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steddio · 1 year

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steddie vegas au part 3

part 1; part 2

–

“YOU WHAT?” Robin shrieks, nearly smacking Steve in the shoulder with her water bottle as she whips around to face him. They’re about halfway through their morning hike, struggling uphill, and he’s impressed that she even has the energy for such an outburst. Steve is sweating like a pig and trying not to look like he’s gasping for breath.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t know who he was! And he looked kind of lost, and you know I have a tendency to adopt strays! He had these big, sad puppy eyes…”

“Eddie freaking Munson is not a stray, Steve! He’s a bona fide rockstar. Like, double platinum, Grammy-winning, cover of Rolling Stone rockstar. And you didn’t recognize him?!” Her voice is rising into a nearly inhuman register and Steve reaches out to try and calm her.

“Why would I recognize him, Robs? I never know who anyone famous is, and I like it that way. And, he seemed to kind of enjoy me not knowing. Like, his whole attitude changed once we walked past his billboard.”

Robin is gaping at him and Steve uses the opportunity to grab the water bottle out of her hand and take a swig. It’s a testament to her astonishment that she doesn’t even yell at him for it. He wipes his mouth with the neck of his t-shirt, and starts walking up the hill. He kind of regrets telling her about last night. After all, he had promised to keep Eddie’s secret. But telling Robin doesn’t really feel like telling another person. Just like having an internal conversation with the louder half of his brain.

“Besides,” he calls out over his shoulder, “it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s just another hotel guest. I’ll probably barely see him.”

Robin jogs to catch up and grabs the bottle back with a huff. “Steve. You escorted Eddie Munson to an AA meeting. That’s like, intimate.”

Steve shakes his head, “No, Rob, it wasn’t like that. I’m sure he just wants to forget about it. He probably flirts with everyone.”

“He was flirting with you?!” Robin is back to screeching.

“Well yeah, I think so,” he shrugs. “It was hard to tell, but he called me nicknames and complimented my arms.” Robin looks about ready to combust, and he tries to change the subject. “Did you see the photos of Max and Lucas from last night? I can’t believe how much she’s grown up.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do! We’re not done here!” But Robin’s eyes are soft, and she nudges his shoulder, “did you go all papa bear on Lucas?”

Steve laughs. “No, if anything I was trying to encourage Max to go for it. She called me in hysterics freaking out about whether Lucas liked her. As if that boy hasn’t been in love with her for half a decade.”

They spend the rest of the hike going over every detail he knows of his daughter’s romantic life. Robin is equally invested despite having never met Max, and he loves her for it. Even if he can’t be there every day, being a dad is the most important thing in his life. And he can’t help it, he likes to indulge in a little gossip and teenage love lives are nothing if not dramatic.

As they say goodbye in the parking lot, Robin sternly meets his gaze. “Don’t let me down, dingus. If Eddie Munson is flirting with you, you better flirt back, or I swear to god I’ll come down there and do it myself.”

“And lose your gold star status?” he teases, and then dodges her halfhearted punch to his arm.

“Alright, alright, Robs. If he talks to me, and I really don’t think he will after last night so that’s a big if, I’ll pull out the Harrington charm.” Robin gags a little at that and waves him away. He gets into his car, eager for a shower and maybe even a little bit eager to go to work.

–

When he gets into work at 2 pm, the concierge desk is a shitshow. Some beauty influencer retreat is happening in the hotel, and the person on the morning shift is completely incompetent (they’re new, Steve tries to be generous, everyone is new at some point, but goddammit he’s pretty sure Max could do the job better than this Tammy person), and so Steve spends most of the afternoon canceling and rescheduling incorrectly made spa appointments while reassuring a seemingly endless parade of 19-year-old blonde girls that yes, absolutely, they will be able to accommodate the new time, and he’s so sorry for the misunderstanding. As if that’s not enough, they all seem to be trying to one-up each other for the title of Most Ridiculous Flirt, and if Steve hears “he’s such a daddy” stage-whispered across the lobby one more time, he’s going to pull out baby pictures of Max and start waving them around.

Of course it’s in the midst of this chaos that Eddie happens to show up, leaning over the counter, finger hovering over the bell.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve whispers to him with a glare that quickly dissolves into a grin. Eddie reaches out and boops his nose instead, and Steve can’t help but laugh as he swats him away.

The spell is broken by the loud pop of gum and a whispered “holy shit, is that-?” The girls swarm to their shiny new toy, asking for autographs and selfies. Steve bemusedly watches as Eddie handles it all with grace, posing for pictures and signing t-shirts.

He extricates himself with a slight bow and an “excuse me, darlings” that nearly causes several teenagers to go into cardiac arrest, and comes back to Steve’s counter.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Steve replies. “What can I help you with today?”

“The question, Steve-o, is what I can help you with.” Eddie looks mischievous and before Steve can clarify what he means, Eddie is asking when his break is.

Steve replies without thinking. “It was supposed to be at 5.”

“Well, sugar, it’s 5:30 so I think you’re overdue. Can I buy you a coffee?”

Eddie is definitely flirting, Steve is certain of it. He momentarily debates whether he should refuse, but he already broke any semblance of a boundary last night, and today Eddie looks, well, delicious. His hair is pulled up in a messy bun and he’s wearing a cardigan thrown over a tight black sleeveless undershirt and joggers and… studded crocs, Steve realizes. Eddie must catch him staring because he raises one eyebrow and gestures behind him, towards the food court. Steve puts his trusty “Be right back” sign on the desk and ponders flipping the bird at the group of teenagers still staring open-mouthed at them, but decides that he can afford to take the moral high ground.

They weave their way past slot machines and several bars before getting in line at Starbucks. “I know this is basic,” Eddie whispers, his breath hot on Steve’s cheek. “But nothing hypes me up on performance days more than their cold brew. It’s better than cocaine.”

He pulls away with a wink, and Steve isn’t sure he should be laughing at that joke coming from someone who attends daily AA meetings, but he can’t help letting out a giggle. And it’s worth it for the brief look of joyful surprise on Eddie’s face.

They order their coffee and take a seat. Eddie is attracting a few stares, Steve notices, but Vegas is a live and let live kind of place and so people mostly leave them alone. Their knees touch under the small table, and Steve finds himself mirroring Eddie, leaning in close to talk.

Eddie asks Steve about his job, about living in Vegas, about who he was talking to on the phone yesterday. He listens patiently while Steve regales him with stories about Mad Max. Tells Steve about touring, about songwriting, about Chrissy, his childhood best friend-turned-manager.

Steve finds himself smiling more than he has in months. Eddie is magnetic, equal parts charismatic and attentive. Steve hasn’t had a date (is he allowed to call this a date?) go this well in years and twinges with regret when he glances at his watch and realizes that they’ve been talking for way longer than his allotted break time and he needs to get back.

Eddie escorts him to the lobby, and once again leans over the counter, chin on one hand. Steve meets his eyes and blushes at the intensity there.

“Thank you,” he tells Eddie. “I had… a lot of fun.”

“The pleasure was mine, sugar,” Eddie replies softly. Steve tries to think of anything other than the heat that curls low in his belly at the pet name. Eddie starts to walk away, but Steve calls him back.

“Eddie!”

Eddie turns, something earnest and eager in his face.

“Good luck tonight. Or, er, break a leg.” Steve blushes fully at that, feeling awkward under Eddie’s gaze.

Eddie nods, smiles, and then treats Steve to yet another view of his ass, and Steve is on fire, jittery from what he tells himself is the caffeine.

–

Eddie’s pre-show routine has been pretty much the same for a decade. He chugs a giant coffee—today’s had been extra delicious with its side of hunk—throws on eyeliner, and puts on whatever outfit he imagines would horrify his homophobic high school principal the most. Today it’s low rise leather pants with lacing on each hip and an unbuttoned black cowboy shirt. He hairsprays the shit out of his hair, back-combs it a little to get that sex-mussed look, and voila, he’s done.

From there he normally goes and bugs all the other guys. As the frontman, Eddie gets his own dressing room, which can come in handy for post-show escapades but normally leaves him a little lonely. So he wanders down the green room hallway until he finds the rest of the band. Jeff and Gareth greet him with a fist bump, and he nods politely to their new bassist Ray, who’s drawing on terrifyingly huge eyeliner wings.

They shoot the shit for a while, Gareth telling them about a cute girl who was totally hitting on him at the bar and who was definitely not a hooker. Eddie and Jeff are understandably skeptical, but Gareth doubles down until their increasingly agitated debate is settled by Ray, who calmly states that the girl was indeed a hooker because she saw her counting cash in the bathroom.

When the opener goes on, Chrissy swoops in and they run through their set list one last time before huddling up together in a tight circle. This little ritual has been their good luck charm since their first ever set in their hometown dive bar.

Eddie starts them off: “Come! This is the hour we draw swords together!”

Gareth continues: “For glory!”

Jeff adds: “For death!”

“For the babes,” Ray adds, getting a chuckle out of them all.

And Eddie finishes, solemnly, “For Frodo.” They press their foreheads together and jump back with a holler before running down the hallway and into the wings. As they step out onstage and the familiar adrenaline rush fills Eddie’s veins, he can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness, like someone who should be in the audience isn’t there.

–

For the next few weeks, Eddie makes a point of stopping by the concierge desk every day. Sometimes he brings Steve coffee or takes him out during his breaks. Sometimes he just stands there and flirts over the counter, making more and more of a fool of himself just to see Steve blush. He learns that Steve has Mondays and Thursdays off. That he hates cinnamon gum. That he’s an expert at being just bitchy enough to shut people down but not so bitchy that people realize what he’s doing. Eddie gets a secret thrill of satisfaction when he watches Steve very firmly decline outrageous requests and people who think that full service means more than it does.

He finds himself looking forward to their daily conversations, unexpectedly captivated by how ordinary Steve’s life is. Because Steve loves to complain. But his complaints are about someone taking forever in line at the grocery store, or the Audi driver who cut him off in traffic, or how he can’t stand the stay-at-home moms who clog up the trailhead parking lots. All these benign moments that Eddie never gets to experience, instead worrying about ticket sales and tour dates and, in his darker moments, whether anyone actually wants to be close to him or if they just want to be close to the spotlight.

Eddie feels like they’re on the cusp of something, waiting to be pushed off the edge. This routine of flirting is fun, and it’s safe, and Eddie’s enjoying it. Steve is hot, and he treats Eddie like a real person, and their banter is sexy but harmless. They could be suspended in this mutual attraction without consequence until the end of Eddie’s residency and that would be that. But the little demon on Eddie’s shoulder that always wants, needs, begs for more tells him to take the plunge, consequences be damned.

He’s mulling this over during breakfast one morning, sipping coffee across from Chrissy.

“What’s on your mind, Didi?” she asks quietly, always observant.

He sighs dramatically and throws one hand over his forehead. “I pine, Chrissy! I yearn!”

She chuckles. “Steve? Again? Why don’t you just ask him out already?”

“I have been!” Eddie insists. “I’ve bought him, like, a hundred coffees.” At her exasperated look, he gets more serious. “Can I, Chrissy? I don’t–. I can’t afford to crash and burn again. What if I ask him out for real and the worst happens? What if it’s Adrian all over again?”

He tries to avoid her eyes, not wanting to see the pity there, but when he finally looks up she’s hiding a grin behind her hand.

“Chrissy!” he admonishes. “It’s not funny!”

“Alright, alright,” she concedes, still smiling. “It’s not funny, but Eddie, hon, you have to put yourself out there sometime if you want something real. And from everything you’ve told me about Steve, I think he’s a good bet.”

Eddie takes a moment to ponder this. Unlike most of the people he’s courted, Steve is markedly unfazed by the whole famous rockstar thing. He’s been meticulously checking his Instagram follow requests every day and hasn’t seen one from Steve so he’s pretty sure the guy’s not on social media. Plus he has that dorky dad vibe going for him, and Eddie is a sucker for a DILF.

“But what do I do next, Chris? I’ve already been flirting my little ass off, and sure he flirts back but it’s not like he’s made any moves to get more serious. Where do I go from here?”

“Leave that to me,” she tells him, and reaches for her phone. A minute later he gets a text notification.

“Chrissy, doll, why are you sending me backstage passes to my own show?” She just looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Oh. Oh. You think he’d really go?”

“Eddie. Think about it. How many people throw their underwear on stage during your performances? He’ll go crazy.” She comes to stand behind him and throws her arm around his neck. “Plus, I think it’s time he sees you at work instead of the other way around.”

–

Steve is in the midst of his Wednesday evening routine of making weekend dinner reservations at every upscale restaurant in Vegas, held under the hotel’s name at first so they can offer them to guests who call at the last minute. He’s just hanging up with Koi when he makes eye contact with Eddie across the lobby. Steve leans onto the counter and watches Eddie’s approach, lets his gaze trace the man from head (curly hair loose and slightly damp from a shower) to toe (the studded crocs, again), and everything in between (slim waist tapering into slinky hips, white t-shirt that clings deliciously, low slung plaid trousers). He knows Eddie can see him staring, and his cheeks heat slightly, but he looks anyway.

This tension between them has only escalated since that first night. He can’t get Eddie out of his head, he wants him so badly, and even more dangerous, he honest-to-god likes spending time with him. He’s funny, and insightful, and he seems to genuinely care when Steve tells him about Max, and not in that fake way of so many of his dates who were clearly just trying to get in his pants and had no interest in a family man.

Part of him wants to throw caution to the wind and ask Eddie out to dinner. But who is he to ask a world famous rockstar out. He’s nobody. Just a divorced guy ostracized from his hometown working in the service industry.

He’s torn out of this morose line of thought by the familiar greeting of, “Hey sugar,” this time followed by “I got something for you.”

Steve meets Eddie’s eyes, and is surprised to see uncertainty there. But Eddie is smiling as he extends his arm, phone in hand. “Here, put your number in.”

Steve does. Wants to make a joke about Eddie finally asking for his digits after the tenth date but stops himself when he sees Eddie’s telltale signs of nerves (rocking on the balls of his feet, chewing his hair). He hands the phone back and waits while Eddie does something with it.

“Okay, sugar, there you go.”

Steve checks his phone, clicks on a text from an unknown number. “What–. Eddie, what are these?”

“VIP tickets to my show tomorrow.” Steve meets Eddie’s expectant gaze with wide eyes. “Will you come?”

Steve takes in a breath. As if he would ever, ever turn this down with the way Eddie is looking at him as if he’s just placed his heart in Steve’s hands.

“Yes. Yes, of course I’ll come! I’ll bring Rob.” Steve sees Eddie’s face fall, looking every bit a wounded puppy, and Steve hurries to correct himself. “Robin. I’ll bring Robin. My lesbian best friend. She’s kind of my platonic soulmate. Crazy, but you’ll like her.”

Eddie’s face brightens at the word “lesbian” and Steve feels his cheeks warm, pleased that Eddie is pleased that he’s not bringing a man.

Eddie “oohs” dramatically. “A lesbian? I’ll have to introduce her to Chrissy. Christ knows that girl needs to get laid.” Suddenly he leans in close, right in Steve’s space, mouth close to his ear. Steve can feel goosebumps where Eddie’s breath hits his neck, and he blushes even deeper.

“Those tickets include backstage passes. I expect to see you there after the show, big boy.” With that, he smacks a wet kiss on Steve’s cheek, turns, and walks away.

Steve is left standing there, red-faced, awestruck, slightly horny, and full of anticipation.

continue to part 4.

read on ao3.

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#steddie #stranger things #steddie vegas au #this is... a lot of exposition ha #i will try not to apologize for my gratuitous descriptions of eddies outfits #hes my barbie doll and im dressing him up #also i genuinely believe cc would have the cringiest pre show routine ever #theyre a bunch of nerds #this one is a combo of lotr book and movie lines #as always ur nice comments keep me going #also tumblr eats some of the tags sometime so if you see this and ur tag didnt go through im so sorry!#A writes

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