#steddiemas

Steve hums, pushing one leg just a bit higher between Eddie’s, feeling the not so insubstantial thickness there. “Hey yourself..” 

That pulls a laugh from Eddie, and he opens his eyes. The already dark chocolate of them seem darker in the low light coming from the bedside lamp Steve is suddenly glad he forgot to switch off earlier tonight.

They look at each other for a moment, each of them taking in the other. Then they break out in laughs, pulling together again with a sigh (from which of the two is unknown).

Lips locked and moving steadily together, Steve nudges Eddie back from the door.

Surprisingly, he moves easily, as if he’s not quite aware of moving. That is, until, just before Steve goes to push Eddie down onto his bed, Eddie spins them and pushes Steve back instead.

He shuffles backward up the mattress, awkwardly pulling the pillow up from under him while Eddie watches, amused.

“Good?” he asks when Steve finally leans back against the headboard.

Steve huffs a laugh, rolls his eyes, “Yeah Eddie, I’m good.”

“Good.” Eddie nods, then takes a step backward and launches himself onto Steve.

He lands, bony and uncoordinated, between Steve’s legs with an ‘Oof’.

Steve too, gets the breath knocked out from under him. “Was that really necessary?” he wheezes.

“Absolutely.” Eddie wheezes in return, “Now, where were we?” He starts to get his arms under himself, seeming to struggle pushing up off the squashy mattress.

“Before you tried to kill us both?”

He pushes into Steve further, his hips aligning properly this time, and draping his upper body over Steve’s. “Precisely.”

Eddie lowers his face to Steve’s again and all the sarcastic retorts are flushed from his brain.

After a few minutes and also no time at all, Eddie pulls back enough to change position.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” His lips are hot where they lazily push and drag along the skin where his jaw meets neck.

“Want you,” Steve manages in response, not quite the full response he’d be trying for.

He can feel Eddie’s smile against his skin. “Y’have me,”

“Want you to fuck me.”

The sound Eddie makes sounds as if it was punched out of him, but he manages to say “Can’t.” 

A rock thuds into Steve’s stomach. “Huh?”

“I mean,” another open-mouthed kiss is pressed to his neck, “We can't really go any farther,”

Eddie’s continued ministrations make it hard to think, but Steve manages a breathy “We can't?”

Lips leave the meat of his neck with a final wet kiss, then Eddie’s locking eyes with him again, “Not until we get some lube. I may be less experienced than you, Stevie, but I at least know that much.”

Steve blinks at him in surprise, thoughts swirling in his head and behind his lips about that revelation, but pushes it down, instead twisting for the bedside drawer. He finds what he’s looking for in only a couple practiced swipes. “Here.”

Eddie's jaw drops, grasping the bottle of lube in his palm “You just…have? This?

“Well, yeah.”

“Why??”

Steve shrugs, “I've kept it on hand ever since Carol, Tommy, and I would— you know what? It doesn't matter; now, you gonna ruin me with that monster of yours, or what?”

Eddie blinks at him this time, then shakes his head as if clearing away a thought.

”Sure sweetheart,” he kisses Steve again, “Though I’m kinda pissed I’m not gonna be the first one in that pretty ass of yours.”

Steve sucks Eddie’s lower lip into his mouth and bites at it as Eddie pulls back, “Tommy never— you’ll be the first.”

Eddie stares down at him, and Steve watches the color flood into his cheeks as his expression shifts from confusion to cockiness. “Well then,” he tosses the bottle up and catches it again with fervor, grinning almost giddily, “Your wish is my command; But first..” He leans back in and kisses him again, putting the bottle back onto the nightstand.

Steve laughs when Eddie pulls back to get at the other side of his neck. “You–hah– like kissing, Munson?”

“Like kissing you.” He mumbles against Steve’s adam’s apple, “Love seeing you flustered. It’s cute.” He leans up then, looking Steve in the face, “But don’t call me Munson when I’m about to go down on you.”

“You are?”

Eddie just grins and sits back, tugging at the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants.

-x-

Having worked through the previous night on Steve’s jacket, having worked over Steve all evening, Eddie’s beat (hah) by the time his and Steve’s breaths finally slow late that night. Even with the good chunk of hours he slept through that morning.

And now, as he lays boneless on Steve’s chest, he sleepily blinks out at the snowflakes filtering past Steve’s window.

He tracks the path of one clump from where it seemingly appears out of nowhere as it passes into the low light coming from the bedside lamp, all the way down to where it lands on the strip of the stuff accumulating on the sill.

Two, three more times he does this, finally stirring to look up at Steve.

His hair is a sweaty mess, drying plastered to his forehead, floating above the pillowcase with the static, sticking straight up into the air…

“Your hair’s a mess.”

Steve’s blissful expression crinkles up in laughter, he looks down at Eddie in return, eyes flicking all over his own face and hair, “Yours is worse.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Eddie hums, rests his chin on Steve’s chest, “We should probably take a shower before we fall asleep.”

Steve, whose eyes had stayed shut on his last blink, opens his eyes with an unconcerned hum. “Probably.”

Neither make any sort of move to get up for a few more minutes; Steve’s hand does, however, start to trace a figure eight onto the skin of Eddie’s back.

“Hmmmokay, okay, I seriously almost fell asleep that time.” Steve finally says, startling Eddie out of the doze he’d somehow fell into, “Let’s go, shower time.”

Slowly, sleepily, they shower; both their hands end up wandering over the other, Steve winning out on getting his hand around them both for one more tally for the night, and are back in bed, and clean, another five minutes later.

The next morning, they wake up slowly, stirring, then fully rising after a heated, morning breath riddled, makeout session.

“No, really Ed, we should— you should get going, isn’t Wayne going to be up soon?”

Not missing that slip, but choosing to ignore it for now, Eddie squints playfully up at Steve as he pushes up off the bed and towards his dresser, “You want me outta here that bad, Stevie? Got your other boyfriend coming over soon?”

Steve shakes his head, closing the drawer he’d been rifling through and turning back around to face him. “Yeah Ed, I’ve got a full roster of Christmas blowjobs to hand out today, so..” he makes a shoo-ing motion at him, then pulls his shirt on over his slept-with-it-wet bed head.

Eddie laughs, pushing up to sit in the center of the bed, “Would you like to come over for cinnamon rolls, Stevie?”

Steve waves him off immediately, “No, no, You have a good day with Wayne, Ed, but,” He shuffles over to his desk, reaches between it and his bedframe, and comes back with a small rectangular box, wrapped in a plaid paper that, if he tested it, Eddie was sure matched the pattern of the ribbon on the mantle. “You have to bring this to Wayne.”

Eddie takes a moment to revel in the fact that Steve got his uncle a Christmas present, that his boyfriend Steve got his uncle a Christmas present, he shakes his head, shuffling to the edge of the bed, “No can do, Stevie,” he says as he stands, “Munson rule, you bought it, you gift it.”

-x-

“We’re home!” Eddie yells as soon as the door is open, pulling Steve inside then letting his hand go to greet Wayne in the kitchen with a hug.

Steve takes the moment to put his box under the Munson’s tree in the corner, short and twinkling softly, a modest and lovingly wrapped pile of other gifts taunting him under the colored panels of Sunday comics.

The box is shoved behind the next biggest box, and he’s standing again before Wayne and Eddie have even released the other, “Merry Christmas old man, our rolls ready yet?”

“Y’know, I remind myself every day how much I love ya.” Eddie grins at his uncle, and Steve can’t decide if he picked up on the jab or not. “And yes, you ungrateful little shit, the rolls are almost done.”

His mustache remains curved up as he shakes his head fondly and turns back to the oven.

“Great! By the way, Steve’s here.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that. How’s it goin’ Steve?”

“I’m great, thanks. Thanks for having me over, Eddie offered and said you wouldn’t mind…?”

Wayne looks up at him then, ducking to peer through the gap between the cabinets and counter of the peninsula. “Of course I don’t, boy, you crazy? It’s Christmas!”

“Stevie here said he ‘Didn’t want to intrude.’.” Eddie adds unhelpfully, sucking something off his finger.

“No intrusion here Steve, you know you’re always welc— Theodore Munson you keep your fingers outta that frosting!”

Steve snorts out an ugly laugh, “Theodore?”

Wayne looks between Eddie (still frozen with his finger in his mouth), and Steve, who finally feels like he can wander to the end of the counter. “You mean you’ve been goin’ on and on about this boy for months, years now, and he never knew your name’s Theodore?”

Wayne’s eyes are positively glowing with mischief. 

Eddie finally unfreezes, “Yeah, well, Steve’s middle name is Otis. Otis! Can you believe that?”

Steve only shrugs, unphased by this transgression (surely infuriatingly to Eddie), “I was named after my Grandpa.”

“No shit? So was Teddy.”

Steve barely contains his glee, “Oh cool, why didn’t you tell me, Teddy?”

“I hate you both so much.” Eddie grumbles, then stalks off down the hall.

“Awe, c’mon teddy, where’re you going?” Steve teases more, following Eddie to his room.

“I’m changing into my PJs, leave me alone!” he calls back.

Steve leans in the doorway and watches Eddie shed his vest and jacket, his shirt, all before he even goes to his dresser for a pair of sweats.

He tosses a pair of lounge pants at Steve, and continues to scowl as he sheds his jeans.

“You’re not mad for real, are you?”

“No,” he sighs, pulling up the sweats, “Just mourning the loss of my final secret.”

“Aww,” Steve coos teasingly, tossing his lended pants onto Eddie’s mattress and moving forward to cup Eddie’s face, “You gonna make it,” he pauses, “Teddy bear?”

Eddie, who had started to melt into the hold, scoffs, and pushes him off, but seemingly can’t help but laugh, “You’re the worst person in the whole world.”

“Yeah, well, you still love me.” Steve says, shrugging as he goes back for his lended comfy pants.

He’s done toeing off his shoes and is about to start unbuckling his belt when Eddie says, “Yeah, I think I do.”

It was said so quietly, and just as the timer in the kitchen goes off, so it takes Steve all the way until his belt, button, and fly are completely undone before he registers what Eddie had said..

And what he said. 

His hands drop from his jeans down to his sides. He turns to face Eddie again.

“You do?”

Eddie nods, and Steve’s jeans unceremoniously fall to his ankles.

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to ugly laugh, though he clamps his hand over his mouth in glee to stop it.

Steve opens his mouth to say something, when Wayne’s voice calls down the hall and it breaks through his daze.

“Hands better be stayin’ above the waist down there!”

Eddie laughs again, Steve finally kicks his jeans off his feet. His face is broiling.

“Yeah Wayne, just changing!” Eddie calls back.

“Well hurry it up, rolls are all ready to go.”

“Be there in a sec.”

Steve finally finishes pulling on his new pants, tying them tight at the waist, “Wayne knows?” he whispers to Eddie.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, of course he does.” he waves off Steve’s worries and picks up his t-shirt, pulling it on over his head, “Now c’mon, I’m starving.”

“Hey, wait,” Steve catches him in the doorway and presses a kiss to his lips, “I love you too.”

-

Twenty minutes later, with their stomachs full and teeth aching, the three shuffle into the living room from the Munsons’ little table. 

“Alright’ who’s first?”

“Steve!” Eddie says at the same time Steve says “Eddie!”

Wayne only shrugs, “Sounds good to me, Ed, yours is that one covered in Garf, Steve, yours is that smaller rectangle one.”

Somehow, Eddie’s already got his half torn open by time he hands Steve his gift.

“Wayne, you didn’t have to–”

“Oh sick! I needed a new pair of these,” Eddie exclaims, pulling a bright white sneaker from the box in his lap, “Thanks Wayne!”

Newsprint crinkles as Eddie shifts the box around to grab the only remaining newspaper-wrapped box and tossing it to Wayne.

“Can’t say I never get you anything,”

Wayne tears into his package, and soon, is lifting out a fur-lined bomber hat. “This is great, thanks kiddo,” He clasps the earflaps over the leather crown of the head and tugs it on.

“Yeah, and it cost me a pretty penny,” Eddie teases, as he pulls the laces out of his new, identical to his well-worn ones by the door, shoes. “So you better wear it.”

“Whattya mean! I’m wearin’ it right now!”

Steve leaves them to their playful jabs, and starts tearing open the newspaper on his own gift.

He gets it open, and his eyes widen. He immediately flips over the wrappings unnecessarily, he can tell they are the funnies from here. 

He stares down at the box in his hands, and laughs. Eddie pauses in his re-lacing efforts to look up at the sound.

“Hope that means you like ‘em.” Wayne says, and, still grinning, Steve looks up at him. While he was stuck figuring out his present, it seems Eddie’s taken it upon himself to toss his balled newspaper wrappings and the paper wrappings from his shoebox into Wayne’s lap. “Now I know it’s new and all, but sue me for gettin’ sappy about you boys havin’ Christmases all on your own,” he shrugs, “Thought you’d want a couple’a traditional Munson mugs to startcha off.”

Steve’s stomach flips at the implication and, still smiling (and with his hands now free of the box of two matching mugs as Eddie had taken it from him to examine), Steve stands, grabs Wayne’s present, and passes it to him.

“You got me this?” Wayne asks incredulously, “You spoil me.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Just open it.”

Wayne’s only torn off one corner when he bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asks, trying to see what’s under the paper.

“Now I know this is new and all,” Steve teases, putting on a horrible impression of Wayne’s half-lost accent, “But I thought you’d want some traditional Munson mugs.”

This only makes Wayne laugh harder, his recliner shakes with it.

“What? Someone tell me what’s going on!”

“Oh that’s hilarious,” Wayne wheezes, coming down from his fit with a few wayward giggles, and finishes tearing off the paper.. from an identical set of two Christmas-themed mugs he’d just gifted Steve.

Eddie starts to laugh, pulling both Steve and Wayne into another bout each, “Well, I guess we’ll never have a shortage of Christmas mugs.” Eddie says, taking the second box from Wayne’s armrest. “You better use them whenever we can’t make it back home for the holidays, old man.”

Steve’s stomach flips again at the thought of he and Eddie together this year and all the years to come.

“‘Course I will, you see any other Christmassy mugs hangin’ around here?” Waye says, gesturing around to his zillion other cups, “You just gotta use the other whenever you can.”

Wayne’s true to his word, always assuring them over the phone that he’s got his mug out whenever they get stuck up in Chicago, out in Los Angeles, complaining that “My sleigh is lookin’ a little worse for wear.” every time.

And when, only a couple handfuls of too few years later when Steve and Eddie pull out their set of three matching Christmas mugs the year after Wayne is gone, it makes them laugh before anything else.

“He’s got his, don’t worry Teddy.”

“I know he does,” Eddie murmurs, looking down at the mug in his hand, then snorts a laugh, “That sleigh’s toast by now.”

i'm laughing at the fact this started smutty and ended sad lmao

i found two boxes of these mugs from the 80s in oct last year and had always planned them to be written in as an accidental double gift between steve and wayne

also, you will pull Theodore "Eddie/Teddy" Munson from my cold dead hands

ALSO ALSO special shoutout to @steddiehasmywholeheart who has been reading this today and sending me notifs with a comment on each chap as they do that made me say 'you know what, i need to finish this. today. as a special surprise for them specifically.'

Steve rolls off the bed, planting his feet on the carpet right by his shoes.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, scooping up his keys and wallet from the nightstand.

He’s just about halfway to Forest Hills, driving at a snail’s pace because he can’t see for snow, when he begins to regret his decision to leave the house.

Maybe he shouldn’t just barge in on the Munsons unannounced. Like sure, his friendship with Eddie is… teetering on not being entirely platonic. But this might be too much.

He always thought it was too much when he’d walk down to stay at Carol Perkins’ house for an impromptu sleepover. And there was always this awkward, knowing going on with the Wheeler’s when he was dating Nancy and spending a lot of time just hanging about.

Lingering for too long in the kitchen chatting to Karen or watching a game with Ted until the guy started snoring too loud to hear the commentators.

It was all there but largely unspoken.

Only Robin knows the details. And even then, he’s sure that her father’s friendliness towards him was partly due to his daughter telling him all about the trouble at the ‘ol Harrington house. He doesn’t blame his best friend for likely doing so. And he doesn’t consider it blabbing, either. Robin’s parents – her whole family – are amazing.

But some of his parent’s shit is stupid at best, hard to take at worst.

And he is scared to let Eddie in on it.

It’s too much.

He’s too much.

Being a Harrington is too much.

Wayne answers the door with a cup of cocoa that seems glued to his left hand in winter.

“Steve,” he says, voice gruff as ever despite a warm smile.

“Hi,” he replies, looking down at his snow-covered boots, “Eddie in?”

Of course, he’s in, his van is parked outside.

Steve can feel the warmth from inside the trailer. See the twinkle of lights from the Munson’s small, but heavily-decorated, Christmas tree. The smell of cocoa overpowering the ever-present hint of cigarettes.

“Eddie!” Wayne calls over his shoulder, “Steve’s here.”

In a flash, Eddie runs to the front door and practically bumps into his uncle.

“Come in!” he insists, wide-eyed as he looks past his shoulder at the falling snow.

And before Steve can even step in, Eddie is pulling him by his parka sleeve. He only just manages to scrape off his boots on the ‘Home Sweet Home’ adorned welcome mat.

“What some cocoa?” Eddie offers, eliciting a grumble from Wayne.

“I asked if you wanted some,” he chides.

“But Steve might want some,” Eddie grins.

“How about I heat up a pot now, and whoever wants some’s got it?” Wayne suggests, pursing his lips at Eddie and moving to the stove before his nephew can make any more requests.

“Follow me,” Eddie says, grabbing his hand, “I made cookies.”

He wiggles his brows and begins leading Steve to the kitchen.

As he is pulled along, Steve tries not to think about the fact that they are holding hands. Or how he wishes his fifteen-minute-ago Self had thought to bring an overnight bag and allowed himself to assume the Munsons would allow him to stay the night.

But it might be even harder to stop himself from squeezing his friend’s hand and lacing his fingers with Eddie’s.

Eddie lets go of his hand to gesture to the tray of Christmas-themed shapes, all looking a little too dark for gingerbread as they rest on the kitchen island.

“Pick one, Big Boy,” Eddie beams.

Steve reaches for a reindeer, flexing his fingers as he goes and commits the feeling of Eddie’s rings to memory.

“No!” Eddie shrieks, lightly smacking his hand enough that he drops it, leaving the cookie to snap in half as it falls back onto the tray, “His antlers are broken.”

“Christ, boy!” Wayne curses, stirring the pot on the stovetop.

Okay, a tree then…

“The star is missing!”

A bell?

“That was already snapped in half when I got them out of the oven”, Eddie admits with a tight-lipped smile.

Steve places his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes. To him, they all look at least a little crumbly – some he would even describe as lightly charred.

“How about you pick one for me then, Betty Crocker?” he chuckles.

Eddie giggles, twirling a lock of his hair as he carefully considers the tray of mostly broken, dry cookies.

He watches Eddie for a long enough time that Wayne pushes a mug into his hand, the warmth of Eddie’s hand remaining in place due to the heat of the cocoa. It’s a Chicago Cubs mug, one that he finds himself holding at some point each time he is here as if Wayne considers it Steve’s own.

"Hey! Hey, what are you doing? This is our tree." Robin says, reaching through branches to hold it steady. "We were just about to cut it down, back off."

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It's not that he won't defend Robin's honor and get into a fight in a Christmas Tree Farm for her, he'd just really rather not.

The mystery man pokes his head out from under the tree with furrowed brows and two needles sticking out from the top of his head, dirt on his denim jacket that protects what looks like a red and black flannel. Steve's definitely been watching way too many Hallmark movies with Robin lately because holy shit, he's cute.

"Listen, my best friend wants this tree, and I don't even wanna be under here but if she doesn't get this Blue Whatever-The-Fuck, someone's halls are getting decked and it'll probably be mine. So, sorry." He shrugs and returns to his place under the tree. 

Robin looks at Steve, bewildered and frazzled simultaneously. Do something, she mouths. 

Like what? He mouths back, scrunching his face and contorting his mouth. 

She widens her eyes and jerks her head to the side, desperate. 

He should’ve known Robin would be responsible for his demise. 

“C’mon, man, we’ve been here for two hours looking for a tree.” Steve gets no response, just a few grunts that shouldn’t go straight to his crotch but what can he say? It’s been awhile.

He steps forward and lies down beneath the tree with the Tree Thief. “Is she here with you? Your best friend who seems as fucking rabid as mine is here about these trees?” 

Steve watches as the man focuses on the tree stump, rhythmic back and forth motions of the saw moving his torso along the ground with his tongue poking out between his lips. “Maybe I can talk to her? Or send Robin? She’s… convincing?” 

“Chrissy wants this one, dude. Hate to break it to you.” 

“Ah, okay. Robin and Chrissy. Well, I’m Steve, and you’re…?” 

The sawing stops as he catches his breath. “Eddie. I’m Eddie. And unless you’re gonna help under here, you might wanna move. I don’t wanna drop this on you.” 

Steve pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and takes a chance. Reaching out, he places one hand on top of Eddie’s. “Can I make you a deal?” 

Eddie startles, eyes flickering back and forth from the space where their hands touch on the rough bark of the tree up to Steve’s gaze. 

“Depends on the deal, I suppose.” Maybe Steve imagines the flush to his cheeks and the playful grin that blossoms across his lips. All he knows about Eddie is that his best friend’s name is Chrissy and that he has the most beautiful brown eyes Steve’s maybe ever seen. 

Not maybe. Definitely. 

“Uh,” he shakes his head, trying to pull himself out of whatever Christmas romcom he thinks he’s living in. “What if we help you and Chrissy find another tree and I help you cut it down? I’ll even carry it to the car for you.” 

“What are you, some sort of lumberjack?”

“Nope,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, joking as he leans closer, like an idiot. “Just desperate not to get my halls decked.” It earns him a genuine smile and surprised laugh punched from Eddie’s lungs. 

“Alright,” he taps the saw on the trunk and smirks over at Steve, mere inches apart beneath a Christmas tree. Close enough for the faint scent of Eddie’s cigarettes and Old Spice cologne to permeate the strength of the resinous spruce. “You help us find another tree, lug it to the car, and then meet me for coffee after? Seems like the least you can do, all things considered.” 

Trading numbers with the guy he met while bargaining for Robin’s dream Christmas tree isn’t the weirdest moment of his life, but it’s certainly on the shortlist. As is plucking rogue needles out of his hair when they come up from beneath the tree.

He ends up lugging two Blue Spruces to the parking lot an hour later in two trips— Robin chatting with Chrissy in front of them and Eddie at his side, gravitating closer and closer until their arms nearly touch. 

“You know, you didn’t actually have to do this,” Eddie says, moving away from Steve and to the other side of Chrissy's sedan to help tie the tree to the roof. “You’re not like, actually obligated or whatever.” 

Steve finishes tying his end of the knot and looks across at Eddie, finding him standing with hopeful eyes and a piece of hair drawn in front of his face. 

“Oh, I know.” He smiles and shrugs. “But I want to. Especially the coffee-with-you-after part.” 

“Not until we get this thing up and decked, Munson!” Chrissy pops up next to Eddie at the same time Robin appears next to Steve, both of them practically bouncing on their heels and grinning ear to ear. 

Robin nudges Steve in the side and he looks down to see her phone held out, Chrissy’s number typed into her contacts with a tiny pink heart to it. He gives her a subtle, excited thumbs up from below Eddie and Chrissy’s view beneath the car. 

Eddie slings an arm across Chrissy’s shoulders and ruffles her hair before she fixes her ponytail, indignant. 

“Alright, alright,” Steve laughs. “I’ll uh, I’ll text you?” 

Eddie nods and turns himself and Chrissy towards the front of the car. As he gets in the passenger seat, he looks back at Steve with a mischievous wink most likely emboldened by Steve’s brash flirtation. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Building a stupid Christmas tree.”

“I’m sorry, you what?” Eddie asks, shaking his head. “You can’t build trees. You grow trees.”

Steve snorts. “It’s an artificial tree, Eds. My mom called as I was headed out to your place. Said I needed to get the stupid thing up and fluffed before she got home tonight because she needs a full three days to decorate the damn thing for the annual Harrington Holiday House party.”

“This thing is blasphemous!” Eddie says, circling it like a predator stalking its prey. “I thought rich people love Christmas trees. Don’t you like custom order the biggest one to show off your wealth?”

“Uh, no? My mom says real trees make too much of a mess.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie says, abandoning the tree as he stalks towards Steve. “You mean to tell me you’ve never had a real tree before? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“You’re being weird,” Steve says, shaking Eddie’s hands off his shoulder.

“I am not being weird. You’re being weird. You’ve never had a Christmas tree! Do you even know what they smell like? Steve, you haven’t lived until you’ve smelt a freshly cut down Christmas tree!”

“Jesus, I didn’t know you were so passionate about this,” Steve snorts.

“You think this is bad. Wait until I tell Wayne. He’s going to flip out!”

“Wayne has never flipped out in his life.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first for everything.” Eddie crosses his arms and then immediately uncrosses them, clapping his hands instead. “That’s it. You’re coming with us this year. Don’t make plans for next Friday! I’m stealing your Christmas tree virginity.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Steve groans, wrinkling his nose. “But fine, I’ll go with you. If you help me with this thing.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair trade-off, Stevie.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really give a shit,” Steve says, bending down for the next segment of the tree. “Now grab an end.”

Steve yelps when he feels a firm hand squeeze his ass. All it takes is one deathly glare over his shoulder for Eddie to stop cackling and get serious.

🎄 🎄 🎄

“I’m going to sue your family,” Eddie whines, collapsing on the couch a few hours later.

“Don’t be a baby,” Steve scolds before dashing off into the living room to grab a couple of beers.

“Excuse me! That thing attacked me! Multiple times! Look at the evidence,” Eddie shouts, yanking up the sleeves of his Hellfire shirt to examine a dozen or so scratch marks up and down his forearms. “And don’t even get me started on my hands! How am I supposed to play guitar, Steven!”

“I told you to wear gloves,” Steve shrugs, returning to the room. He passes Eddie the cold can of beer before sinking into the couch beside him.

“I shouldn’t need gloves because you shouldn’t need to fluff a tree! They already come fluffed because they’re not rotting away in a box all year.”

“You poor thing,” Steve playfully tuts. “Guess I can’t hold your hand now since they’re so beaten up.”

“I never said that,” Eddie squawks as he yanks Steve’s hand into his own.

They sit in silence after that. Nursing their beers as the Christmas tree stands in its makeshift glory in front of them. Steve can tell which side he fluffed and which side Eddie did. The giant gap between the top two layers is obvious, and he knows he’s going to have to climb the ladder and fix it before his mom gets home, but that’s a problem for future Steve. Right now, he wants to sit here with his boyfriend even if his boyfriend is gearing up for another faux Christmas tree rant.

“Don’t tell me your mom is one of those people who only puts those stupid decorative ball things on the tree, too.”

“What do you think?” Steve says, hiding his smile behind the can of beer.

“Jesus H. Christ!”

🎄 🎄 🎄

It takes a bit of convincing and a formal invite from Wayne, but Steve keeps up his end of their deal, joining the Munsons on their quest for the perfect Christmas tree for the trailer.

Eddie has a habit of embellishing when he tells stories, but Merrill’s farm lives up to all the hype. As done, the process of selecting and chopping down the perfect tree. Steve gets stuck being the tie-breaking vote when Wayne and Eddie end up arguing over which tree to bring home. Naturally, Eddie throws a minor fit when Steve sides with Wayne, whining that he likes him better than his own boyfriend, which has Wayne rolling his eyes.

Steve gets to make the first chop but passes the ax off quickly. He doesn’t want to impede on their tradition any more than he has. Besides, axes have never been his thing. He prefers to swing bats instead.

“See, isn’t this much better than building a tree?” Eddie asks, slinging an arm over Steve’s shoulder as they stand off the side while Wayne pays.

“It definitely smells better.” Steve inhales deeply, scents of pine and hints of peppermint flooding his senses. Someone should bottle this stuff up and sell it as a cologne, he thinks. He’d definitely wear it.

“It’s easier, too.”

Steve scoffs. “Speak for yourself! You’re not the one who helped Wayne drag it all the way up here.”

Eddie laughs, eyes sparking mischievously. “Wait until you have to help him load it into the truck. That’s always the worst part.”

Steve eyes his boyfriend through squinted eyes. He ducks out of Eddie’s grasp and settles his hands on his hips. “You set me up! You just brought me here so you wouldn’t have to do manual work!”

“You wound me, Harrington,” Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart as he staggers backward. “How can you think so lowly of me.”

“Because I know you, Munson,” Steve teases.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Eddie says, slinking over to Steve. “Maybe I had ulterior motives, but it's only fair after what I suffered helping you with that abomination you call a tree. At least now you’ve experienced a true Christmas tree experience.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as Eddie beams proudly at him.

“Ready to go, boys?” Wayne asks, rejoining them. They both nod, watching as Wayne makes his way over to the heavier side of the tree.

“You don’t have to carry it, Wayne,” Steve says, mischievous flooding his own veins. “Eddie and I will carry it to the car.”

“You bastard!”

“Hey,” Wayne scolds, swatting Eddie’s shoulder. “No swearin’ ‘round kids. I ain’t raise you like that.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he watches Eddie sigh dramatically before carefully shoving Wayne away from the tree. He waits for Eddie to follow his lead, squatting down before he counts them off. On three, they hoist the tree over their shoulders and start heading back out to the car.

🎄 🎄 🎄

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks later, passing Steve a mug full of Wayne’s signature hot chocolate. “Is it better than your tree?”

Steve knows the answer immediately, but he takes a moment. Wants to make Eddie squirm as he admires the tree in front of him. It’s not perfect. It’s a little crooked, and there are hundreds of pine needles littering the floor. The lights are bright, though, and the branches are full of homemade and sentimental ornaments that span decades. A homemade star sits on top in lieu of the traditional angel. A star, Eddie tells him, he and his mom made by themselves the year before she got sick.

It’s perfectly imperfect.

His own traditional, straight out of the pages of a Home and Garden magazine doesn’t stand a chance against this one.

“Yeah, Eds. It’s better than my tree.”

“Victory!” Eddie shouts, nearly spilling his hot chocolate all over himself.

🎄 🎄 🎄

A month later, Steve’s belly is full of the Munson Christmas feast, but instead of lazily lounging on the couch enjoying his food baby, he’s carefully taking ornaments off of the dead Christmas tree that nearly caught fire twice since he’s been here.

“I take it back,” Steve says, carefully taking an ornament off of the dead tree. “Artificial trees are better.”

“They are not!” Eddie whines, wrapping the ornaments Steve hands him in tissue paper.

“I don’t know, Eds. I’ve never had to take down a tree on Christmas before!” he grumbles, reaching for another ornament. “This sucks.”

“It’s all your fault. If you chose my tree, it would have lived for another week! I just know it.”

“Sure it would have,” Steve snorts.

“Look on the bright side, at least we have firewood for the New Year's Eve bond fire now. We can’t do that with your stupid tree.”

“Nope, because I get to use my tree again next year, and you have to buy a new one. Think that’s another point for fake trees.”

Eddie screeches, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle and tugging him off the ladder and onto the couch. Despite their full stomachs and tired eyes, they wrestle and laugh as Wayne shakes his head from the doorway, a light cigarette perched between his lips.

Stevie sighed. “You think I’m shorter in real life?” It was one of Jason’s fave put-downs.

“No.” That smile again, and she was dying happy. “The biggest surprise is your Winnie-the-Pooh PJs. I pictured you sleeping in baby-doll lingerie.”

Stevie blinked. He pictured that BEFORE we met?

Okay, she'd modelled slinky stuff, but… Dammit, she’d barely had time to be embarrassed about Pooh.

“This was gonna be a ‘me-break,’” she flustered. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

“Yeah, sorry. Again. Um… can I kip on the couch? Be gone before you wake.”

If Stevie had worn her matching Pooh slippers, her heart would’ve plummeted through them. Then instantly skyrocketed. Eddie leaned waaaay too close again. Trouble was, even his beer-breath proved alluring.

“Yeah, fine,” she stammered. “Tho’ this sofa is tiny, and…”  She brushed her mouth against Eddie’s, the whispering ghost of a kiss.

“W-wow?” stuttered Eddie.

She licked her lips. He tasted boozy, but she liked. And omfg, what had come over her? Her knuckles caressed his cheek, trembling like she was the drunk one. “I’ve never kissed a stranger before.”

His flirtatious snicker warmed-up long-neglected places inside her. “Really? I do it all the time.”

They tumbled into the next kiss, which heated, sizzled, lingered smoochily, till she asked, breathless: “Seeing as you’re super-hot, and I’m leaving tomorrow… we should have sex.”

“Stevie, you’re the hottest girl in the world—sure you’re not a dream?”

They barely reached Chrissy’s bed before they fucked, with Bowie’s ‘Heroes’ cheering them on. Stevie had never done anything this spontaneous. And, for someone ‘sozzled’, Eddie sure knew how to please a partner… over and over and over.

Eventually, Stevie watched him sleep, cursing her surging 'feels.'

This heartache was crazy. Why couldn’t she enjoy a one-night stand? Eddie seemed sweet. Also, a stranger! She was on the rebound, still kinda pining… or was she?

Honestly, she felt closer to Eddie already than she ever had to Jason.

Stevie, you’re jet-lagged and over-emotional. Go home. To a fresh start.

And nope, she couldn’t make that new life here.

Next morning, Eddie apologised about basically everything.

“Chill,” said Stevie breezily, over their Deliveroo banana-chocolate crepes. “I had fun.”

Not gonna be clingy and tragic.

“Still leaving?” he asked, doe-eyed.

She nodded. Her chest panged, and it didn’t help that Eddie resembled a kicked puppy. He fluffed his hair, awkward.

“Stevie, listen. Firstly, that ex of yours who said you sucked at sex? He’s a liar. Secondly, my life is really complicated.” Indeed, his cell bleeped with messages all night. Another reason Stevie’s ‘feels’ were madness. “But… if you change your mind, I’m having dinner later at the pub on the corner.”

The hug, and their tender farewell kiss, choked her up. Shit, she never fucking cried!

Her limo sat in traffic for two hours on its way to the airport. Three more, after Stevie demanded the driver turn back. In the pub, she got tons of stares in her cute cocktail-dress and even signed some autographs. When Eddie finally arrived, his surprised smile was beyond delicious.

“Hey,” she said, deserting her Chardonnay.

“Hello, Gorgeous.” He slid his hand to her waist, drawing her into a sensual kiss that was somehow comfortably familiar and the most startling, exciting thing ever.

She was definitely gonna stay the whole two weeks. Then… who knew?

💝💝💝💝💝💝