#hoffmannwrites

By the time Thursday came around, you were doubting everything. Your mind changed every five minutes. You shouldn’t tell Jug. You should have told Jug from the beginning. Well, better late than never, right? You shouldn’t even be with FP. You should be with FP and not tell Jug outright, but not hide it either. Your head cycled through every possibility all day long. You barely accomplished anything other than going through the daily motions, as you were too preoccupied with worrying over how tonight was going to go. No matter how anxiety ridden you were, you never texted FP. For one thing, you didn’t want to freak him out. He was probably already worried and didn’t need your freak out on top of his. But more than that, you trusted him. You knew this was important to him and the right thing to do overall, so you let him take the reigns. It was comforting to know that whatever ended up happening, at least you and FP would have to deal with it together.

You weren’t sure when Jug was heading over to the trailer, so you sent a text to FP after you got out of school simply asking him to keep you updated. He texted back quickly saying Jug was coming over now and he’d let you know how it went as soon as he could. You thought about doing something to preoccupy your mind while you waited, but knew that trying to do anything would be useless. So you just went home. And waited. And waited.

It felt like decades had gone by when your phone finally chimed with a text from FP asking you to come over for dinner. Was he serious? No context, no update. Just a dinner invite? You typed back furiously “uhhhh what am I walking into here, Jones?”. Fuck, it went bad. You knew it was a bad idea. Fuck.

His response came quick, but not quick enough to calm the rising anxiety in your stomach.

“He took it good. Invited Betty over too. Figured it'd be nice to get everyone on the same page right off the bat”

Oh. Okay. So Jug didn’t hate your guts. That was promising. You’d have to feel out exact how he was taking it when you got there, but knowing Betty would be there too was promising. You got yourself ready, texted Betty to see if she wanted a ride, and then you went on your merry way.

Betty had a lot of questions in the car ride over. She knew you had seen FP again because of your sleepover text escapades and you’d made some casual comments about how it was going here and there, but nothing of any substance. You kept FP from Betty mostly because you didn’t want to have to ask her to lie to Jughead. She kept the little information she had known to herself, but now that it was out in the open, she was ravenous for details. Between her and Jughead’s thirst for knowledge and inability to leave anything alone, you were shocked it had taken this long honestly. She asked how serious things had gotten and how often you saw each other and if you’d discussed any future plans. And you told her everything. Honestly, it felt nice to be able to confide in someone about your relationship.

By the time you got to the South Side, Betty was fully clued in on your life. You walked up to the trailer, letting Betty enter first. You ambled in behind her nervous as all hell. It was like telling Jug about the bet all over again, except with way more than 50 bucks at stake. FP greeted Betty with a warm hug and then turned to you. “How’s my girl?” he asked with a grin, throwing his arms around you and kissing the top of your head before you could even get a word out.

“Oh you know, living the dream,” you responded angling your head up so he could plant a quick kiss on your lips.

“God, it’s so much worse seeing it. Like I knew it was happening but- fuck, that’s just off-putting” said Jughead, with no real malice in his voice and just a dash of pure disgust.

“Aw, stop it; they’re cute!” Betty gushed. Your cheeks turned pink at the attention, but FP made no move to let you go which comforted your anxiety.

You hadn’t really thought about the whole “my boyfriend can’t cook anything that isn’t microwaveable” thing when you had originally made dinner plans, but thankfully he had taken the initiative to order in at some point. And Chinese food was bound to make anyone agreeable to even the most uncomfortable of situations.

But luckily, things were mostly normal at dinner. Jug and FP caught up on Serpent news, while Betty filled you in on Riverdale’s mystery de jour. (She was 100% convinced that there was something funky up with that new girl and her weirdly blonde dad, but everyone else thought she was crazy. You believed her, but knew better than to get involved. You were NOT going to be the next girl knifed to a musical background because you sniffed around too hard at the insanity that followed B around). Somehow, the conversations got intertwined when FP and Betty connected the dots that maybe this weird girl’s “Farm” was where Fangs had been disappearing to, and you found yourself extremely out of the loop. You excused yourself to start dinner clean up, and, to your surprise, Jughead volunteered to help you. Not that Jughead was a necessarily unhelpful person, you just assumed he would be of more help with the discussion at hand. And that he would probably want to give you a wide birth while he processed the news that you were dating his father. Either one.

You started to silently put away leftovers and wash dishes by hand, as you couldn’t think of anything to say to each other. Silence with Jug had always been comfortable before- a time to think and write and not have to fill the void with mindless bullshit. But for the first time it felt fragile- like one loud noise and the whole trailer would blow up. You just had to say something. Anything. But before you could decide on whether or not it was stupid to talk to your best friend about the weather, he decided to point out the giant leather-clad elephant in the room.

“I’m trying really hard to not be weird about this,” he admitted while drying the plates you were washing. You blinked at him, afraid to cut him off. “I mean, logically, i’m not…opposed. Dad and I have never been particularly close and it’s not like I even live here. You’ve just always fit into a particular space in my life and now I have to find a way to fit you into a very different space.”

“I get that. And I’m not asking you to change anything for me. I know we’ve always had a bond over growing up the way we did. Independent" - i.e. neglected- "and rocky." - i.e. unstable- "And I don’t want this to change that.”

He looked mildly incredulous, “Of course it changes that. I can’t-“

You cut him off. “Yes you can". You lowered your voice and turned to look Jughead in the eye for possibly the first time in weeks. “Yes, FP is my boyfriend. Yes, I have incredibly strong feelings for him that I’m still trying to work out. But I was your friend first. And he was your dad first- a shitty one! And you’re still trying to repair that relationship. You can still talk to me about him, even the bad stuff. I’m not going to automatically take his side in everything. I knew who he was when I started seeing him, don’t think I don’t know.”

Jughead studied you like one of the boards with red string and different clues he has set up. He just stared at your with those unwavering eyes and you refused to look away, not even once. He finally found whatever he was searching for. “Okay,” he sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s just going to be an adjustment period. But if you’re both happy then…” he trails off and shrugs, but you can tell there’s more thoughts in that always one-step-ahead brain of his. You wait for him to form them into a sentence. “I don’t want you to get hurt either. He wasn’t always particularly good with my mom. Or Alice. Once things settle, he gets... complacent. Stops caring.” Jughead's gaze found a point in the distance to fixate on while he thought, surely, about his own relationship with FP Jones and how once things got hard, he stopped trying with him too.

“I know. And this has only been a few weeks, I’m not expecting anything at this point. I’m not saying he’s changed because I don’t know. I wasn’t there for the before and I can’t be sure if we’re in the after. i just know that I believe he has the capability to be a good guy, and that’s enough for me to give him a chance. I see it in the way he tries now. Please don’t think I would ever date a man believing he’s still shitty.”

Jug snorts at that. “You do love to put men in their place.”

“I really, really do.” Jughead bumps his shoulder into yours and it feels good. Normal. Feels like acceptance.

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By the time Jughead and Betty left, you’d decided it was late enough to warrant you staying the night. You and FP flopped down onto the couch, coming down from a joint anxiety wave that you hadn’t even really noticed.

"That went well,” he stated to no one in particular. “I think,” he added, scrunching up his face just the tiniest bit.

“Very well,” you responded, turning towards him and tucking yourself into his side. “Jug and I talked for a little. He’s okay with it.”

FP just twisted his head to look and you and quirked it to the side, looking for more details. “It'll be an adjustment period for him,” you continued. “But nothing he can’t handle. I think he knows that this makes sense. We make sense.” You laced your fingers in between his as he kissed the top of your head.

“Good. That makes this so much easier,” he admitted, resting his head on top of yours. You sat like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, breathing slow, enjoying the silence, and sharing small kisses and light touches.

Eventually FP scooped you up and carried you to bed, where light touches became heavier and kisses became feverish, until you were both so warn out that you passed out, wrapped up in each other again.

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Author's Note Pt 2:

I will never get over the Chad Michael Murray Organ Harvesting Incest Cult plot line.

Why are you, as an adult man, blonde, CMM?

Trying to get back into the flow of writing this as a full blown adult is crazy because I lack the suspension of disbelief that I had when I started writing this. Why are you dating that child, FP Jones? But for you all?? I will suspend my life if you asked.

Tags under the cut:

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“Oh fuck, seriously?” complains Steve, who is already doing a mental inventory of the people there and how terrible it would be to kiss all of them. Well, most of them, at least.

“What? You afraid someone’s gonna realize that Big Bad Sex God Harrington isn’t actually all he’s cracked up to be?” teases Eddie, pushing his shoulder into Steve’s with a huge smile on his face. 

“No- that’s not- I just…the ratio is off!” Steve sputters, going hot under the collar. He knows that at least one of the girls is a lesbian and the other is his ex girlfriend and the OTHER is the girl his best friend has a crush on. And as he has this thought, his eyes shift to Robin who is wringing her hands in her lap, not looking anyone in the eye. Oh. Oh. This is her chance. To kiss Vickie without any one thinking too much about it. To see if Vickie is as into her as she is. To see if there are sparks, without any pressure. Because it’s just a drunken game. 

“We’re actually gonna motor,” says Jeff, getting up off the floor and pointing to the two Hellfire members behind him. “As much as I would LOVE to stay and lock lips with Munson, some of us have actual jobs in the morning. And Gareth is 1 beer away from ralphing on Harrington’s front lawn.” Gareth just shrugs, knowing he is notorious for over imbibing. 

The three Hellfire boys make their way out the door, leaving just the usual suspects and, of course, Vicki. 

“See? Almost even now, Harrington. Pass me that empty Seagram’s,” says Eddie, oblivious to the fact that this is, by all accounts, a horrible idea. 

“You go first if you’re so intent on planting one on all of us, Eds,” Steve replies, determined to call the older man’s bluff. 

“Gladly.” And with that, Eddie spins the empty bottle and watches smugly as it settles on Argyle. 

“Oh, come to Daddy, Surfer Boy!” Eddie exclaims, shooting his eyes from the bottle up to Argyle, who had already leaned over the bottle towards Eddie expectantly. 

“Dude. I’m expecting greatness. Lay it on me, bro!” Argyle says so seriously it was startling and puckers his lips in the most cartoonish way possible. Eddie grabs his face with both hands and lays one quick and dramatic kiss directly to the other boy’s lips, complete with a loud “Mwah!” Sound effect added. Everyone chuckled at the display, all relaxing slightly due to the fact that the first victims of the game were the two must unserious people of the group, who had no problem breaking the ice.

The game continues, with Jonathan landing on Vickie. He decides to chivalrously go for a kiss on the hand, as he previously declared his loyalty to Nancy. Nancy lands on Robin and kisses her softly on the cheek, sighting the same reason as Jonathan. Argyle goes next and ends up landing on Jonathan. He kisses the photographer lightly on his forehead and pets his hair, which left Jonathan furrowing his brow, but laughing nonetheless. Vickie goes next. Robin holds her breath as the bottle spins and spins and spins for what feels like a lifetime until it lands on…Robin. The girls lock eyes immediately and Vickie subconsciously ducks her head and pushes a piece of hair behind her ear. They turn to each other and just kiss. No preamble or bullshit explanations or disclaimers. They just kiss softly and sweetly for a few moments before breaking away. Neither girl says anything, but Robin is noticeably redder in the face and Vickie seems to lean into her just slightly for the rest of the night.

Next is Robin’s turn and although she prays to whatever high power she can think of for the bottle to land on Vicki again, it lands on Steve. “Ugh man, no! Gross!” Robin whines. “Dems da rules, sugar plum,” Eddie smirks and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Fuck. Fine! But Capital P, guys. I’m so serious,” she warns everyone before turning to Steve. “Don’t worry. I’ll do my best not to woo you with my masculine charms,” Steve says before kissing her so quickly that if anyone blinked they would have missed it.

“Ew,” she states simply when it’s over and wipes off her lips dramatically, like a petulant child wiping away a kiss from their mother. Steve silently takes the bottle and spins it, just begging that it lands on anyone except his ex girlfriend. Anyone! Anyone at all even…Eddie. It stops on Eddie and Steve looks at him, like a big brown eyed idiot in headlights, all that previous confidence gone. Eddie clears his throat, shuffles almost uncomfortably. “So, you gonna show me what Hawkins’s Most Eligible has to offer?” he asks, trying so hard to look like he’s not sweating bullets. 

And Steve is just drunk enough that he’s got the balls to shut Eddie up the way he’s been thinking about for months, since he was called “big boy” in that stupid trailer when the world was ending.  Suddenly, Steve is all siren-eyes and sex appeal, letting his voice drop just a little when he almost whispers “Get ready, big boy,” and grabs Eddie by the back of the neck. Steve tilts Eddie up just enough and takes his sweet time leaning in and ghosting over Eddie’s lips, just enough to make him shiver a little, but not enough for anyone to notice. They share each others air for a fraction of a second before Steve leans in the rest of the way and kisses Eddie, really kisses him, the way he’s been doing to girls for years. And Eddie kisses back, just enough that somewhere in the back of the rockers head, red flags and sirens are going off. But he doesn’t notice, too lost in the feeling of Steve on him to register anything else. They separate after what feels like entirely too long for a kiss during spin the bottle, and wait with bated breath. What for, they’re not sure. But no one says anything and the air feels like it’ll shatter is if they do. And then the moment is gone, because the doorbell rings and Argyle jumps up, chanting “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!” And suddenly they’re all too hungry to focus on that moment that felt just a little too charged. The rest of the night, Eddie and Steve take turns sneaking glances at each other, like they’re really noticing each other for the first time. But come the morning, everyone is too hazy on the night before to read into it. They all remember the nights activities, but no one thinks to question the tension, chalking it up to being cross faded. Except Eddie suddenly pays a lot more attention to Steve. 

Two

The second time Eddie and Steve kiss it’s not really a kiss at all. Robin and Steve are working a shift at Family Video - well, trying to work at least, because Eddie’s there which means everyone’s just sort of dicking around. Steve is processing some returns while Robin and Eddie argue about some sort of incomprehensible music shit. They’re both such fucking nerds about it that it makes Steve’s head hurt hearing them discuss the rhythm vs the beat and the symbolism of the song's accompanying music videos. Steve doesn’t understand why they have to analyze everything, why they can’t just like shit.

He’s not really paying attention until he registers the panic in Robin’s voice as she suddenly pushes off the counter and says Eddie’s voice just a little too frantically. Eddie has slumped slightly forward over the counter, eyes rolled a little too far back, and not responding to her calls for him. Steve immediately jumps into action, thinking about seeing Max in an eerily similar situation, about the fits Will had when he came back. Steve grabs Eddie and lays him gently in the ground, immediately crouching over him to do CPR, not bothering to check for a pulse or breathing. Just starting compressions, counting the way he learned how while hanging out at the hospital waiting for Max and Eddie to wake up. He couldn’t just sit there, and the hospital offered free training courses in shit like this, so he went. And he’s so glad he did as he starts doing rescue breaths on Eddie, ignoring Robin’s “ohmygodohmygodohmy-“ as she struggles to remember Hopper’s number when she finally stops freaking out enough to grab the phone. It doesn’t matter though, because by the time Steve is halfway through his second set of 30, Eddie’s eyes are fluttering open and he’s breathing heavily, but just fine on his own.

“Oh thank fuc-“ Robin starts as she drops to the ground on the other side of Eddie. “Are you okay? What happened? You just-“ Robin starts rambling, panicking that this meant the worst wasn’t over.

“Robs. Give him a minute. Go grab a water bottle,” Steve softly commands, his instinct to protect and help and heal outweighing his ability to do anything else. She does as he asks, and Steve starts to help Eddie move to a sitting position. “Easy does it, man. You can keep laying on the floor for a little if you need.”

“No, no. I’m okay. Sorry. I just, uh, had a minute. It happens sometimes. Happened a lot more when I was little. Stress, ya know? Was real bad right around the time I started living with Wayne. Had a really bad couple of weeks after Bonham died, too. But since, ya know- everything, it’s been happening again.” Eddie explains, rubbing the middle of his chest where Steve had previously been pressing. Steve just nods as Robin hands him the water bottle, watching, waiting for everyone’s adrenaline to slow.

“Jesus, dude. I think you almost cracked a rib. Way to put those muscles to use,” Eddie jokes, in between sips. Steve cracks a smile, but his eyes are still filled with worry. “Thank you for trying to save my ass, but in the future, I’m just fainting. No CPR required. Just make sure I don’t hit my head on the way down,” Eddie explains.

“Sorry,” now it’s Steve’s turn to ramble. “I just went into panic mode and I didn’t even check for a pulse or-“

“Don’t sweat it.” Eddie cuts him off. “I appreciate you wanting to save my life. Again.” He adds that last part a little quieter, knocking shoulders with Harrington. As Steve helps him to his feet, he adds even quieter “You sure you didn’t just wanna plant one on me again, Big Boy?” And Robin is too busy fussing over Eddie and asking questions about his fainting and yelling at him for not warning anybody that they’re both too busy to notice the blush that creeps up Steve’s neck and the way he flexes his hands like touching Eddie hurt. 

A/N: Not so fun fact! John Bonham, drummer for Led Zeppelin died in 1980 after a heavy drinking binge. This would have been absolutely devastating to a young Eddie Munson, as it was for everyone else with ears and a soul at the time.

Wayne had a saying while Eddie was growing up. Well, actually, Wayne had a lot of sayings. But one of Eddie’s favorites was “first time is an accident, second time is a coincidence, and third time is a hobby”. For weeks, Eddie ponders what a fourth time is. Because him and Steve have had their mouths on each other four times now and he had no goddamn idea what that meant. Obviously, Steve wasn’t, like, homophobic. He was Robin’s biggest support and he’s never freaked out after any of the times he and Eddie…But the metal head can’t help but wonder what that means. He’s never actually come out or said anything even remotely close to liking a boy. Straight until proven guilty, Eddie liked to believe. Had his heart toyed with by experimenting and down-low boys too many times to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. So Eddie doesn’t say anything- convinces himself that this is just Harrington being comfortable in his masculinity and sexuality. Self-assured enough to know that kissing his guy friend every once in a while isn’t gay, it’s just dudes being bros.

And they were bros! So much so that when Steve’s BMW breaks down around the corner from his own home, that Eddie is the person he calls to help. Steve jogs the block and a half back home and calls two people in quick succession. First is Robin, to let her know that he can’t make it in because something is wrong with his car (“Did you get a flat? Why don’t you know how to fix a flat?” “No, Robs. It’s not that. Yes, I’m sure. No really, I can’t just drive it anyway because it’s fucking smoking.”) Robin agrees to cover for him, but makes the vague threat of him owing her big time. They both know it’s unnecessary because he would do anything for her in a heartbeat regardless.

Second, he calls Eddie. Because Eddie knows about cars. If he can hot-wire a trailer, he can take a look at a smoking BMW. So Eddie drives over and meets Steve around the corner, where he’s sitting on the curb enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. He’s practically sunbathing in his stupid tight acid wash jeans and white tee with the sleeves cuffed and sun glasses on, smoking a cigarette. He looks like an 80’s James Dean but with somehow better hair, Eddie thinks. He rolls down the window of the van and shouts out “Hey! I’m looking for a damsel in distress? About yea high, prettiest hazel eyes you’ve ever seen, and no clue how cars work?”

“Ha-Ha, you’re hilarious, Munson,” Steve replies dryly, as Eddie parks the van right in front of the BMW on the side of the road. He gets out and walks over to the beemer to pop the hood. "So you really think I have pretty eyes?" Steve asks while Eddie sets up the hood strut. But Eddie just clears his throat and hopes the blush on his cheeks isn't noticeable. “So you said it was smoking?” He inquires.

“Yeah it just started to smoke, so I panicked and pulled over immediately,” Harrington explains. “Ah,” Eddie nods in acknowledgement. “Good thing too. I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news is, this” he says dramatically while pulling out a thin black belt from under the hood into the air, complete with frayed ends, “is not supposed to look like that.” Steve’s eyes go wide, automatically freaking out a little because that looks really bad. But before he can completely shit himself, Eddie continues. “Good news is, I can fix it and it’ll only take me about an hour once we get the part.”

“Oh thank Jesus,” Steve let’s out the breath he was holding.

“Not Jesus. Just little ol' me,” smiles Eddie. “However I have been told the resemblance is striking. I think it’s the hair.” He gestures to the van. “Hop in, let’s go get Daddy a new belt, huh?” He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s face heats up at the nickname, but chalks it up to regular embarrassment. Once they’re both in the car and Steve is sure he locked the beemer for the 4th time, they’re on their way to the nearest Northern Automotive. Eddie doesn’t even blast the radio too loud or anything. “Hey, do you need to me to drop you off? Like you were obviously going somewhere so, I can take you if you need and then just fix it on my own,” Eddie offers, realizing this is probably not how Steve wants to spend his day.

“Oh. No. I already called out of work and it’s a Wednesday, so it’s gonna be dead anyway. Honestly, I could use the break and it’s goddamn gorgeous out today, so I don’t mind. Thanks for asking, though. Are you sure you’re okay spending the day fixing my car?” Steve asks, suddenly aware that he never really asked Eddie to fix it, just take a look and the metal head just lept into action.

“Oh yeah, it’s fine. I was actually super busy smoking weed by myself, jerking off, and watching M.A.S.H. reruns, but it’s alright I guess I can reschedule those super important plans,” Eddie dramatically sighs. Steve smiles wide. “Good to know that you jerk off before watching M.A.S.H. I’d be totally concerned if that was what got you going.”

“Actually, Stevie, I’ll have you know that Alan Alda gets me all kinds of hot and bothered, thank you very much.” 

By the time they have arrived back at the car, the sun is hot in the middle of the sky. They got the new belt needed and some Burger King and a case of beer on their way back too, at Steve’s insistence. He tried to offer Eddie money for fixing the car, but the makeshift mechanic refused. “You literally saved my life. I can fix your car,” he had said, blankly, but Steve decided he could at least feed him. Eddie had scarfed down his Whopper on the way back, and got started on the car immediately.

Steve tried to be helpful, handing over a wrench or a beer every now and then. He even gave Eddie a hair tie to put up all those beautiful curls. Mostly though, Steve just watched. Watched Eddie’s arms flex around metal. Watched his tongue stuck between his teeth while he looked at his work in concentration. Watched as his hairline dripped a fine line of sweat down the side of his neck, and disappeared under the collar of his Pantera t-shirt. Watched his ass and that stupid black hanky in his left pocket. Steve just watched Eddie work and thought about how he could get used to seeing the older man sweaty and dirty, as long as he wasn’t bleeding out like that time Steve saw him so filthy. Sure, they talked too, but Steve could barely pay attention to the conversation because he was so focused on just how fucking pretty Eddie looked.

Eventually, the belt was fixed and Eddie slammed down the hood, startling Steve out of his very unholy reverie about all the other ways to make Eddie sweat. “Alright, Big Boy. Let’s give her a test, make sure she starts up for ya nice, and drive her around the block a few times.” Steve jumped up from his spot on the curb and hopped in the drivers seat, put the key in the ignition and turned.

“Beautiful!” Eddie practically shouted, jumping in the passengers side as the car sprang to life perfectly. “Now let’s drive her around a little, make sure she’s all set.” Steve did as he was told and took the car around the neighborhood in complete silence, as Eddie made sure everything sounded, looked, and even smelled correct (“If it sounded wrong, I’d know it. If it smelled wrong, I’d know it. And if it started smoking again, I’d definitely know it,” he insisted).

They pulled back over to where Eddie’s van was. “Man, you have no idea how much I appreciate this,” Steve said when they were parked. “Seriously, I could kiss you right now.”

“Alright, if you insist,” Eddie replied with a theatrical eye roll. He pursed his lips and shut his eyes comically, expecting Steve to laugh him off and shove him away. Instead he felt two soft hands grab the side of his face and an even softer pair of lips on his own. And for just a second, in the silence of Steve Harrington’s BMW, Eddie felt like he was melting way more than he had standing out in the sun. Steve pulled away, hands still on his friends face. “You wouldn’t let me pay you, so that’ll have to do.”

You’d think that after weeks of overthinking the last four times this had happened that Eddie would have had anything worth while to say, that he would have seized the moment and asked Harrington just what the fuck was going on in his head. But he was Eddie Munson. So of course, he made a joke out of it. “I’m not sure what the exchange rate is on that right now, but I think we’re even,” he said feigning confidence, shifting his eyes as far away from Steve’s as possible, and scrambling out of the car as quickly as he could all while trying to not look suspicious. He held the door open and bid Steve good bye, “I won’t tell Robin that you can totally go to work now, by the way. See ya around, sweets.” And with that, Eddie was in his van and speeding away, blasting the radio by the time he got to the end of the block.

Steve had intended on asking Eddie to come back to his house for a while and maybe, finally, get somewhere with the metal head, after dancing around each other for so long, thought he had sealed it with today’s kiss. But Eddie had left so abruptly, that Steve didn’t even get the chance. Obviously, Eddie was totally freaked out by Harrington’s forwardness. He sighed loudly and cursed to himself, driving to Family Video anyway because he needed to talk to Robin. 

A/N:

Steve's car is a 1983 BMW 733i in Burgendrot-Metallic.

Apparently, the thing that holds up a cars hood is called a few things, mainly a hood prop or hood strut. From what I could find, BMW uses the phrase hood strut.

Also apparently, only a BMW motorcycle is called a Beemer, while the cars are "bimmers". But as both a person who has never heard that before, and a German speaker, I have decided that is fucking stupid and I won't be calling it that.

Once again, I don’t know shit about fuck about cars. I only know this because one time my serpentine belt broke. It’s a pretty quick fix if you know what you’re doing (allegedly) and you can drive short distances with a broken belt, but it’s not recommended. I have no idea if Steve’s car would be as easy to fix as mine was. Hell, his model might not even have a serpentine belt. Don’t know, don’t really care. I’m a fanfiction writer, not a mechanic. 

Northern Automotive was the most popular auto parts store in 1988 according to a news article I found on Reddit. I have never heard of this store, have no idea if they were in Indiana at the time (I mean, they should have been. Indiana is pretty fuckin Northern if you ask me) , and it looks like they either went out of business or rebranded to North Auto Parts at some point. Who’s to say? 

M.A.S.H. went off air in 1983, after 11 seasons in as many years. It’s a Korean War drama/comedy and it is one of the most amazing and heartfelt shows ever made. Eddie grew up watching it with Wayne and now he watches the reruns whenever they're on. I strongly recommend you watch it. 

By the time their 4th kiss rolls around, Steve is starting to think that maybe he hallucinated the whole fucking thing. Eddie hasn’t made a single move or mentioned any of the kisses at all to Steve since NYE. Even Robin had gone from “Oh my god, he’s totally into you” to “well, you know how Eddie is. He loves to cause chaos.”  Eddie and Steve still see each other regularly, usually at least once a week on their own volition and a couple times in between while driving around the children. And in the almost month that had past, not once has Eddie even hinted at anything happening between them.

So, Steve did what he did best and pushed it all down and focused on anything else other than the metal head. This focus included helping Dustin audition for the school musical, Little Shop of Horrors.  Steve didn’t know much about acting and his singing knowledge was limited to what he learned as a kid in church choir, but he was very good at critiquing Dustin. Steve even watched the movie with Rick Moranis and everything so he knew what was going on in the musical and how it should feel (and totally not because he thought Steve Martin looked kinda hot in the leather jacket with the motorcycle even if he was a piece of shit).

Dustin was auditioning for the lead, Seymour. Part of the audition was having to do a duet with someone auditioning for Audrey, and kissing her at the end of the song. Dustin was really good at every other thing he had to do for this role, but the idea of kissing someone random on stage in front of the whole town was really freaking him out. (Sure, cannibalism and murder was fine, but god forbid there was PDA). Of course, Steve became his personal director for this particular issue, as the ex-ladies man was very familiar with kissing practical strangers in public.

“Listen, you just gotta think about Suzie,” he advised.

“You want me to think about my girlfriend while kissing another girl?” Dustin questioned, looking at Steve like he has 5 heads.

“No that’s not what I-“, Steve started. He sat down on the couch next to the now Sophomore. “Look. This whole song is about realizing you’re in love, right? It’s about finally getting the girl. It’s about finally realizing that the person who’s been by your side this whole time, who’s had your back since day one, who’s never hurt you is the love of your life. And you’re finally ready to see that, to admit it,” Steve explains. “Not only are you falling in love with your best friend, but you have this feeling of-of hope. There’s a weight off your shoulders and everything just might work out in your favor. And that’s how you feel about Suzie, right? Like it’s all gonna be okay when you look at her?” Dustin nods in response and Steve continues. “So you gotta take all that- all that love and light and- and hope and put it into this song, and the kiss. It’s not about kissing someone on stage, it’s about making the audience feel that joy that your character is feeling.”

“Wow, Harrington. I didn’t know you were such a fuckin’ sap.” Eddie’s voice rings out from the doorframe of Dustin’s bedroom, scaring the ever living shit out of the other two boys. “Jesus Christ, Eddie, you can’t just sneak up on people like that,” Dustin scolds.

Eddie puts his hands up in defense “Sorry, sorry. Stevie was on a roll, there. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Yeah, he was. I just still don’t get how I’m supposed to kiss someone that I’m not into without it being weird or at least looking weird, ya know?” It’s Eddie’s turn to offer some advice, now.

“Oh, Dustybun, it’s way easier than it sounds. Isn’t that the whole point of acting? You do it every week at Hellfire, this is just like that. You’re woo-ing the fair maiden to get access to the castle and it’s armory. Except, instead of rolling a D20 and convincing me, it’s an audience that actually wants you to win.”

And Dustin thinks about that for a minute, because yeah he does have to “act” in Hellfire every week and there have been a few times where his character has had to flirt his way out of some sticky situations. But he still has his reservations. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you guys do it?” He says to his mentors,  not wanting to admit they were right so easily.

“Fine,” Steve almost snaps before Eddie has the chance to make some sarcastic come back. The metal head looks over at Steve, a little wide-eyed, but before he can protest, Steve is talking again. “I’m no singer, but I’ll do my best. You know the song?” He asks Eddie. 

“Uh, yeah kind of,” he croaks out, too caught off guard to really say anything else.

“Alright. We’ll start with the last chorus. You okay taking Audrey?” Eddie nods his head as Steve hands him a lyric sheet, still a little stunned at everything that’s happening. Man, he just came to pick up some Hellfire notes Dustin had for him. And now here he was, standing in Dustin’s bedroom, singing a fucking love song with Steve Harrington. Shit, he wasn’t even a soprano, he can’t hit these notes! Eddie clears his throat and starts singing, albeit taking it down an octave. Steve is right there with him, singing the back up vocals with surprising emotion. Holy shit, Harrington can sing. Holy shit, can Harrington act? There’s no time to really dwell on the revelation right now, because Eddie realizes he should probably be acting too. Only he doesn’t really have to act like he loves Steve because he does, oh god, he does. Has been since he watched that idiot jump into a lake that was also an inter-dimensional portal with zero hesitation.

So they’re singing to each other, standing face to face but far enough apart that it’s not, like, weird or anything. And then it is weird, it’s so so weird because they’re on the last bit of the song and Steve has moved in closer to Eddie and is looking at him like he did right after Eddie kissed him on New Years. By the third “sweet understanding”, Steve grabs both of Eddie’s hands and steps in really close now, so much that they’re singing the last line directly to each other, staring each other in the eyes. And when that last note wraps up, where there should be some orchestral music and applause from an auditorium filled with people, Steve moves his hands to around Eddie’s waist and kisses him like they do in all those sappy movies. Steve’s hand are everywhere and Eddie feels like he’s being completely held together by the younger man, like every piece of him will shatter the second he lets go. And they kiss, chaste and unmoving, waiting for the fake applause to die down and the stage lights to fade to black so the next scene can start. But they break apart and Steve turns to Dustin and raises his eyebrows looking for approval, like he didn’t just melt the metal heads brain.

“Woah.” Dustin is kind of flabbergasted by the display he just saw. “Why didn’t you guys do the plays in school? That was super convincing. Like, so good.”

Steve smiles, all teeth, beaming and proud. “Yeah, well, we were busy. With sports. And, uh,” he gestures vaguely to Eddie, “and drugs.” Eddie has regained enough brain function at this point to shrug in agreement with the last statement, but he’s wondering if Steve’s really that good of an actor or if there’s something else there. No, probably just wishful thinking. But as Dustin gets up to find the papers Eddie came for and Steve offers them both a rushed goodbye as he realizes he’s late for his shift, Eddie can’t help but remember that this is the fourth time Steve’s mouth has been on his. 

A/N:

Idk shit about fuck about D&D. I've been trying to get someone to teach me or let me join them or anything and I simply cannot. If I am using the wrong die for this hypothetical situation in my fictional non-canon story about fictional people in a fantasy horror show, I'm sorry. This isn't Um, Actually, okay? I'm just guessing.

The third time Eddie and Steve kiss is the first time they do it intentionally. New Years has rolled around and Steve has been goaded into hosting a New Years Eve party by Robin, citing “celebrating life”, “spending time together”, and “you’ve got such a big freaking house dude and you love to host!” as her reasons why it had to be at Harrington’s. Steve didn’t actually love hosting, he was just annoyingly good at it (he’s a Virgo, he was born for this). So they spend the 31st setting up the beer pong table (they buy extra pong balls too), putting out some random snacks they bought, and hanging just a few random decorations (Robin got her hands on a disco ball and Steve had never seen her look so excited). While they’re setting up, they talk about everyone who’s coming and Steve pointedly asks if Vickie is going to be there. “Of course she is, she’s my girlfriend,” Robin says nonchalantly. Everyone pretty much knew they were together at this point, but only Steve really knew. Robin and Vickie made a point not to be too affectionate in public, just for the sake of living their life in peace.

“First New Years together,” Steve continues. “Gearing up for a big New Years smooch? Going out with a bang and starting the year off right?” Robin blushes at the thought and is suddenly really focused on putting Doritos in a bowl. “We haven’t really talked about it,” she replies.

“Oh come on, Robbie. You don’t talk about it, you just do it! Don’t ruin the magic of love!” Steve adds, voice mildly muffled by him being halfway in the fridge, filling it with Tab. Robin just shrugs, but Steve isn’t letting her off the hook that easy. “Whatever, man. The spare bedroom is always open incase you guys want a little privacy,” he offers. “But not too much privacy! Don’t defile my home, Buckley!” he quickly backtracks, while Robin continues to just ignore him in embarrassment. 

By the time 11:45 rolls around, everyone is too caught up in their own little groups to notice the time is getting close. Max and Eddie have been debating god knows what for at least twenty minutes, Argyle is trying to tell Jeff about this car that runs on water, and Robin, Nancy, and Vickie are talking about the Iran-Contra affair, of all things. (Nancy really hates Reagan, and the second she is even a little tipsy, she will tell everyone). Steve is paying attention though, and makes sure everyone has a drink in hand so they can do a little toast. But Steve’s not really great with words, never has been. Eddie though- Eddie loves a big announcement. So Steve steals Munson away (more like rescues him, if the conversation they were having is as intense as the look on Max’s face makes it seem). 

“Listen. I wanna make a toast- announcement- thing and I don’t really know what to say, but I figured you’d be good at it,” Harrington says to Eddie, hoping he’ll understand what he means. “Aw, you like the sound of my voice, dontcha, Big Boy?” Eddie says, all smiley and squinty eyed.

“I literally never said that. At all. You’re just good at talking,” the younger man replies, acting like the nickname doesn’t phase him at all (it doesn’t, he swears. It’s normal to get all tingly when someone calls you that.)

“All right, all right. Anything in particular you want me to say, or should I wing it?” 

“Just that, I’m really happy that everyone made it out alive. This year was a lot and I’m happy to be done with it, but also happy to, like, start a new one with everyone, or whatever.” 

Eddie looks at Steve a little dumbstruck for a second. “That was kinda beautiful, man. I can work with that.” 

Eddie walks back into the middle of everything and climbs up onto the coffee table using Mike and Dustin’s heads as leverage. Steve tries not to freak out about the fact that there are dirty Doc Martin’s on his mother's brand new Ethan Allen coffee table as Eddie loudly clears his throat. 

“I would like to make a little toast before we hit midnight. This year has been goddamned insane. And I hope we never have another one even close to it! But some pretty cool things happened too. I got to meet pretty much the coolest guy ever, with a van who rivals mine,” he nods to Argyle, who smiles and lifts his can of Coors in acknowledgement. “We all got to watch the sweet flower of love blossom between friends.” He didn’t point to anyone in particular at this, but Robin and Vickie smirked into each others shoulders, and Lucas made googly eyes at Max, who punched him squarely in the thigh, but blushed anyway. “We pretty much saved the whole fucking world, through the power of music and also friendship!” He practically squealed, as the younger kids whooped and hollered, leaving just a few of the guests only a little confused, just assuming it was some dumb inside joke. “I finally graduated high school,” he continued, and the hooting only got louder for that. “But! But!” He yelled over the din quieting everyone down. He looked almost somber now. “Most importantly. We can’t forget. Harrington’s hair has never looked better! I mean come on, look at that volume! Let’s get a round of applause for that!” He shouted, while the small crowd erupted into applause and hoots.

Once it died down a little, he started up again. “For real, guys. I’m really happy we’re all here,” (that sentiment was especially impactful for those there who were in the know) “I’m happy I get to finish this year with you all, and even happier to start a new one. Here’s to ‘87, baby!” And with that, Eddie raised his can and everyone followed suit. He hopped off the coffee table and wandered over to Steve. “Did I do good?” he asked.

“Perfect.” Steve replied, the corner of his mouth turning up just a little. “And great timing too,” he gestured to the TV where Dick Clark was counting down from 60. Eddie automatically started counting down with him, loudly enough that the entire party joined in by the time they hit 15.

“3..2…1…Happy New Year!!!” He exclaimed, shouting wildly and turning to Steve, who just happened to be looking at Eddie like he had hung every fucking star in the entire sky. And it was Eddie this time who grabbed Steve roughly by the back of the neck with his left hand and crashed his lips into Steve’s messily. Steve was too surprised to do anything but kiss back, not quite adding in any tongue or anything, but definitely moving around enough that it counted as a real, bonafide kiss in his book. It was real enough that by the time they separated, Steve looked a little glassy eyed and heavy lidded and Eddie lips were pinker and maybe even the tiniest bit swollen.

“Can’t start the new year without a kiss, amiright Stevie?” Eddie shot him a wink and disappeared into the crowd with a flourish. Steve just stood there for a few moments, head reeling, eyes darting around searching for Robin to see if she saw what just happened. But as his eyes landed on Robin, the also landed on Vickie who was still kissing the other woman like there was no one else in the room. Steve smirked a little and turned to go find a conversation to join, still so confused, but content with waiting to debrief with Robin later. 

A/N:

I did some math (astrology) and I now Headcannon that Steve was born on August 27th, 1966 at roughly 1 AM. This makes him a Virgo Sun, Capricorn Moon, and Cancer Rising (which is why he’s so baby girl coded). It also gives him a stellium in Leo (which explains the hair and the being sexy) and Virgo (which explains the being a mom). Yes; this took me a lot of time to figure out. No, I don’t regret it. 

Doritos slap. So does Tab.

Argyle talking about the car that runs on water is based off my favorite running bit in That 70s Show and Hyde's obsession with that damn car and the conspiracy around it.

I am still made about the Iran-Contra affair and Ronald Reagan is my sworn mortal enemy.

1986 was the year when Coors got national distribution, and therefore the first year you could legally get it East of the Mississippi. (Also, go watch Smokey and the Bandit).