

"That's the good stuff. Worth the risk."

Eddie makes an affronted noise. That's rude. He's not a risk. 

"Mr. Harrington is a hypocrite," Eddie says, getting back into their familiar rhythm.

Steve scoffs.

Then, raises an eyebrow.

"Is there a reason I should be worried? I thought we were monogamous?" Steve asks, fake hurt filling his voice. Well, he's a better actor in bed than in front of the camera. Still. Not very convincing.

Eddie has very easily kept his dick in his pants for Mr. Harrington, thank you very much.

But if he doesn't think so…

"I mean, if you don't trust me, I can pull out…"

Steve's fingers dig into his back, his tune swiftly changing.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: I kept thinking about the how stiff and wooden Steve and Robin both acted in that Starcourt Mall commercial, and well, here we are. 🤣

"Eddie, I don't have a choice. There's literally nothing from you! You're doing no work! Where's the beef? Not here, not from you."

Eddie laughs. Steve's funny. In a dorky way. 

"You can't fire me," Eddie says again, playing with him, just a little. He's gotten to know Steve, and has liked him a lot.

"I am, and I will. You are fired," Steve says, but doesn't seem all that sure about it.

Eddie finally smiles, "Steve. I don't work here. I've never worked here. I'm here for the free cake and good conversation."

Steve's brow creases, confusion coloring his features, "No. That's not. I put you at that desk."

Eddie nods. Yep. He definitely did that.

"You were a temp?" Steve says, voice lilting up as though he's unsure.

"Yeah, just not for you," Eddie answers, pointing to the other side of the building, "I was a temp over there, and you guys were having donuts, and I wanted donuts, and then I had a desk. It's a nice desk."

"Am I even paying you?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"Then, what do you do for work?" Steve asks, "You're here every damn day."

Eddie laughs, "I'm a musician. At night. And I'm not always here. Just Fridays. Some Tuesdays."

Steve laughs at that, running his hand down his face. Clearly exasperated.

Then, he stands, walking towards his office door, closing it with a heavy snick.

Eddie stands, too. It was just a joke. He'll pay for the cake if that's what it takes. As long as Steve doesn't call the cops. As long as he isn't trespassed and arrested.

As long as Steve isn't really mad at him.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Eddie says in a rush. "I'm sorry. I like you. I didn't mean to keep coming in."

Steve stalks towards him. Eddie keeps talking.

"I pretended I worked in the field four days a week. Then, I'd come in here, enjoy casual Friday and eat whatever the employee snack of the week was. Steve. I'm sorry."

Steve places a hand in the center of Eddie's chest. Fisting his casual Friday t-shirt.

"Eddie Munson," Steve says, then furrows his brow, "You are Eddie Munson, right?"

"I am, I've never lied about anything else, and technically I didn't even say that. You did. You gave me a desk and I just took it. I liked you, and you had donuts, so I went along."

Steve laughs, and it sounds a little unhinged. 

"Do you know that you've driven me crazy?" Steve asks.

"What—?"

He's kissed. Well and fully kissed, and Eddie leans into it. Hands finding Steve's back, pulling him closer. Kissing him, or being kissed, Eddie can't be sure which. But he likes it. He likes Steve. Steve's the reason Eddie kept coming back, because Eddie loves seeing Steve every Friday.

He'd help him run the copier, or volunteer to go with him to pick up the donuts or cake. Pizza. Tacos. Bagels. They've had everything.

And he's had fun. So much fun. 

Steve pulls back, licking his lips, eyes looking a little wild, "Do you have any idea how long I wanted to do that? But I couldn't. Because you worked here, Eddie."

Eddie gives him a sheepish smile.

But Steve shakes his head, "All this time. All this time I could have asked if you wanted to go out for a drink. Or dinner. Anything. But I didn't. Because it would have been inappropriate."

"I'm sorry," Eddie says, because he never thought Steve liked him like that. Eddie had a crush. But what's new? Eddie always has a crush on people he shouldn't. And sure, Steve was nice and friendly while Eddie flirted shamelessly, but Eddie never thought he had a chance. Not even once, or he'd…

"Just," Steve says, looking exhausted, "Do you want to get a fucking drink?"

Eddie laughs, guffaws actually, nodding. "I'd love that."

"Well, good. Now, are you gonna go with me to pick up the build your own sundae bar?"

"Absolutely," Eddie confirms, bowing, holding out his arm for Steve to go first.

"And then you'll tell all your co-workers what you've been doing?" 

"Uh," Eddie says, sheepish, "I'm pretty sure they already know."

Steve shakes his head, but huffs out a laugh.

Before

Eddie sees the donuts being carried in. Box after white box. 

And well, Eddie wants a donut. So, he follows the handsome man in the suit into the meeting room, and takes a seat along the window. Out of the way. Hoping to go unnoticed.

Eddie gets his donut. And then a second, but when he tries to sneak away, he's caught.

"Steve Harrington, CEO," Steve Harrington, CEO says. 

Eddie nods.

"Eddie. Eddie Munson," Eddie offers.

"Welcome, Eddie. It's always nice to see a new face. Do you have a desk yet?"

Eddie shakes his head. He most certainly does not.

"Well, let me find you one."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

It's been a hard three years. 

To start with, they dallied around each other for ages, too shit scared to admit how they felt in case the other didn't reciprocate, and wasting so much time in the process. 

Then, they had to navigate coming out to their friends, revealing their relationship, and deciding how much affection they could safely express in public. 

After, there was the excitement, and anxiety, around shared accommodation, not least the necessity and extra expense of renting a two-bed lest people asked questions. 

But it's also been amazing. Joyful. Wondrous. Having a loving boyfriend to come home to, to build a life with, and give just as much love back to in return? Worth it.

But this boyfriend isn't above asking for demanding what feels like the impossible.

He’s already made him cum twice. First with his mouth on their shared sofa, cumming in his pants as he humped himself against his leg. 

Then again in the shower as they cleaned up, this time with fingers in his ass as his wet body trapped his still-sensitive cock between his belly and the cold tile. 

And now, as his beau rails him into their shared mattress, their hard work and adoration and devotion flowing between them, he falls over the precipice one final time as the love of his life spills inside of him.

He's rewarded with tender kisses peppered all over his sweaty, aching body, knowing the aftercare will be just as sweet. And yet his boyfriend is still somehow of the opinion that he's the lucky one, as he squeezes his ass cheek one last time and mumbles into the crook of his neck,

“Thank you, baby. I knew you could do it. Best. Gift. Ever.”

Thanks so much for reading!

Who did you put where? (I couldn't decide so I thought I'd let you choose 😉)

A/N: Hmm, I only have 333 words for this most meaningful of microfics, what shall I concentrate on? *slams hand on table* SMUUUTTT!!!