#wsqk

“You’re staring,” you say with a shy laugh, your thumb stroking the back of his neck where your hand rests. You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

“Prettiest girl in Indiana.” He raises his eyebrows, smirking down at you, fingers tracing along the skin of your cheek.

You feign your best look of dejection and whisper, “Just Indiana?” You hope your tone sounds as hurt as you want it to.

He falls for it, because he’s Steve.

His smile fades instantly and mild panic flashes in his eyes. “N-no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”

You giggle as he stammers and he groans then, burying his face in your neck. “You’re so mean.”

He bites you gently and you let out a little yelp that turns into a soft moan, fingers digging into the flesh of his bicep. He chuckles and lifts his head, resting his forehead against yours.

“You love it.” Your free hand reaches up to ruffle his hair. He never lets anyone touch his hair, but he lets you do it without batting an eye. You never mention it but it’s one of those things that holds more weight to you than you think he realizes. 

“I love you,” he says without thinking, eyes boring into yours. His voice is painfully honest, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. The words falling out before he can catch them or think twice. 

Your heart does a leap in your chest, your breath catching as the reality of his words sinks in. You know it, you feel it when he touches you, you see it in his eyes when he looks at you—but he hasn't said it yet. You’ve certainly been too afraid to say it first, though you’ve loved him as long as you can remember. 

“I’m sorry, I just—” he begins, but you cut him off, pulling him down by his neck into a rough kiss. He pulls back slightly, trying to talk against your mouth, but you don’t let him.

“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips, laughing and shaking your head in disbelief.

He looks down at you in awe, mouth agape, eyes soft and full of emotion. Slowly, a wide, toothy, Steve Harrington smile spreads across his face. He laughs with you before wrapping himself around you, burying his face in your neck. Steve has never felt so lucky, or so loved, in his whole life.

–

Lovers Lake

The view at Lovers Lake is as stunning as ever as the sun sets between the trees. It is as beautiful a view as you can get in Hawkins, the low sun casting a glow across the water that makes the atmosphere even more romantic. It’s one of those Indiana evenings where the heat doesn’t break even as the sun disappears; it lingers and clings to you.

Steve’s Beamer is parked just far enough off the path to be invisible to any passing cars, but close enough that the trees don’t stop the fading light from bouncing off the hood. Not that either of you are looking at your surroundings at the moment.

You are pressed firmly against the passenger door of the car, the familiar warmth of Steve’s chest against yours. One of his hands cradles the back of your neck while the other holds the small of your back, keeping you flush against him.

The kiss is dizzying. You can’t tell if the heat is from the outside air or the fact that every time Steve touches you, you feel like you are going to burn from the inside out. He tastes like the cherry Slurpee you shared at Hawk Theater earlier. Your fingers are hooked through the belt loops of his jeans, and every time you tug him a little closer, he lets out a low, ragged groan that makes your knees feel weak.

“Fuck,” he murmurs your name into your mouth in that way that always makes your heart flutter.

You chuckle breathlessly. “Can’t believe I’m all yours.”

He stills for a moment and pulls back to look at you, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen. He looks wrecked—cheeks flushed, hair tousled, and lips swollen. Your gaze shifts lower just briefly between your bodies to see his cock straining against his jeans; the sight makes your mouth water and your palms sweat.

“Say that again.”

“Can’t believe it,” you repeat, suddenly a little embarrassed by the statement.

He tilts his head. “Not that part.”

You gnaw on your lower lip and shrug. “I’m yours.”

The statement is casual because you are. You have been for a long time. 

His eyes drop to your lips briefly and then he is on you again, his hand dropping from the back of your neck to the front of your throat—not squeezing, just resting there with a natural weight. “You’re gonna kill me, I swear,” he whispers before licking into your mouth so well that you can’t help the whimper that escapes you.

“That means those pretty little sounds are all mine, too.” The hand at your back slips under your shirt, gently kneading the soft skin there. His knee nudges your legs apart so he can rub against you right where you want to be touched most.

“Always, Steve,” you moan, your head falling back. His hand around your neck squeezes experimentally as you bare your throat for him. Your eyes roll back in your head, and your lips fall open at the euphoric feeling. The relinquishing of control—the realization of how much you trust him—hits you like a semi-truck.

Steve can’t even form words, so he just nods, his breath coming out in heavy puffs.

“So pretty, so perfect... I’m so lucky.” He rambles, drunk on you, rutting up against you, peppering sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along the bare skin of your shoulder.

It is a little reckless, but the way you love each other makes you that way. Maybe you should care, but in this moment, neither of you cares about anything besides the feel of each other and the possibility of forever.

—

The Apartment

The kitchen of your modest apartment is filled with the smell of toast and bacon. Some Duran Duran song plays from the radio on the windowsill. You flip another piece of bacon as you bob your head and sway your hips to the beat.

“Did Henderson leave?” Steve pauses in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes settling on you cooking and dancing. You look so in your element, so very much you, that it makes his heart ache.

“A few minutes ago. Why?” You furrow your brows, looking over your shoulder at him.

He groans in frustration. “That little shit. He stole my hairspray—my last can, too!” He runs a hand through his messy brown locks. “That is the last time he sleeps over.”

You roll your eyes and gasp dramatically, your voice dripping with heavy sarcasm. “Oh no! The King of Hawkins will have a flat mane for one whole day! What a tragedy. You know, I may just have to break up with yo—”

Steve doesn’t let you finish the sentence; he is on you as quickly as the words leave your mouth. He crosses the kitchen in two steps, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He grabs you, spinning you around and plopping you onto the opposite counter. The cool tile is jarring as it hits your thighs, your feet dangling. A squeal of surprise leaves your mouth in the process.

“Steve! I’m gonna burn the bacon!”

“The bacon can wait,” Steve murmurs, stepping between your knees. His hands go to your hips to pull you flush against him.

“See how clearly you think without all that aerosol?” you tease, looking at him with pure mischief in your eyes as your hands come to rest against his chest.

He grabs your waist then, his fingers giving your ribs a squeeze. You jolt and let out a little yelp. The sarcasm dies in your throat as his gaze darkens, dropping to your lips. Your faces are so close that his breath mingles with yours.

“You’re a real comedian today, huh? Real brave.” He leans in, his lips brushing yours. You rush to catch his mouth, but he moves to the side, trailing his lips along your jaw to that spot just under your ear that makes your brain short-circuit.

God, it’s so much fun to tease him. 

“Mmmhh.” The sound is low and soft from your closed lips as your head falls back, resting gently against the cabinets.

The sound only spurs him on. He nips at your collarbone, his breath so hot against your skin that it makes you shiver. “You like that?”

“You know I do,” you respond breathily, your voice shaking as you try to think straight. One of his hands slides into the back of your hair, fisting it just enough to pull, and he holds you there. His mouth moves back to your throat, peppering open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skin he can find.

Your eyes flutter shut, desire rushing through you. “Steve…”

“God, I love that sound,” he whispers, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly register that makes your toes curl. “Makes me want to forget that Robin will probably be home soon.” He sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

You chuckle softly. “The door has a lock. We probably only have a few minutes, though.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls back to smirk at you. “I can do a lot of damage in a few minutes.”

“That’s awfully cocky of you,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows.

“Challenge accepted. Lock the door, baby.”

—

The Phone Call 

Steve is obsessed with eating you out. He has been from the moment you spread your legs for him for the first time. He loves spending ample time between your thighs. Some days he takes his time, making his way from your mouth to your neck, then to your chest, slowly working toward where you want him most. He loves to get you worked up first, wanting to hear you whine and arch for him; sometimes he even makes you beg a little so that by the time he arrives, you’re soaked for him.

Other days, he gives you no warning. One moment you’re kissing or lounging on the couch together, and the next, your legs are over his shoulders and he’s licking you so enthusiastically that you see black spots in your vision. Nothing else exists for him in those moments—just the taste of you on his tongue and the rest of the world muffled by your thighs pressed to his ears. His only focus is making you tremble. He is fueled by your praises and the euphoric sting of your fingers tugging on his hair.

Then there are days like today, which fall somewhere in between.

All you want to do is finish your phone call with Max. She called to ask for advice about a fight she and Lucas are having—something she does often—and you are always there for her. Your boyfriend, however, does not care. He has plans of his own.

You are leaning against the wall, one hand fiddling with the spiral phone cord. Suddenly, Steve is behind you, pressing his body against yours. His hands rub down your waist to your hips and then lower, before rising again to reach around and unbutton your jeans. You smile fondly at first, until you realize exactly what he is doing. Your eyes go wide and your cheeks flush instantly as he shucks your jeans down. And you let him—because, goddamn, this boy makes you crazy.

You can’t help the small gasp of surprise that leaves your lips as he rids you of your underwear and the cool air of the kitchen hits your bare skin. The sound causes Max to ask if you’re okay, but you don’t respond. Couldn’t form a goddamn word if you tried. Your chest heaves as you struggle to form even one coherent thought. Steve’s hand covers yours, pulling the phone from your grasp and bringing it to his ear.

“Hey, Max. Yeah, she’s gonna have to call you back,” he says into the receiver, his voice low as his chin hovers over your shoulder. You hear Max mutter her disgust before Steve chuckles and hangs up the phone.

“Damn kids, always taking my girl.” He mutters, more to himself than you, shaking his head and tucking your underwear into his back pocket. Christ.

Nervous excitement rushes through you.

He spins you so you are facing him, slowly lowering himself to his knees before you—a sight that makes your breath hitch. “Jesus, Steve.”

“What is it?” He asks, as if he doesn’t know. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder as he looks up at you with hungry eyes. “You like the sight of me on my knees for you?” He leans forward to press a kiss right where you are nearly dripping for him.

Your head falls back with a broken moan, and you steady yourself with a hand against the wall.

“Nuh-uh, baby. Eyes on me,” he whispers, his hand grabbing your ass to pull you closer. “Want you to watch what I’m gonna do to you.”

—

WSQK

You follow Steve into the sound booth, shutting the door behind you. He lets out a breath it seems he’s been holding since it was decided that the party is moving forward with his plan. The sky is quite literally falling, and the lot of you are going to smack right into it. The stakes feel high, and the impending risk—and possible grief—feels heavy. You lean against the edge of the soundboard and cross your arms, tilting your head as you look at him.

“I’m not even going to try and convince you not to go, because I know you won’t, and you’ll tell me to shove it, but—”

“Not a chance in hell—” you start, but Steve puts his hands up.

He takes a step forward, closing the gap until he’s right up against you, hands rubbing your arms comfortingly. “I know, baby. I know.” He pauses. “I just—” He sighs, rubbing one hand down his face.

“I don’t want you up there any more than you want me to be, Steve. But I go where you go. We do this,” you gesture around you, “together. Vecna or no Vecna.”

He swallows, his jaw clenching. “This is the most I’ve ever had to lose, and it scares the shit out of me.” He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes falling shut.

Your hand comes up to rest on his cheek. “Me too.” Your voice shakes noticeably.

“Promise you’ll stay close to me?”

“Always,” you respond.

His mouth is on yours—not gentle or tender, but rough and full of pent-up emotion. If a kiss could bruise, you think this one should. His hands fist in the fabric of your jacket as your back arches to meet him. You kiss back with the same fervor, pouring every ounce of desperation and fear into the movement of your mouth against his.

He lifts you slightly so that you’re sitting on the soundboard. Your hands scramble for purchase as you steady yourself, pushing buttons and flicking levers, but you couldn't care less. He nudges your legs apart with his own, pushing his hips between them. His mouth is demanding; his hands drop to your thighs, kneading the flesh through your pants while your fingers find purchase in his hair.

His mouth drops to your neck, sucking at the space below your ear that always makes you melt. “Steve,” you moan, your voice trembling softly.

“God, I will never get tired of hearing that,” he breathes against your skin.

Sudden banging on the glass makes you both jump apart, hearts racing. “We, on the other hand, are VERY tired of it!” Murray’s voice is muffled but discernible as he yells, throwing his hands around.

Steve steadies you as you nearly slide off the soundboard and into him. Mortification is the only word that can accurately describe what you feel as you gape at him in pure confusion and embarrassment.

“You’re on the mic, lovebirds!” Murray yells again, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as if you’re both idiots. He points to the speakers on the ceiling and the glowing ‘ON AIR’ light.

You bury your face in your hands as you feel the heat rush into your cheeks. Steve just shakes his head, rubbing his hands up and down your sides. “I just know Robin is somewhere cackling.”

-

“Can I get a read on that?” Nancy asks you, snapping you out of your daze.

You blink. “Sorry?”

Nancy hides her annoyance well, but it still shows. “I need the estimated run times for broadcasts next week,” she repeats.

You shake herself and stand from your chair. “Yeah– yeah, right. Sorry.”

You make your way to the wall of cabinets, on the top of which you usually stack the binders where you log all of that kind of information. You grimace at the height and stretch to grab them, but the short skirt you’re wearing is making that a little difficult. How the hell had you gotten them up there in the first place?

You reach for it once more, ignoring that your friends might end up seeing a little more of your ass than usual as you press up onto your tiptoes. And then you feel someone appear behind you, and Steve’s hand comes into view, his corded forearm flexing as he grabs the binders down for you. 

You turn to thank him and find him inches from your face. He’s standing directly in the way of your line of vision to everyone else. As if he’d been blocking them from seeing you in that skirt. As if he’d been thinking about it like you had. 

“Thanks,” you say, a little bewildered and fighting a blush. 

He gives you a tight smile, no fondness to be found in it. There’s an unmistakable intensity in his eyes as he looks at you– an intensity that makes you think acutely about the fingertip-shaped bruises that are currently scattered along your hips and thighs. When he looks at you like that, it’s not hard to remember the reason he put them on you in the first place. Hidden and unspoken though your friends-with-benefits-whatever-the-fuck agreement might be, Steve’s always liked marking you up, despite the risks of anyone else in this room finally catching on to what’s been going on beneath their noses for weeks now.

You clear your throat and return to your armchair and the meeting, rattling off numbers for Nancy to analyze. Steve leans up against the wall, arms crossed.

You try not to watch him, but he makes it hard sometimes. There’s a strange kind of intimacy to seeing someone whose body you could map out in perfect detail fully clothed. Like it’s some barrier only you are able to pass, some sacred knowledge that you and only you possess. Like later, if you wanted, you could rip that shirt off of him and kiss your way over the pattern of moles on his strong shoulders, and nobody but the two of you knew it. 

In that small way, he belongs to you.

Eventually, Nancy asks for some other piece of information you don’t have on hand, and you’re forced to head down to the basement to gather it, grumbling along the way. How these archival lists matter to your job, you have no idea. Your role is mostly pulling music and organizing the board– and fighting off Steve’s attempts to redo it for you.

You lean over the table in the basement, sifting unsuccessfully through papers to find what you’re looking for.

“I want to see you,” comes a voice from behind you. 

You jump, although you recognize Steve’s voice. “Jesus. You scared me.”

“After this,” he insists, ignoring you and stepping closer. 

You don’t turn from the desk– won’t let him know you’re intimidated by the heat in his tone. “I might have plans tonight,” you hum, though it’s a bald-faced lie and you both know it.

You can’t tell if he’s ordering or begging you as he says, “Cancel them.”

You sigh. “I shouldn’t, Steve. I have to walk home, and I don’t want to do that in the dark.”

“I’ll drive you home,” he promises you. “I’m locking up tonight, anyway. Come on. Promise I’ll make it worth it.”

Warmth coils in your gut, and you know there’s no way in hell you’re turning this down. “Why the sudden urge?” you push him, unsurprised when you hear his footsteps, then feel his body come flush to yours.

Steve presses his hands against your hips, perhaps subconsciously finding one of the bruises there and adding just enough pressure for you to feel a tinge of pain.“This skirt is really working for me,” he murmurs in your ear. “I’d like to see what it’d look like on the floor.”

You turn around slowly and Steve’s hands adjust to land on your lower back, one of them sliding down slightly. The look of that total hunger in his eyes makes you surge forward and capture his lips with yours, cupping his face. You don’t dare run your hands up into his hair and muss it before the two of you have to walk back out there, but the way he’s pushing your body back into the desk is driving you so insane you think briefly about trying it anyway. 

“Easy,” you breathe, pulling back. “We’ve still gotta make it through this meeting.”

“Is that a yes?” he asks.

You push against his chest, ignoring the pounding of your heart. “It’s a maybe,” you bluff. “As in, maybe I keep this skirt on the whole time and go to work on you instead.”

Steve kisses you again, hard and pressing. 

You pull back, peeling yourself out of his grip and making for the door. And once he’s out of sight, you might tug your skirt up an extra inch.

You’re busying yourself with shoving records back onto the shelves in the music alcove in the station, biding your time until closing. Nancy and Jonathan have taken off only moments ago, and now it’s only a matter of not shouting at Robin to pack up her things quicker before you’d be alone. Well– alone, except for one other person, who’s been shooting you barely-disguised hungry looks from across the station all day. 

“Hey, you need a ride?” Robin asks, appearing in the doorway. “Vickie’s outside.”

You smile at her. “I’m fine. My dad’s picking me up tonight.”

“Suit yourself,” Robin calls, waving a hand in goodbye. “Don’t stay too late. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” You toss back, fingers stilling on the last record. Once she’s gone, you make yourself wait a minute, then two, and then you follow Robin out, making it all the way to the front door of the station so you can lock it and draw the blinds down.

Steve looks up from where he’s working in the sound box, stacking tapes. 

Your eyes find his, and that’s all it takes for him to be moving for you, pushing open the glass door between you and crossing the main room quickly. 

You meet him stride for stride and crash into each other in the middle of the room, mouths already slanting together. 

Steve’s hands are all over you, travelling up and down your back, tugging you close to him. He loves to kiss– always has. It’s probably his biggest turn-on. He never wanted to stop kissing you, right up until the very end. 

You curl your hands in the front of his shirt and grab him closer to you, almost just to have something to hold onto. You’re making frantic noises into his mouth, and it seems only to energize him further. 

Steve walks you backward toward the couch, stopping only when your legs bump against it. “Needed you so bad,” he mumbles against your mouth. “You’ve been driving me crazy all day.” You let out a noise. “Clothes. I want to touch you.”

He pulls back enough to shuck his shirt off in one easy motion, tossing it aside. Your hands find his bare chest, smoothing across his shoulders, over his pecs, down his abdomen. They land on his belt, and you yank him back toward you. 

“I want everything off,” he breathes. “I need to see you, sweetheart.”

“All of it?” you repeat, panting. He almost never asks for that from you– you always move too fast together. With the exception of a few longer nights spent in the Squawk van, it’s fairly rare for you to be completely naked in front of him.

“All of it,” he nods. “You need help?”

A small, stubborn part of you wants to tell him you don’t. But your fingers aren’t as steady as usual, and your legs feel like they’re about to give out, so instead, you just nod. 

Steve lets out an impassioned noise and tears his lips from yours, hands moving down your body. He grips the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head gently so it doesn’t catch on your chin or your nose. When the shirt is gone, discarded with his, he takes a moment to smooth down your hair, running his fingers down it softly. You shiver at the touch. 

Steve reaches around you and unhooks your bra, which is the part you always have a hard time with once your coordination is shot. But his fingers move expertly for you– assuredly. Years of experience, and weeks of training with you in this station– against walls, over desks, tucked in corners where no one and nothing can force you to admit the truth in these encounters. He pulls your bra straps down your arms as you attack his neck with kisses, moving down his chest. 

Steve pulls away, holding you by the arms so he can see you. He lets out a groan. “Fuck.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to second base with me,” you mock him, letting him take it in. 

He nods, all seriousness. “Too long. Too goddamn long.”

His lips return to yours, and then, just as you had anticipated he would, he begins to kiss a line down your middle, over your sternum, down your stomach. His hands move, sweeping, to stroke your body, over your ribs and across your breasts in ways that make your skin tingle. 

“And this,” he makes out, hands settling onto your hips again as he drops to his knees in front of you, eyes fixed on the waistband of your skirt. “I can’t believe you wore this in front of other people.”

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask breathlessly, staring down at him. You love seeing him like this– completely desperate, staring at you like he wants to devour you. He usually does.

Steve’s eyes flick up to meet yours. “It’s obscene. Your whole ass was out today.”

Your cheeks burn. “It was not.” It was. You just so happened to be incapable of conceding to him.

“You’re not allowed to wear this out anymore,” Steve tells you, his thumb skimming under the waistband. “This is only for me from now on. You hear me?”

Your pulse spiked at the order, at the audacity in his tone. “I like this skirt,” you say defensively.

“I love this skirt,” he agrees, fingers moving for the buttons. “Doesn’t change that you’re a fucking tease.”

“I’m not a tease,” you gasp out. 

“Promise me,” he bades you, another order in place of a plea. Looking up at you, his brown eyes catching you with that unshakable focus, it almost feels like he’s not the one on his knees at all. 

Promises are dangerous. Promises mean strings. Strings are what the two of you come here to avoid. 

You bite your lip and shake your head.

Steve frowns. “You sure about that?” he challenges you, arching a thick brow.

Incapable of tearing your eyes away, you feel a reluctant laugh escape you as you shake your head again. Too sex-addled to lie to him now.

A grin spreads over Steve’s face– so bright for a moment it makes your chest hurt. “Figures. Brat.” He unzips the skirt and tugs it over your hips, taking your underwear with it. When it hits the floor, you step out of it and kick it away. 

“You’re beautiful,” Steve tells you. “So beautiful. Fuck, I need you.”

Your hands tighten on his shoulders, and as you stare down at him, you can feel your heart in your throat. “Get back up here.”

He rises to his feet again, and you swallow as he towers over you. “Steve,” you whisper– just to say it. “How do you want me?”

“I want you everywhere,” he murmurs. “I want you for hours.”

You let his kisses, scattered across your neck, over the still-red hickeys he left there the other day, drag another moan from your throat. “Steve,” you breathe again. “The floor.”

He shakes his head. “No. I want you to be comfortable, pretty girl.”

“Then–” you let out a shaky breath. “Then the couch. I don’t care. Fuck, Steve.”

“Just hang on a minute, sweetheart,” he tells you. “I’ll take care of you. I’ve got you.”

Sweet words– so heartbreakingly gentle. Paired with your ravenous hunger, you think the feeling might swallow you whole. 

You plant your hands on his shoulders and jump into his arms, knowing without questioning it that he’ll catch you. His hands span your thighs as his mouth moves over yours again, pushing so hard you think for a moment he might be trying to swallow you. You stay like that for a moment, your hands wild with movement, desperate to get all of him under your fingers. Steve grunts as you scratch at his shoulders and finally sets you gently down on the couch, moving over you. 

You’ve never considered what the two of you do vanilla, exactly, but this has always been Steve’s favorite position. He loves watching you, loves wrenching words from your mouth, loves being able to run his eyes over the entirety of you as he wishes. That’s just him– this boy whose body you’ve come to know as well as your own.

He kisses his way back down your figure again, probably meaning to get you ready, squeeze an orgasm out of you before you start. He’s always eaten you out like it was for his pleasure and not yours– done it like it’s a sport he can’t stand to lose at. Sometimes you wonder if he can even breathe, he’s so immersed in it. 

But not tonight. You reach a hand down and pull his hair, making him look up at you. “No,” you tell him, chest heaving. “I just want to feel you in me. Nothing else.”

Steve’s expression melts a little, and he moves immediately to accommodate you. Reaching down, he grabs a discarded pillow off the floor and sets it behind your head so you’ll be comfortable. 

You move to kiss him again, but he stops you, snagging another. “One more,” he tells you, and you lift your hips so he can place the cushion beneath them. 

“That good?” he asks once you’ve settled again. “Are you comfortable?”

You nod, letting a smile rise to your face. Maybe it isn’t hot or arousing or whatever else you’re supposed to be during these types of moments, but you can’t help it. It’s what he draws out of you. And Steve, to his credit, doesn’t seem to mind. 

He reaches for his belt, and you help him pull it off of him, shucking his jeans partway down his thighs. You wish he was bare, too– that you could feel the strong muscles in his calves or dig  your fingers into the meat of his thighs, but you don’t want to hear him say no if you ask– even if you know somewhere deep down that there isn’t anything you could ask for that he wouldn’t give you. 

You reach for him, hand closing around his length, and he gives a sharp hiss. “Your hands are cold, sweetheart.”

“Then how ‘bout you warm me up, baby?” you coo, the name a weapon in your mouth. 

Steve sits back on his heels to look at you, spread out and waiting. He shakes his head. “So pretty. I don’t get to see you like this enough.”

“What, legs open?” you snort. 

He shakes his head again. “Just– all of you.”

The words soften something in you. Somehow, as desperate as you are, tonight feels sweeter than usual– like the debauchery and frantic need you attribute to loneliness and low station lighting has faded into the background, baring your care for one another in a dangerously sweet way. You can’t tell if you love or hate the new sensation– the openness. The honesty with yourself more than with him.

Steve leans over you again and presses a kiss to your lips, cleaner than the last. He settles in between your thighs easily, like you’re working on instinct after so many weeks of this. Reaching one hand down, he tears his lips away from yours to hear your voice as he lines himself up and pushes in. 

You gasp again, the fullness as always just the brink of too much. 

Steve chokes on his breath, pulling out and plunging in again, a little deeper.

You grab for his hips, trying to urge him on. “All the way,” you order. 

He shakes his head. “I didn’t warm you up. It’ll hurt.”

You ignore him and try to pull him in again, but he’s too strong. 

He groans. “Baby.”

“I can take it,” you promise. “You won’t hurt me. I need you, baby. Please.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a breath. “Hold on, pretty girl.”

His fingers tighten on your hips, and he dutifully pulls out and thrusts the rest of the way in. 

You let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream. 

“You okay?” he makes sure, halting his movements, his thumb brushing the hair at your temple. 

You nod fervently. “Move.”

“Sweetheart–”

“I said move, Steve,” you snap. “I can take it.”

He groans again. “God, you’re bossy.” He begins to thrust into you, slow enough you press your fingers into his hips, secretly wishing your nails will leave the crescent-shaped marks you never get tired of seeing there.

Steve’s hips snap into yours, and he kisses you again, insistent. 

You let the timing of his thrusts pull noises from your throat, let yourself moan out all kinds of ridiculous sentiments. You can’t help it anymore. You’re out of control when you’re with him– spiraling down into a chaos of secret feeling.

“You have no idea how incredible you feel,” Steve mutters. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

“I can guess,” you make out. 

He frowns, probably at the fact you still have enough faculty to speak. He starts moving faster, changing his angle to be more insistent, and the string of thoughts in your head becomes garbled. “Fuck,” you grind out as he hits the spot inside of you that always makes you writhe. You can feel your orgasm building and building inside you, quicker than usual from the entire day he’s spent teasing you. You’re ready for him– you feel like you’ve been ready for hours. And Steve seems to have no issue bringing you there so quickly tonight.

Steve takes one hand and presses it down against your lower abdomen, feeling himself through you. It adds the perfect amount of pressure, and it’s only a few more thrusts before you go over the edge, yelling out his name, tipping your head back in ecstasy.

As you come down from the high, he kisses you again, ripping the last of the panting, desperate sounds from your mouth. “Oh, God. I need you, sweetheart. I always need you.”

“I need you, too,” you breathe, giving him what you know he needs to follow you over the edge. “I’ve been thinking about it for days. Every time we finish and go home, it’s only minutes before I want you again. I can’t get enough of you, baby.”

Steve moans out your name “Fuck, sweetheart–”

You clench around him, knowing what kind of reaction that always gets from him. 

He yells your name suddenly and finishes inside of you, so loud you reach up and tug his head down toward you, muffling his voice with your shoulder. He grunts and bites at the skin where it meets your neck, and you gasp again as he slows and finally stills. 

For a moment, you simply relish that feeling– sweaty and sated and comforted by his weight laid out over you. Some secret, insane part of you thinks you might want to stay here forever, his fingers still tangled in your hair, his breath on your neck. 

You can’t help yourself– you need to feel him. So you run your hands around his back and hold him for a moment, palms pressing against the blazing heat of his back. Steve doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and neither do you. Completely spent.

Eventually, he murmurs, “I’m crushing you,” and presses himself up onto his forearms again. You grip his bicep, letting him know you’re still sensitive.

“You ready?” he asks, brushing a hand over your hair again. 

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut, and try not to make a noise when he pulls out of you. 

Steve presses a final kiss to your temple before climbing off the couch. You watch him wander further toward the staff room, unashamed of his half-nakedness, probably trying to find something for you to drink. Aftercare– some kind of strange art he’s perfected. You might be nothing to each other but hasty and hidden releases, but it doesn’t stop Steve Harrington from caring, even in his own insane way. You wonder dimly if there’s anything that ever could. 

At the moment, you’re not sure you could move even if you wanted to. Yanking the pillow out from underneath your hips and trying to catch your breath, you run a hand through your hair and try to keep your mind off the boy that’s been infecting it for weeks now. 

Steve comes back with a bottle of water and a washcloth in hand, and he runs his eyes over you where you lay spread out on the couch. You watch him swallow, probably fighting his lingering arousal. 

You try to push yourself up, but your arms are shaky underneath you. Steve notices and takes your hands, pulling you upward and situating you back so you’re seated, then hands you the water.

You drink from it greedily, then watch him as he does the same. 

“You want help getting dressed?” he asks you, his voice piercing the silence.

“I think I need it,” you admit, worn-out enough that you can’t bear to keep up any more pretenses. 

He smiles at you, a little muted but still sweet. Slowly, he begins to hand you back pieces of your clothing, tugging your shirt over your head, helping you stand so you can slide back into your skirt. You don’t bother with your underwear, knowing it’ll only add to your sensitivity, so you shove it into your skirt pocket– an action Steve marks. 

When you’ve sufficiently tidied up the station of your indiscretions, Steve walks you out to his car, and something about the way he’s holding doors for you as you go is sticking in your mind tonight. 

The drive to your house is silent. The only interruptions are the soft songs that drift on and off the radio and the rushing of wind through your open window, cooling the lingering sweat on your skin. You stare out at the Hawkins streets as they fly by and try not to think about him– and fail. You’ll always think about it. It will always matter to you. And it doesn’t matter how resolutely the two of you pretend otherwise.

You don’t watch Steve as he walks you to your door, determined not to let him see whatever emotion has made it past the iron walls you’ve engineered to keep him out. When you make it up the low porch steps, he lingers before your door while you unlock it, then turn to look back at him, the picture of chivalry, even with his hair a disaster from your ministrations with your hands. 

Staring at him then, his brown eyes full of candor in the low porch light, you can think of a million things you want to ask him– a million things you’ve never found the strength to say. 

Will you kiss me one last time tonight? Can you tell it’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks? Do you feel what I do when we’re together?

The words fall off your lips, blown quickly away into the night air. Instead, the only thing you tell him is, “Drive safe.”

You don’t kiss goodbye. He doesn’t move to hug you. That’s not what the two of you do– that wasn’t a part of the agreement. But you watch as Steve swallows, the hand not wedged in his pocket twitching slightly. “Goodnight,” he tells you, his voice low. And then he turns to leave, his head down as he makes his way back to his car. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper, your eyes on his back as he goes.

You were oblivious, of course, to Steve's own infatuation with you. For every glance in his direction, you missed how he turned his head quickly to avoid being caught staring at you. Robin was over it, but Steve had begged her to keep her mouth shut. So, despite the way your heart beat sped up every time you caught a whiff of his signature cologne, you ignored it. 

That didn't mean it was easy. Today, for instance, you had already been caught staring at him twice, meaning you'd already been elbowed by Robin twice. 

Needless to say, you were exhausted already. That's why you now find yourself in the kitchen area, elbow on the counter, and chin in hand, watching the coffee drip into the pot. You hear his footsteps first, then smell him. 

"You know it's 7 pm, don't you? You're never going to fall asleep." His voice is raspy, clearly tired too. 

You straighten up, turning to face him. Your back presses into the counter when you realize he's much closer than you'd thought. There are bags under his eyes, proof that he hasn't been sleeping either, but the sight of him still causes your breath to catch. 

You huff, "Don't think any of us are getting any sleep tonight anyway." 

Steve raises an eyebrow, "What, you got a hot date tonight?" You don't notice it, but his jaw tightens as he says it. 

You nearly choke on your own spit, feeling your cheeks heat. Spluttering, you answer, "No! Because Murray should be here with a delivery." 

He groans, running a hand through his hair, “I completely forgot. I was already dreaming about my bed.” 

You snort, turning back to the coffee machine. It had finally finished brewing, so you pour yourself a mug, watching the steam rise. Steve’s already opening the fridge, but he lets out a low whistle, turning to you sheepishly. 

“What?” You ask immediately. You hated that look. It was the ‘I have bad news’ look he always got. 

“We’re out of milk,” he admits, scratching his jaw. 

“Perfect,” you sigh, “Black coffee it is.” 

You start blowing on the coffee, trying to cool it off. The steam rises, hitting your face. You don’t notice how Steve’s eyes remain locked on you, even as he reaches back into the fridge. There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, then a thump. One of Steve’s precious Gatorade's sits on the counter next to you. 

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs, “Drink it. It’s better than black coffee, at least.” 

You shake your head, a fond smile tugging at your face, “I’m not taking your Gatorade, Steve.”

“I insist.”

The two of you just stare for a moment, but it’s clear he isn’t going to break. Sighing, you dump your coffee and open the Gatorade instead. Steve watches with a smug smirk, glad to be of service. He can’t help but look at the way your lips wrap around the bottle, feeling that familiar stirring in his guts. He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Good, huh?” 

You nod, wiping your mouth, “Really good.” You hold the bottle out to him, “At least share it with me.” 

He hesitates, but eventually gives in, taking the bottle from you with a murmured thanks. It’s your turn to watch the way his hand makes the bottle look so much smaller in his grasp. You look away quickly, rinsing your coffee mug out. 

—

You almost forget about that encounter. You’re sure you would’ve, had Murray not been the menace he always is. It’s dark out when he finally arrives with a truck full of supplies. You all crowd around the truck, waiting for your requests to be passed out. When the back of the truck opens, you pass boxes along a makeshift assembly line to get them into the radio building as quickly as possible. You’ve just finished passing the last box when you feel Steve’s hand on your back. 

“Here,” he passes the now almost empty bottle of Gatorade. “Have the last drink.” 

“You sure?” You furrow your brow, looking between him and the bottle. 

Steve scoffs, “Take it before I change my mind.”

With a grin, you take the drink, finishing it off. That may have been the last of it, but not if Murray had a say in it. The strange man gasps loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. 

“Did Harrington just give away the last sip of his precious Gatorade? What sorcery do you possess?” Murray pokes fun, an excited look on his face. “Ah, young love! The sacrifices we make in pursuit of it.” 

Your face must be on fire in the wake of that, feeling everyone’s eyes on the two of you. Steve’s brows are furrowed, looking around as if he’s trying to figure out who Murray is talking about. 

“I’m… just gonna go see if the kids need help organizing…” You trail off, walking away as quickly as possible. 

Steve glowers at Murray, “What the hell was that?” 

Murray shrugs, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I just call it like I see it, Harrington. No shame in finding some comfort in these trying times.”

“We aren’t sleeping together!” Steve’s voice comes out high-pitched, the tips of his ears turning red. 

“Not yet.” 

“I hate you.” 

—

You avoid Steve after that, brushing past him in the hallways and rushing to get home. He notices. Of course, he does. So you shouldn’t be surprised when a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into a supply closet. A scream is on the tip of your tongue, but it dies when you see Steve’s brown eyes peering into yours. You can see the pout on his lips even in the darkness of the enclosed space. 

“What are you doing?” You breathe heavily, suddenly realizing how close he is. His body presses against yours, holding you against the wall. 

“You’re avoiding me,” he whispers back, his breath hitting your face. You can smell the mint of his favorite gum on his breath, prompting you to glance down at his lips. As soon as you realize what you’re doing, you look back up at him, hoping he hasn’t noticed. Judging by the look on his face, though, he definitely has. 

“I’m not,” you deny. “Why are we in the closet?”

He nods, “You are. You have been since Murray ran his mouth.”

The space between you seems to be shrinking now, almost imperceptibly. His chest presses against yours, and his hand comes up to press into the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in. You sigh, your pulse quickening. 

“Steve,” you repeat softly, pleading with him not to make you say it. 

When his eyes meet yours, you feel like he can see right through you. “Did it really gross you out that much? The thought of… you and me, I mean.” 

You stare up at him dumbfounded, “You think it grossed me out?” 

Steve nods stubbornly, “Yeah, I do.” 

“You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” 

His brow furrows at that, hurt and confusion on his face. “If it didn’t gross you out, then why the hell are you avoiding me?” 

“Because,” you hiss, “Murray put the idea in my head, and now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I can’t be around you when all I can think about is kissing your stupid face.”  Your eyes widen once you finally stop rambling, realizing you’ve revealed too much. “Shit, Steve, just let me go home, and we can pretend this never-” 

Steve cuts you off, murmuring, “Think you’re the idiot this time, Y/N.” 

You draw your brow, tilting your head, “What are you talking about?”

“You think it’s easy? Walking around pretending I don’t want you? Hearing Murray say shit like that, knowing he’s read me like a book?” He shakes his head, running his hand through his hair again. 

Your mouth opens and shuts, trying to construct a reply. “What are you talking about, Steve?”

He sighs, “I’m talking about how I can’t look at you without thinking about what your lips would taste like.” 

The two of you stare for a moment. Neither of you speaking. Gathering your thoughts, you feign confidence, but your voice wavers. 

“Want to find out?”

Steve doesn’t waste time answering that question. Instead, he cups your face in his hands, leaning in. You catch a glimpse of the grin on his face right before your eyes flutter shut, and his lips are on yours. 

The kiss is hungry, months of pining leading up to this one moment. You smile into it, though, wondering if you’re dreaming. One of Steve’s hands falls to your hip and squeezes. A small gasp leaves you, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

You loop your hands behind his neck, one trailing up to run through his hair. He groans into your mouth at that, tugging you impossibly closer. Your whole body feels as if it’s on fire. You had dreamed of this so many times, usually shaming yourself after, but you hadn’t imagined it could feel like this. 

You part for air, but even then, Steve keeps his forehead pressed against yours, panting. He runs his hand up your waist, already leaning in again. This time, you laugh at his eagerness, meeting him halfway. 

Neither of you pull away until you hear voices in the hallway. You push at Steve’s shoulders, listening intently. He huffs at the separation, mouth already open to complain, but you clamp your hand over it. You can see the offense on his face before he must hear the others outside the door. His expression calms, and the two of you remain still.

“Where the hell did they go?” Dustin is complaining, his voice muffled by the door between the two of you. 

Robin laughs in response, and you can picture the amusement on her face. “Steve was pouting because he thought Y/N was avoiding him.” 

“Well, was she?” It’s Will who speaks this time. 

“Probably. I swear if the two of them don’t figure it out soon, I’m going to just lock them in a room together.” 

“All in favor?” Dustin jokes. 

Embarrassed, you glance over at Steve to see his reaction to your friends making fun of the two of you for being so oblivious. That’s when you realize you still had your hand over his mouth. You drop it sheepishly, but Steve only raises a teasing brow at you. 

When the group seems to move on from that hallway, Steve doesn’t waste a second, already leaning in again. You can’t help but giggle, holding him back with a hand on his chest. You tilt your head, so his lips land on your cheek dramatically. 

“So you were pouting, huh?” You tease. 

Steve rolls his eyes, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb to tilt your face back towards his. You can’t help your grin as your gaze flickers between his eyes and his lips. 

“Shut up,” he murmurs. “You were ignoring me; I was deeply hurt. Now, let me kiss you some more.” 

“You’re so whiny,” you laugh. “Besides, they’re already looking for us.”

“So?” 

He doesn’t look the least bit concerned that you could be caught here. He just studies your face calmly, a smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“So, we’re gonna get caught,” you point out, your lips already swollen. 

“I don’t care.”

“So, it makes it a whole lot harder to sneak off if everyone is expecting us to sneak off,” you logic. 

Steve stares at you plainly before realization dawns on him. “Ohhhh,” he breathes, his face transforming into a smirk. He squeezes your hip again, his thumb rubbing over the exposed skin. “Good thinking.”

You roll your eyes fondly, nodding, “Now, wait here, and I’ll see you in five minutes.” 

Before you can leave, his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. You look back, raising an eyebrow, but he only tugs you back toward him, desperate for another kiss. 

This kiss is different. Where the other kisses were hungry, this one is gentle, both of you trying to memorize the feel of the other. 

“You taste like Gatorade,” he hums, licking his lips. “For the record.” 

You scoff, turning back to the door in hopes he hasn’t seen the flush of your cheeks. With one last look over your shoulder, you exit the closet, re-entering the sound booth.

If the others know of your escapade with Steve, they don’t show it. You slip into the room, looking for your bag. Robin glances over at you, taking her headset off. 

“You guys ready to go?” 

Her question catches you off guard, your face heating as you wonder if she knows. Clearing your throat, you answer, 

“Um, yeah, I mean, I am. Not sure about Steve, though.” 

Robin raises an eyebrow, smiling cheekily, “Are you still avoiding him?”

You almost laugh, knowing it’s the opposite. You manage to hold it in, though, just barely. “I am not avoiding him.”

“You so are.” 

“Am not!” 

“Are too!” 

“I am not!”

“You’re not what?” Steve interrupts, suddenly entering the room. 

Robin smile mischeiviously, “Oh, nothing. Ready to go? I am dead on my feet.”

“Preach it, sister,” you agree, your complaint clear. 

Steve drops Robin off at home first, waiting at the curb until she’s safely inside like the gentleman he is. Even if he may or may not have flipped her off as he did. In his defense, she had done it first! 

He doesn’t pull away from the curb at first, taking a moment to glance over at you. You can feel his eyes on you, your pulse quickening. 

“You’re staring,” you accuse quietly. 

Your accusation doesn’t faze Steve. He just smirks, shifting the car into drive and pulling back onto the road. 

“Admiring, it’s different.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” You snort sarcastically. 

Steve tears his gaze from the road, looking at you with pure admiration. His voice is softer when he talks again. 

“Y/N/N.” 

You look away from the window at the sound of your nickname, glancing over at him. 

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t want to…” he trails off, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “Never mind.”

“Are you nervous, Steve?” You giggle, genuinely surprised to see him so flustered. 

“No! Absolutely not, I was just…” he sighs, parking in front of your house. Finally, he’s able to turn and face you without the risk of crashing into a tree. “Do you want to go out tomorrow? I mean, I know there’s not a whole lotta options right now with the state of Hawkins, but maybe we could just get milkshakes at Melvald’s and drive around?” 

Your smile softens, less teasing and more surprised by his thoughtfulness. 

“I’d like that,” you agree. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod happily. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

You reach for the door handle, but Steve lets out a sound of protest. 

“What do you think you’re doing? No!” 

Before you can question him, he’s slipping out of the driver’s side, rushing around to the passenger door and opening it for you. He does so with a flourish, offering you his hand to help you out. 

You raise an eyebrow but take his hand, letting him lead you up the sidewalk to the door. It’s strange, being on the receiving end of Steve’s gentlemanly side. You’d heard the stories. How could you not? Steve Harrington was the thing of legends in high school. Everyone knew his name, and everyone wished he knew theirs. 

It had taken a while to warm up to him. To get to know him as something other than “King Steve.” When you did, you could see the insecurity he hid with sarcastic remarks and obnoxious flirtation. You could see how much he cared about everyone around and how desperate he was to meet “The One,” even if he let others believe his Playboy reputation. 

The thought brings a fresh wave of nerves. What if he was as disappointed by a date with you as he had been by all the others? What if this didn’t work out? What if he wasn’t even looking for anything serious? Just an easy hookup? 

You take a deep breath, leading him to your door. You have to stop thinking like this, but the thought of losing him completely was terrifying.  The two of you come to a stop under the porch light, and you remind yourself to breathe. 

“You look nervous,” Steve observes, squeezing your hand in his. It’s a small gesture, but it reminds him that you’re real. That this is real. 

Your mind blanks, not expecting him to read you so clearly. You guess you should’ve expected it after being his friend for so long. 

“I’m not nervous,” you deny, but one look from Steve, and you’re sighing as you admit, “Fine, I’m a little nervous.” 

Steve looks at you like he’s trying to untangle the webs of self-doubt threaded through your head. He reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“It’s just me.”

“That’s why I’m nervous.” 

Steve’s eyebrows draw in confusion, “What?” 

You pop your knuckles, an anxious habit, and Steve takes your hands in his, preventing you from continuing. 

“Is this- I don’t know, Steve,” you release a long breath, taking your hands from his grasp to run them down your face. 

Something akin to hurt flickers over his face.  “Do you regret it?” 

You shake your head instantly, “No! I just- wait, do you?” 

He shakes his head this time, taking your hands in his again. “Of course not,” he exhales. “I’ve had a crush on you for like ever. How could I regret it?” 

You smile besides yourself, looking down at your scuffed up converse. 

“How long?” You ask playfully, but the waver in your voice betrays your still lingering doubts. 

Steve only smiles, though, tracing your knuckles with his thumb. 

“Are you kidding?” He laughs, running a hand through his hair. You look up at him expectantly, and he can’t help but give in to you. “Remember the day that Dustin got home from his summer camp, and he came straight to Scoops?”

You laugh at the memory, nodding. A curly-haired teenager had burst into the ice cream parlor, asking for “him.” You’d never seen the kid before, but you watched in pure confusion as Steve jumped up and down at the sight of him. 

“I told him that night that I’d get you to fall in love with me.” 

Your eyes widen at the admission, and you can feel heat rising in your cheeks. Still, you laugh in surprise, always up for teasing Steve.  “That was bold of you.”

“Nah, I think it’s going pretty well, actually,” he responds, full of overdramatic confidence. 

“Oh, is it?”

“I think so, yeah.” 

“Sure you aren’t projecting?” 

“Oh, most definitely,” he agrees.

Your lips quirk into a surprised smile. Steve only grins at the realization on your face. 

“What? You think I’m too proud to admit it?”

“Admit what?” 

It’s a challenge, and Steve knows it. If you want to hear him say it, though, he has no objections. He grins, and you know he’s up to no good. He turns away from you, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, confusion clear on your face. He only winks at you. Then, shouts, 

“I’m in love with Y/N Y/L/N!” 

A horrified laugh escapes you, and you clasp your hand over your mouth. He opens his mouth to yell again, and you grab his arm, attempting to stop him. 

“Steve!” You laugh. “Everyone is sleeping, shut up!” But your heart is pounding out of your chest, and you don’t want him to stop. You want to hear him say it again. And again and again and again. 

Steve takes your protest in stride, and he drops his hands. You think that’s the end of it, but he wraps you in his arms, his grip tight enough to restrict your movement. 

“I love her!” He yells again, his chin resting on your head. 

You’re breathless from laughing, slapping at his arm, “Shut up!” 

He finally stops yelling, loosening his grip as he pulls back to look down at you with a cheeky smile.  “That cover it?” 

“You’re an idiot,” You grin, kissing him. 

He smiles against your lips, a hand on the small of your back. 

“I love you too,” he says as an answer. 

“I didn’t say-” 

He cuts you off with only a raise of his brow. 

“That’s okay. I’ve waited this long.” 

And that’s that. He doesn’t pressure you or guilt you for not saying it back. He just presses another kiss to your lips, smiling down at you like you’d lifted an invisible weight off his shoulders. Then, he’s taking a step back, moving toward his car.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder. 

You’re still beaming when you crawl into bed that night. 

—

“Steve!” You scold in a whisper when he pulls you into a familiar closet weeks later. “We can’t keep sneaking off.”

He’s already kissing down your neck, his breath against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. 

“It’s not my fault, baby. I just can’t keep my hands off of you.” 

You roll your eyes, but he notices how you tilt your head, giving him better access. 

“You’re dramatic,” you huff. 

He smirks against your neck, “Wanna come over tonight?” 

Exhaling lowly, you answer, “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. 

He fist pumps the air, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Sweet.”

Your mind races, already considering what might occur at Steve’s house tonight. You’d hung out alone at his house plenty of times, but not since the newest development in your relationship. Your stomach flutters at the thought. The two of you had done nothing but make out so far. Granted, you’d made out a lot. At The Squawk, in his car, in the Squawk van, in dark supply rooms… The list goes on. 

“Now, come on, before you blow our cover,” you drag him back out of the dark room. 

In your haste to get back to everyone else, neither of you think to check if the coast is clear like you usually do. Maybe if you had, you would’ve seen that the coast was, in fact, not clear. Robin and Vickie are giggling at the end of the hall, clearly having a romantic moment, but their heads snap to the sound of your footsteps leaving the closet.

Robin doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed to have been caught by the two of you. Her face lights up, knowing she’d just caught you and Steve in your own moment. She has a familiar look of pure satisfaction on her face. She crosses her arms over her chest, raising her brow. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” 

You look to Steve, pure panic in his eyes, but he’s the picture of calm, looking far too smug. 

“We were just looking for some soundboard tapes,” you stammer at the same time that Steve throws his arm over your shoulder, shrugging casually. 

You glare in his direction, not wanting this to be how Robin found out about your relationship. 

“Mhm, very convincing. So Steve wasn’t in there sucking that hickey onto your neck?” 

Your mouth falls open, turning to Steve. 

“You seriously left a mark? Are you kidding me?” 

Steve raises his hands in surrender, but there’s not an ounce of remorse on his face.  “I did not! You walked right into that!” 

Seriously… you’d let Robin trick you, and now it was your fault for the untimely reveal. You groan, hiding your face in your hands. 

“Oh my God,” Robin giggles, smacking Vickie over and over. “I told you! I knew it!” 

Vickie rolls her eyes fondly, but nods reluctantly, “It’s true. She did.” 

Steve squeezes your shoulder, chuckling, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t get too excited, Buckley.”

“Ohhh, I’m not excited. I’m fully prepared for you to be even more unbearable about your pining now that it’s out in the open.”

Steve scoffs, placing his hand on his hip. “Yeah, well,” he splutters, “Shut up!” 

“Real original, dingus,” you chime in. 

“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side now. That’s like in the rulebook of dating!” Steve exclaims, feigning hurt. 

You, Robin, and Vickie exchange glances. Then, the three of you burst into laughter. 

“Okay, ouch," he grumbles.