Eddie only just was able to get the barman's permission to perform this night, and glad he is for it, as his pockets have weighed lighter than ever before in his life. He'd be pleased to find pay in a tankard or loaf tonight, anything to fill his aching belly.
But he's lucky as the men and women here seem to be in high spirits. The land has long been in war since the king's death, rotten bastard he may have been. Eddie hadn't been sad to see him go, but the chaos that followed had ruined the smallfolk in consequence since their coward prince had fled the scene of his crime. The king had been cruel, but still he'd been their king, and the common people spit on the prince's name still, even when some new royal's been crowned and brought peace with him.
And that kind of ire is what feeds Eddie on nights like this.
"Kingslayer, kingslayer, little Prince Steven has run," he sings, bawdy and loud as the crowd of men around him sing along. "Run up the hills and past the sun, took our king Phillip and gutted him plain, our kingslayer Prince Steven, a coward more than a maid!"
They sing along with him, hooting and hollering all to the end of it, and pay him in copper coins and ale that Eddie takes happily, slurping it down as he rests by the fire.
It's then he sees the table in the corner, the cloaked figures surrounding it, and the woman glaring daggers at him. But more interesting than that is the most beautiful man Eddie's ever seen, smiling at him wearily, eyes bright and interested and a little sad. Eddie's got no fear of a quick tumble with dangerous men, so he takes his gittern and his ale and makes his way quickly to them.
"Fair night, weary travelers," Eddie crows as he wiggles himself between the woman and the beautiful man. "What brings you so far out from the capitol?"
The lot of them regard him with mixed interest, the older man not even looking up and a girl with firey hair treating him with a sign of boredom.
"What business is yours to know, bard?" she says, already turning her nose off to watch the rowdy tavern beyond their table.
"None at all," Eddie says, leaning into the man beside him, slinging an arm over his broad shoulder to feel the heat of him beneath his cloak. "I'm here to do nothing but entertain tonight, and I fear I've bored your table to tears! I do take requests you know, for the right coin."
This he says to the man under his arm, leaning in closer to get a good look at those pretty brown eyes in the dim light of the fire.
"We have no coin for you, sot," says the woman beside them, ire evident in her tone. "Be gone with you—"
"No coin, that's true," says Eddie's beautiful man. He smiles at Eddie now, pearly teeth and pretty lips, and Eddie would sing him any song for nothing more than to keep those eyes on him. "You'll have to forgive us, we're not good company I'm afraid."
"Richer company wouldn't be as sweet as yours, dove," Eddie tells him, watching the pink of his cheeks darken.
There's a gagging sound from across the table, and its then that Eddie realizes he's in the company of striplings. Two girls in men's clothes, both of them are young in the face and barely past their majorities. Yet still they are travel-worn, all five of them: the two girls, the woman and the dour man, and the beautiful budde under Eddie's arm.
Chuckling, he says to Eddie, "A wag you are, bard, with such empty words. Do you flirt so with all poor men you find?"
"None are poorer than me, sweeting, and none are more enchanting than you. It is payment enough just to look at you, and I would sing for an age and fill my empty stomach with just your smile, or your taste if you'd grant me—"
"Gods damned!" the woman Eddie's other side gusts. "I cannot hear another foul word." She stands then, and the two girls follow, one rolling her eyes and the other giggling quitely. The woman leans past Eddie and hisses into her companion's ear, "Be done with this fool swiftly, or I'll leave you to the wolves."
"You'd never," he says back to her, smiling at Eddie, face flushed pretty and dark even as he speaks.
"Hopper would never," she says tilting her head at the remaining dour man still sitting at the table, deep into his cups and paying no mind to any around them. "But I would sell you for tanner and a duck to the first bidder."
"I'm worth at least an ox," he tells her with a cocky grin, and Eddie might want more than just one tumble with this man. "Find a room and I'll find you when I please to."
She huffs and stomps off, the girls on her heels.
"So," Eddie breathes, leaning even further into this beautiful man, until his voice is a secretive whisper, just for the two of them to hear. "Tell me, sweeting, what shall I call you when I write songs of your beauty to sing across the land, until kings beg me to their courts to recount your grace, your smile and your laugh?"
This man, to Eddie's displeasure, seems to wilt, to grow weary once more, even as he smiles and leans close, his words scarcely a breath against the shell of Eddie's ear.
"If it pleases you, and I'm sure that it won't," he confesses. "You can call me Steven."
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Billy Hargrove’s rules for mix tapes (and the one exception)
Prompt: Mix tapes
Steve Harrington brings mix tapes into his car.
That’s not even the worst thing
It’s the fact that Billy actually fucking allows it.
He fucking sits in the driver’s seat, watching Harrington shove tape after tape into his car and all of it fucking sucks. He knows full well that if Max or Heather tried that shit in his car, he’d leave them on the side of the road. Argyle brought a Weird Al tape once and Billy had given him a Chinese burn until he swore never to do it again.
Not that Max’s music is all that bad. But he’s never going to tell her that. If he tells her that, she’ll think she can bring anything into his car.
The problem is that she’s about to start thinking that anyway.
“Why does Steve get to sit in front?” Max gripes, reaching for her seat-belt and Billy levels a glare at her through the rear-view mirror. She glares back with equal venom.
“Because, Maxine, children sit in the back,” he retorts sweetly and scowls at her when she kicks the back of his chair.
“I think sisters should have priority,” she mutters, folding her arms across her chest. Dustin just blinks at her. He looks happy enough just to come along. He and Billy don’t know each other all that well, despite he’s Max’s friend and Steve’s favorite…well, Steve’s favorite.
“I think children should be seen and not heard,” Billy counters, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Jesus fucking christ, how the hell did the munchkins invite themselves along? Steve had suggested they get pizza and Max had bulldozed her way into coming.
“I think you should watch what you hide under your bed,” Max says archly, and he whirls around in his seat. Unfortunately, she’s too fast and whips her legs away in time, out of Billy’s reach.
“You shut your goddamn mouth,” Billy hisses, keeping a careful eye out for Steve, who’s busy locking up the Harrington mansion. Fucking hell, he thought that hiding his scant few mags in the loose slats under his bed meant that they’d be safe. If Neil ever finds out, Billy will probably need more stitches.
But Max just raises her eyebrows.
“Well, think about that before you tell someone that they can borrow your tennis racket,” she points out. Billy thumps back into his seat. He’s not sure why he’s embarrassed about it, because Max knows…but Jesus, his sister knowing he has porn is all kinds of gross.
“How the hell did you find it?” he asks quickly, because Steve is ambling down the drive towards them.
“Slat’s too loose,” Max says quietly. There’s a slight flush to her face and Billy wonders how much she looked before she put them back. Billy leaves the less graphic girly mags out in plain view to keep his dad satisfied that his son isn’t queer. But those aren’t going to be the ones that have Max’s cheeks turning as red as her hair. “It fell on my head.”
Billy remembers the third occupant of the car just in time, glaring at the Henderson kid until he mimes zipping his lips.
“I heard nothing!” he says hurriedly. “Not a word.”
“What didn’t you hear?” Steve says, dropping into the passenger seat and Billy likes how it looks. Like he belongs there.
“Nothing,” Billy says, wanting the conversation over. Max smirks a little and says nothing until Steve pulls a tape out of his bag.
“Why the hell does he get to put tapes in?” she asks, outraged, sliding forward in her seat as far as her seatbelt will let her.
“Because he can,” Billy says, suddenly very sorry that he has a sister at all. She’s too mouthy and he has approximately five seconds before she puts it all together. “Shut up, Max.”
He turns the key in the ignition, hoping that she’ll get the hint and drop it.
But his sister is a fucking rottweiler and she never learnt to drop anything.
“You never let me bring tapes in here!” she complains, and the torture only gets worse when the tape goes in to play something bouncy and catchy that Billy wouldn’t be caught dead listening to.
“Borrowed it from Nancy,” Steve says, with a shrug, catching Billy’s eye. “Wanted to see what it was like.”
“You can play music in your own car,” Billy gripes, reversing down Steve’s driveway. Steve shrugs, unbothered.
“Yeah, I could,” he says and there’s an unusual expression on his face that Billy can’t quite name. They’ve been friends a while now and Billy’s gotten pretty used to the fact that Steve’s an open book. He never really needed to learn to mask his every feeling, like Billy does.
But every so often, Billy thinks that Steve’s hiding something from him.
“Why are you letting Steve play Cindy Lauper in your car?” Max demands, her fingers an annoying flutter on Billy’s shoulder. He doesn’t look as he tells her to sit back in her seat. “Billy, why don’t I get to play music in your car?” Billy tries not to react. But it’s there, the answer held in the tiny clench in his jaw.
She sees.
“Huh,” Max says, the word like a lead weight on Billy’s chest, and she catches Billy’s eye in the mirror. Billy shakes his head ever so slightly.
“Can we all shut up now?” Billy says, adjusting his grip on the wheel. His palms are beginning to sweat. Max lets go of his chair and slides back into her seat. Billy can’t even be satisfied that she’s quiet for now, not with the nerves tap-dancing on his abdomen. “Or I will turn the car around.”
“What happened, what did I miss?” Dustin asks Max quietly, leaning over to whisper in her ear.
“Steve’s special,” Max answers with obvious glee and while it’s not exactly the truth, it’s close enough that Billy’s heart skips a beat.
But when he looks to the right, Steve just smiles, something bright and satisfied. Like he knows that it’s true, maybe has always known that he’s the exception to Billy’s rules.
“If you want me to stop, just say so,” Steve whispers. Billy dares to flick his eyes up to Steve’s and hopes he’s not wrong by what he sees there. Admitting that it’s true is as good as admitting…everything else.
“You’re good,” Billy croaks, mouth dry. Steve settles back into his seat, pleasure washing across his face. He reaches out and ejects the tape in a quick motion, the music cut off dead.
“Why’d you take it out?” Billy asks, a little confused. Steve shrugs and shoves the tape back in his pocket.
“I don’t think I need it anymore,” he says easily and the glitter in his dark eyes makes Billy want to kiss him.
But something about Max’s amused face and Steve fiddling with the radio makes him think that there might be time for that later.
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