Call me Val

Six months of intensely and unnecessarily dramatic pining later and you're staying the night at Steve's place more often than not. He's kissing you and touching you in ways previously off-limits. He's bringing you flowers and cooking you dinner and it's all so weird.

Because you still do all the same things you did when you weren't dating. He still drives you to and from work because you're too scared to get your license. He still makes you drench his popcorn in parmesan cheese before he'll eat it and he still tackles you to the floor when you play spoons with the rest of your friends.

But now you go home together afterward. You get ready for bed in the same bathroom and share each other's bodywash so you can always smell like the other when they're not around. You eat meals together and and climb under the same covers at night.

It's perfect.

It's everything you've spent the last five years doing and more.

And you think you might love him.

Tonight is another one of those perfectly strange moments. You're standing in nothing but his shirt and your underwear, rummaging around the clothes that live in his spare dresser drawer.

Steve's been in the bathroom for ten minutes. He insists on shaving at night before bed– instead of in the morning before leaving the house.

"It gives me the perfect amount of stubble when I wake up in the morning if I do it the night before!" He once explained to you when you'd questioned him about it.

"Baby, have you seen my aftershave?" He now yells from the sink of his ensuite.

Your heart kind of stops. He's never called you that before.

He's literally only ever called you your name. Or nickname adjacent variations of your name. Even after you started dating.

He says it now, in fact, after you don't answer him for a few moments.

"Hey, everything okay?" He asks when he sees your face.

"What did you just call me?" You ask, seemingly struggling to maintain eye contact. You're not totally sure why.

"...baby? Is that...not...?"

"Ew!" Admittedly not exactly the best exclamation to describe how Steve calling you that actually makes you feel, but you're coming up short for anything else.

"'Ew'? Seriously? What's 'ew' about me calling you 'baby'?" Steve questions, his voice rising in volume and pitch in that incredulous way.

"I didn't mean it like ew, I just meant it like. Ew."

"I don't– understand–?"

"It's just. I'm standing here in your room, in your clothes. And its all so domestic and kind of weird and I feel like I can't even talk straight and I think I'm probably in love with you–"

Except for the sound of you clapping your hand over mouth, the room falls completely silent. Steve stands, mouth slightly agape, and doesn't speak.

"You love me?" He asks simply.

"Well– I mean– I've always loved you." You clarify. "I just feel like I love you now... in a different way."

Steve nods slowly.

"We've been friends for years, but now you call me 'baby', apparently, and– and you hold my and kiss me and tell me that I'm pretty. It's all so new. And I love it, but it's odd sometimes. You know?"

"Yeah," he nods more confidently now, "Yeah, I get it."

"So, yes. Ew. But... a good ew," you grin stupidly, your eyes crinkling in the corner.

"Would you think it was 'ew' if I kissed you right now?" Steve asks, stepping closer with an equally dumb smirk on his lips.

"No..." you squirm.

"Good." He says, gently gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. Steve kisses you softly, his lips a ghost across your own.

He pulls back to look at you, then moves to your cheek. "Baby," he says against your plush skin before moving to the other cheek, "Baby,"

You laugh fondly, rolling your eyes as his smooching grows more frantic. A steady stream of 'baby's' leaving his mouth between every one he plants on your skin.

"Fuck," you tease, pushing him away, "that's so gross,"

"You love me," he reminds you, leaning into your space again to place open-mouthed kisses on your neck; beneath your ear.

Steve's hands begin to roam. From your shoulders to the small of your back, before brushing over your bottom. His palms find purchase in the apex where your thighs meet your ass.

His mouth finds yours once more, but this kiss is more urgent. With his hands supporting you, he lifts you up, urging your legs to wrap around his waist before carrying you to his modest full-size bed that's hardly big enough for both of you some nights.

You land with an oof and it makes Steve giggle where he planks above you, careful not to crush you with his weight.

The lightness of the moment is replaced by a hunger that overtakes Steve's honeyed eyes before he's ducking down to capture your mouth again. He makes soft noises against your lips that you swallow before they ever reach the air.

One of his knees nudges yours, separating your legs far enough for him to rest between them. "Is this okay?" He asks breathily.

'Yeah. Yeah, it's good,"

Steve settles his weight against your spread thighs, your pelvis' touching. It's a not necessarily a new sensation, but it's new in this context. He's half-hard on top of you. It sends your stomach churning with nervous desire.

He kisses you breathless for a while longer and it's familiar; what's not-so-familiar is the experimental thrust of his hips. You can feel that he's fully erect now, the pressure on your core is surprising and pleasurable all at once.

You gasp and Steve halts. His eyes are wide when he looks at you, "Sorry– was that okay?"

"No, yeah, that's– that's good," you're– embarrassingly– almost panting, "that's really good. Actually."

"Okay," he breathes– and does it again. Steve revels in your gasp; the way your back arches just slightly off of the bed and into him.

It all feels a little off-beat. You're still learning each other in this new way. You want to know what makes Steve tick. Steve wants to know what might make you do that pretty gasp again.

"Can I take these off?" He asks, hushed, as his fingers brush the skin under the waistband of your underwear.

You swallow thickly but nod.

"It's okay. If you don't want to." He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear and you know he means it.

"I do," you assure him, "I'm just... nervous,"

"You don't have to be," he smiles down at you, but it wavers. You can tell he's trying to put on a brave face– his 'macho Steve' persona, as you've affectionately branded it.

"Its okay, Steve," you giggle, "you can admit that you're nervous, too,"

"Me?" He scoffs, "Hawkins' Resident Womanizer Steve Harrington? Nervous to have sex with his– stupidly beautiful girlfriend? I doubt it."

You smack his chest and he laughs heartily, snatching your hand and bringing it to his lips.

"Maybe I'm a little nervous," he all but whispers into your knuckles.

"Awfully presumptuous of you to assume I'm having sex with you tonight," you tease.

"Oh, no?" His right hand snakes down your stomach, dipping below your underwear and cupping your heat.

"Oh–"

His voice dips, his mouth hovering just over your ear, "Does your pussy know that, baby? 'Cause you're already soaked."

Hearing Steve talk like this feels visceral. Its like wires being crossed inside your brain. Steve's always been a hit with the girls, but you've never been on the receiving end of the romancing. This Steve feels different than the one you grew up with; than the one you've spent so much time with– doing anything and everything together.

You thought when the time came that it might feel awkward, but now you're beginning to wonder why you haven't done this sooner.

Steve's fingers dip into the arousal pooling in the bottom of your underwear before traveling back to your clit with tantalizing circles.

"That feel good?" He asks. His voice sounds husky but you can tell that he's asking genuinely; still learning what you do and don't like.

"That's– yeah," you sigh, "that's perfect,"

His movements gain more confidence after that. He studies your face as he goes, cataloguing every miniscule reaction and adjusting where he needs to.

And it's so much, but still not enough. "Steve," you exhale, halting his rhythm with your hand on his wrist, "will you... would you go– down on me?" Your voice comes out small, like you're not sure how to ask for it.

Steve seems to take great pleasure in the request, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint, "Yeah? You want my mouth, honey?"

The new pet name makes you shiver, "Please."

"So polite," Steve praises, words muffled from where his mouth is pressed against the skin of your stomach as he trails his mouth lower lower lower– until he's exactly where you need him.

His tongue is hot and hesitant against you. He starts with barely there kitten licks before flattening his tongue entirely– moving with broad strokes from your entrance to your clit and making sure you're comfortable before incorporating his fingers again.

Your hand flies to his hair when he slides the first one inside of you, all the way to his last knuckle, "Fuck, Steve!"

The encouragement and the pull of your fingers threading through his hair elicits a ragged moan from his throat. You've never even imagined Steve making a sound like that. Another wave of arousal washes over you.

He works you over for what feels like hours and you're admittedly shocked to feel your pleasure cresting to a peak. You've never finished from a having sex with a partner before; you feel yourself beginning to tense.

"Steve– I'm close–" you whimper, head thrown back against his expensive down pillows that you know you're dampening with sweat.

"I know, baby, I can tell," he pauses, "it's okay– I've got you,"

His eyes never leave you as you come. He watches ever twitch of your abdomen– every squeeze of your hands twisted in the bedsheet. You can hear him murmuring praises the entire time– good girl, so good, baby, fuck–that's so hot– but it all sounds muffled. Like you're underwater.

You waste no time grabbing him by the jaw as we crawls his way back over your body and pulling him into a searing kiss. He tastes like a heady mix of your cunt and the spearmint toothpaste he was brushing his teeth with an hour ago.

Steve's tenting his boxers when you glance down between your bodies; just past him the sheets discolored with wet patches where he'd been rutting into the mattress.

Your legs hook behind his back and you pull him into you with a force that knocks the wind out of both of you. You're still sensitive from your orgasm.

"Do you want me to use a condom?" He groans as his clothed cock ruts against your bare folds. He can barely speak; feeling the warmth of you seep through the fabric.

"I'm on the pill," you tell him, "you could pull out just in case, but it's up to you,"

He ducks down to kiss you before responding. Steve kisses you like its as essential to him as air or water– a lifeforce that he needs or he'll simply cease to exist.

You take the opportunity to push his boxers off his hips and down his thighs as he licks into your mouth; his tongue tangling with yours.

Steve's cock is heavy and velvety soft in your hand as you pump him slowly. Your mouths part with a click as you bring your palm to his mouth. "Spit."

His previously heavy-lidded eyes grow wider, but he obliges. You bring your hand back down to stroke him again; this time with better lubrication.

"Holy shit–fuck, baby," he whines into your temple. His arms shake where he's still trying to hold himself up.

You feel yourself gaining confidence with every passing minute that the two of you are intimate, and it feels even better to take the reins back a little. You can't help but wonder what he would sound like– what he would look like– completely at your mercy. You decide to table the thought for another time.

"I need you," you whimper into his sweat-damp hair.

"I know, pretty girl," the thick head of his cock nudges your entrance, prompting you to take a deep breath in in preparation for his size.

"Hey– you'll tell me if you're uncomfortable or you want to stop, okay?" He waits for your nod, "Even if you just want to slow down, that's okay, too. I want you to make you feel good."

"I know," you smile up at him through your daze, softly petting the side of his face, "you do make me feel good,"

He kisses the side of your mouth– the gentlest his been with you all evening– as he pushes the rest of the way inside you. By the time he's at the hilt, you feel so full that it's hard to breathe. You can feel him everywhere.

Tears begin to prick the corners of you eyes once he starts to move; a slow rocking of your bodies into the mattress. You aren't sure the cause. Maybe it's how close you feel to him– maybe it's how he's perpetually grinding into your g-spot with every thrust.

"Fuck– I love you," he groans into the crook of your neck where it meets your shoulder. His teeth scrape the sensitive skin there like he might bite you, but he doesn't.

"I love you, baby–"

The shape of the endearment in your mouth awakens something nearly primal in Steve as he begins to fuck you that much faster. The headboard creaks where it repeatedly hits the wall behind you.

Strong biceps wrap around you, lifting you beneath the armpits as Steve hugs you in this horizontal position. You squeeze him back just as fiercly.

You feel your second climax approaching significantly quicker than the first had, but you need more. Pressing your fingers to Steve's mouth, he doesn't question your motive. He opens and closes around them obediently, slicking them for you.

He watches as you snake your hand in between your glistening bodies, "Yeah, there you go," his voice breathy and punctuated by his relentless thrusts, "touch yourself f'me, baby– good girl,"

It's almost too much. It's perfect. "Steve– I'm close–"

"Ah– me, too," he pants, forehead pressed firmly to yours, "come with me–"

Your entire body contracts as you finish and you're certain you've never came so hard in your life. Steve holds off until he's sure you're satisfied before pulling out just in time to spill all across your stomach with a long, low moan.

The last of his strength leaves him shortly thereafter; his trembling body collapsing against you.

Your combined skin is tacky and cool with sweat, but neither of you can bring yourselves to move.

The air in the room is thick with the scent of sex and the only sound comes from the crickets chirping through the open window and your shaking breaths. It feels like hours before Steve breaks the silence.

"You okay? Was that good for you?"

"'Good' would be the understatement of the century,"

"I can't believe we didn't do that sooner,"

"I was just thinking that earlier,"

The hushed conversation somehow feels just as intimate as the sex did.

"We can't fall asleep like this," you remind Steve, who very well may already be sleeping. You're getting Deja Vu from a conversation you once had with Nancy Wheeler.

"Why not?" He slurs. Okay, not sleeping then.

"Because I need to pee or else I'll get a UTI," you pause, thinking, "and your... jizz is all over my stomach."

"Don't call it 'jizz'," Steve admonishes.

It takes longer than you'd ever admit to get you both cleaned up, despite your constant reminders to Steve that– the faster you take care of the mess, the faster you can crawl back into bed.