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xirayn · 9 months

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Stonathan Week Day 5: Canon-Verse - In the aftermath of Starcourt, Jonathan leans on Steve for support.

written by @xirayn and @aibhlynn

Back to the screenplays. Feedback on this format appreciated. I may try writing it into an actual ficlet just for the format comparison.

Stay

EXT. STARCOURT MALL – PARKING LOT – NIGHT (AFTER THE ‘FIRE’)

WILL runs towards JOYCE from the back of the ambulance JONATHAN and NANCY are sitting in. STEVE comes up to the open door

STEVE How are you both holding up?

NANCY I’ve definitely been better.

JONATHAN stays silent, simply watching WILL hug their mother. STEVE glances over his shoulder then exchanges a concerned look with NANCY.

NANCY I need to check on MIKE.

NANCY touches JONATHAN’s shoulder to draw his attention. He offers her a small, tired smile.

JONATHAN Take him home if you can. Your mom is probably losing it.

NANCY You’ll be okay?

JONATHAN takes her hand to gently squeeze.

JONATHAN Yeah.

NANCY Alright. STEVE, don’t try to walk this off like last time.

STEVE gives NANCY a half-hearted salute as she gets out of the ambulance. He is absolutely planning to leave the moment he can.

STEVE 10-4, Captain.

NANCY gives him a tight-lipped, unimpressed frown, but goes to find MIKE after a last worried look at JONATHAN. STEVE waits for her to be out of earshot before speaking.

STEVE Do you want a ride home?

JONATHAN I am not letting you drive, much less getting in a car with you. Get up here.

JONATHAN moves over to make room for STEVE.

STEVE I can drive. The world's not that blurry anymore.

STEVE tries to climb into the ambulance, but ends up stumbling and ending up at JONATHAN’s feet.

JONATHAN Sure. Come here.

JONATHAN reaches down to help STEVE onto the bench beside him. STEVE's blanket has fallen away, so JONATHAN shares his. After a moment, JONATHAN leans against STEVE and his body loosens as he finally allows himself to let his guard down.

JONATHAN Everything hurts.

STEVE chuckles. He tilts his head to rest it against JONATHAN’s

STEVE My hair hurts. I don’t even know how that’s possible.

JONATHAN We'll have to shave it off. It’s the only solution.

STEVE Maybe.

JONATHAN starts to laugh as well, but takes a sharp intake of breath in pain instead. STEVE gives him a worried look.

STEVE Are you okay?

JONATHAN My back just seized up.

JONATHAN turns his face into STEVE's shoulder. His breathing is shallow. Each inhale brings a wince of pain.

STEVE Let me help.

STEVE starts to turn JONATHAN around in order to rub his back.

JONATHAN Shit. Wait-

JONATHAN pushes STEVE away. STEVE’s concern is clear as he watches JONATHAN. His hands hover between them.

JONATHAN I think something bruised or cracked, and I've been going on adrenaline for the past few hours. Fuck-

JONATHAN leans back and concentrates on breathing.

STEVE Should I call someone? Did they give you anything for the pain?

STEVE looks around, worried and feeling helpless. JONATHAN shakes his head.

JONATHAN They're government, have they ever done anything useful? There are other people who should be looked over first, anyway. Just - Stay with me?

STEVE puts his arm around JONATHAN’s shoulder and gently pulls him back against him. JONATHAN’s eyes close as STEVE strokes his hair. JONATHAN’s breathing is still shallow and still in pain, but having STEVE to lean on has obviously helped. STEVE watches him with a wistful smile.

STEVE For as long as you need.

#stonathan #stonathanweek2023 #stonathan week #strangers things #steve harrington #jonathan byers

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atmilliways · 1 year

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Part Three: Shame On Me

(part one) (part two) (part four) (part five) - complete as of 4/4/23

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2183 Ships: Steddie Major Tags: Jealousy, Casual sex Additional Tags: Pining, Slutty Steve Harrington, Pre-relationship, Landline phones

Author’s Note: Banner by @xirayn.

Read it on Ao3

“—And he’d been pissy about something the whole way here. I mean, if he didn’t want to walk me home, maybe don’t let the bartender take my fucking keys? So that’s on him, not me.”

”What was he mad about?”

“Fuck if I know, man,” Eddie sighs, then takes a long hit off the joint in one hand and jams another chipped-off spoonful of not-at-all-thawed strawberry milkshake into his mouth with the other. The room is still dark—the entire apartment is, the only light he’s bothered with since coming home was the one that automatically comes on when opening the freezer—so the only illumination to see by are the streetlights filtering in through the windows and the cherry end of the roll-up. “He’d barely talked to me all night, too busy rubbing his ass all over half the guys on the dance floor.”

Nancy hums. “Didn’t really need to know that about my ex, but thanks.”

Swallowing down on a mouthful of brain freeze, Eddie smirks bitterly into the phone where it’s pinched between his face and shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you think the chicks Steve flocked with in high school were the only slutty ones in that equation? I thought you were a feminist, Nancy. Equal opportunity and all that shit.”

“Asshole,” she retorts, but with a hint of amusement. “So, everything was totally normal until you had your . . . encounter. . . .”

“Hookup, Nancy. Say it with me: hooook . . . up.”

“Shut up. That was the only thing out of the ordinary though? And he’s never acted like that before? And then he called you Munson, and slammed the door.”

“Yes, no, yes, and yes.” Another hit, another bite of ice cream. “So, you tell me. What does it all mean? Translate for me the mystery and enigma that is Steve fucking Harrington.”

“I don’t know, but I can tell you that Steve hasn’t moved out,” she says, not unkindly. “Robin said he turned up on the early morning bus and didn’t even bring a change of clothes.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t decide to later,” Eddie points out.

“No, but it does mean that your kneejerk worst assumption wasn’t actually his first impulse, so maybe take your own catastrophizing with a grain of salt.”

And there it is: that razor-sharp slice into him that Nancy is so good at. He’d never imagined that he would end up genuine friends with Nancy Wheeler of all people, but she’s good at calling him on his bullshit and doesn’t know how to take fuck off as an answer.

“Fiiine.” Eddie sighs dramatically, but . . . okay, she has a point. Expecting the worst is kind of his thing, because that way the surprises he does encounter are usually pleasant ones. (He’d gotten even better at it since the spring of ‘86; perspective’s a bitch, and the worst he can imagine is now pretty damn terrible. Bad news first, always.)

But this? He can’t imagine he’s going to be pleasantly surprised by any of this. That would go completely against his own personal Munson doctrine. He’d told Steve fuck you very much and sent him off like an errand boy, for fucks sake.

“What am I supposed to do though, Nance?” he asks, voice low because he’s running out of steam. It’s been a long thirty-six hours, and a long ever since he met the real Steve Harrington. “First of all, I can’t take back shit I said or did while I was drunk off my ass. Second, am I just supposed to ensconce myself in a non-horny chrysalis to eternally preserve my virginal integrity? All while watching Steve slut it up with every eligible bachelor across town except me?”

And Nancy—perfect, practical, prissy Nancy Evelyn Wheeler—has the audacity to laugh at him. “Oh my god. Eddie, think about it. This is Steve we’re talking about here. He’s kind of a show-off when it comes to . . . matters of the heart—”

“Matters of the dick,” Eddie mutters through a heavy exhale of smoke.

“—And he doesn’t always think things through. He likes for people to see what they’re missing out on by not being with him. I didn’t even realize I had a crush on him until I realized I was jealous of Laurie W. of all people—do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?”

“Uh, not as embarrassing as the Freak having a crush on the King of the Jocks. Sorry babe, that trophy has my name written all over it.”

“Well, still. There you go,” Nancy says, as if that proves anything. “Everything he’s been doing has certainly got your attention. So?”

Maybe he’s smoked too much, because that makes no sense. Eddie blinks, frowns, and asks, “What? Why would he be pissed that I got laid when he didn’t and want my attention?”

Nancy sighs. “So close,” she mutters, and then refuses to explain what she means.

“Eddie?! Eddie!!”

This is how Eddie wakes up, reeling and flailing into a crablike crouch because where the fuck is he (fell asleep on the couch) and why is it fucking dark (never actually turned the lights on) and why is Steve fucking Harrington yelling his name like the building is on fire (it’s not; there would be more light, or at least smoke).

Stumbling footsteps come to a halt in front of the couch, and he hears a shaky exhale, a possible muttered there you are.

At a more normal, inside-voice volume, Steve says, “Oh, uh. Eddie. Hi.”

“Wha’ time’s it?” Eddie asks blearily, sounding and feeling like he’s gargled sand.

“It’s two,” Steve replies, leaving Eddie’s sleep-addled brain to wonder two what. “I took the late bus back from Robin’s,” he adds, which is only just barely helpful, context-wise. Flicking the lamp on the side table next to the couch on—and temporarily blinding Eddie, who hides behind his hair with a hiss—Steve leans over the couch by Eddie’s feet. However much of a rush he’d been in when leaving the other night, he’d still taken the time to change into one of his dorky polos and jeans that do his ass slightly less justice (and yet, in Eddie’s opinion, he could still qualify as a walking wet dream).

There’s a sudden plastic click followed by the curious absence of a background noise that, until now, Eddie had tuned out. Which . . . huh.

Fell asleep with the phone still on the couch, and the sound had been that funny little frantic beep of a handset left off the cradle for too long. Right. He must have kicked it off in his sleep or something.

Eddie rubs at his eyes and tries to stretch surreptitiously, but it’s hard when Steve is still standing over him, staring at him with wild eyes and hair that’s been tugged out of its usual expert coif into something the Bride of Frankenstein might be proud of.

“What?” Eddie grumbles petulantly, stifling a yawn and easing slowly into more of a sit than a crouch.

“The line was busy,” Steve replies. The tone is weirdly at odds with how he looks, sounding even and surface-level calm.

“So?”

“The last time a line was busy for multiple calls, El got arrested and the Byers’ house in Lenora got shot to Swiss cheese by a goddamn military strike force,” Steve reminds him, almost pleasantly. It’s eerie.

Eddie processes that for a moment, then screws his face up in something between chagrin and incredulity. “So did you think I got arrested, got shot, or just ripped the cord out of the wall so I wouldn’t have to talk to you?”

“Yes,” Steve all but shouts at him.

It’s way too fucking early for this.

Grumbling under his breath, Eddie clambers off the couch and snags the empty milkshake cup on his way to the kitchen, rinsing it in the sink and filling it with water that he gulps down and immediately refills. He’s desperately thirsty, but it’s also something to do while he tries to jumpstart his brain into dealing with everything—Steve being here, yesterday, the night before that, the tangle of emotion in his chest that he doesn’t know how to begin to unwind.

And Steve follows, because of course he does, and blinds Eddie again by turning on the kitchen light.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie grumbles. “You’re something else, you know that, Harrington? All this concern for my well-being, suddenly. Where was this when you canceled movie night last week because of some guy you wanted to ‘hang out’ with?”

The words echo weirdly in the paper cup that Eddie is staring fixedly down into. He wishes he could have just been left on his own for longer—he’s taken the first step in trying to get over Steve, and it hasn’t gone very well so far, but it’s a start. It’s something, and shouldn’t he get credit for trying? Steve isn’t exactly making any of this easy, with his bitchy yet dogged hovering.

Complaining and distracted but still walking him home, getting him his favorite flavor of milkshake just because he asked for one while wasted, rushing back from Robin’s in an apparent panic to make sure he isn’t dead or something. . . .

“I, uh,” Steve says, and when Eddie looks up he’s surprised to see that the guy is blushing. He’s blushing, all the way down to where chest hair peeks out of the top of his polo, and it’s unfairly attractive because Eddie can’t catch a fucking break apparently. “Yeah, Robin kind of bitched me out for that.”

Eddie has the sudden irrational urge to either tear all his own hair out or call Robin to snap at her for getting involved, because this . . . thing he has for Steve is supposed to be a secret. If she sniffed it out like some sort of lesbian truffle pig on the hunt for gay secrets and then decided to barrel in and do something about it, he thinks he’s well within his rights to do a little yelling.

“Great,” he replies flatly. “Glad you had someone to point that out to you after approximately—” he makes a show of checking his watch “—the twentieth time you’ve done it.”

Steve runs both hands through his hair. “Fuck—I know, man, I’m sorry.” He sounds a little hysterical, which, okay, really seems unnecessary considering Eddie is the wronged party here. “I fucked up, Eds! I didn’t mean to but I fucking did, just like I always—” Stopping, he shakes his head like an Etch-a-Sketch, hands still on his head. He drags them down over his face and groans into his palms. “What did Nancy tell you?”

“Uh, no, I think we’re still on what Robin told you,” Eddie challenges.

And Steve—Steve fucking Harrington—drops his hands, looks him directly in the eye with a despairing expression on his stupidly handsome face, and answers, “She told me that you can’t kick me out for being an asshole while my name is still on the lease. But I was an asshole and it was bullshit the way I treated you last night, so if you want me to go I’ll, I’ll go. I can still kick in on rent until . . . if you want to find a smaller place, or a new roommate.”

‘Your kneejerk assumption wasn’t actually his first impulse, so maybe take your own catastrophizing with a grain of salt,’ Nancy’s voice reminds Eddie. Because his first thought, when Steve offers to go, is to call her back with a vicious didn’t I tell you, but.

But.

It’s an offer. The guy looks like a kicked puppy, like this is the absolute last thing he wants to be saying but necessity is dragging the words out of him. And describing his behavior as bullshit, which. Which. Eddie has heard the Halloween party story, hiccuped into his shoulder once at the end of a long evening of smoking it up in their new apartment. ‘Bullshit’ isn’t a word that Steve uses lightly.

The prospect of Steve actually moving out makes Eddie feel like he’s been gutted, completely hollowed out. It’s not worse than watching Steve with other guys . . . but it’s not better, either.

“I’ll probably leave my bed and the rest of the big stuff, at least until I can figure out where I’m going—”

“Steve,” Eddie interrupts, louder than he’d meant to, and Steve’s mouth snaps shut. “Just. . . . You live here, man. You don’t have to worry about that. Relax, okay?”

Steve hesitates, watching him carefully, then softly says, “Okay.”

In the uncertain silence that follows, Eddie turns back to the sink and refills his cup again. After a moment he hears Steve shuffle around in the background, the fridge open and close, glass clinking on the kitchen table. Eddie doesn’t even turn around before gathering up their standard midnight snack fare: a jar of peanut butter, two table knives, and an unopened sleeve of Saltines dangling from between his teeth.

It’s an olive branch, just like the second beer Steve has waiting already open for him on the table.

#i meant to post this earlier but it's been a long day and i still have (checks watch) 4 minutes in it #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfiction #eddie and nancy are friends and no one can take that away from me #my fanfiction #stranger music anthology #lie one more time come on fic

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atmilliways · 1 year

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Part Four: Shame On Both Of Us

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part five) - complete as of 4/4/23

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2068 Ships: Steddie Major Tags: Jealousy, The Pining Is Mutual Actually, Getting Together Additional Tags: No Smut (Yet), It’s All About the Italicized Oh

Author’s Note: Banner by @xirayn.

Read it on Ao3

When Eddie had first met Steve—really met him, in the boathouse at Reefer Rick’s place—he’d had a beer bottle in hand then, too. He’d mostly been scared shitless, and when he thinks about it he’s pretty sure he’d literally been foaming at the mouth a little bit, but looking back on it there’d also been this charge. It just hadn’t registered then because at that point Eddie was wanted for murder and running on zero sleep.

He has that same feeling now, staring across at the kitchen table (and some weird interpersonal chasm that he’s realizing he might not know the actual depth of) at Steve while they sip their beers and get globs of peanut butter on their fingers. Not that Eddie notices, or watches the way Steve occasionally licks the mess from his own hand.

(Lie. It’s almost hypnotic, the way Steve’s tongue darts out, surreptitious like he’s really trying not to draw Eddie’s attention to it—but oh, the ship sailed on that a long time ago. Eddie is still kind of mad, but he’s also a weak, weak man.)

“Thanks for the milkshake, by the way,” Eddie says impulsively, since he’s still got the cup filled to the brim with water for later. (He has no intention of getting drunk tonight.) “It was, uh. Good.”

Steve nods, not looking at him and more focused than seems really necessary on spreading peanut butter over a new cracker, neatly to all the edges and corners. “It’s that place that uses real fruit, they make a mean milkshake.”

Which Eddie already knows, because he’d recognized the logo on the cup. He also knows it’s an extra twenty-minute walk from their apartment, compared to the closer 24-hour diner that just uses artificially flavored syrups. And in the opposite direction of the bar. He’d been actively ignoring that part earlier, irritated by the suggestion that Steve could buy his forgiveness so easily. Such a douche move.

But he thinks about Nancy’s ‘All I can tell you is that Steve wants to fix this’ and Robin’s ‘So why is he sleeping off a mega crisis meltdown in my dorm room, then?’ and Steve calling himself bullshit, and maybe. . . . Maybe it wasn’t like that.

“Sure do,” Eddie mutters, slapping a lump of peanut butter on a cracker and shoving the whole thing in his mouth, spreading be damned. “So,” he continues with his mouth full, because fuck if he can just say it without some sort of misdirecting distraction involved, “which one of us is gonna put on our big boy pants first and talk about what he was actually mad about?”

Steve snorts, and his eyes actually dart up to look at him for a moment. “Dude, chew with your mouth closed.”

Eddie sticks out his tongue without bothering to swallow first.

“Gross,” Steve snickers. Then he looks down, serious again and gnawing on his bottom lip. “I. . . . I guess I should go, since I started it.”

Debatable, Eddie can’t help but think. Would he have even hooked up with that guy if he hadn’t been upset about Steve not paying attention to him? There’s no way to know now, really.

(Lie. He wouldn’t have—not like that. Not while feeling like it was the best he could get. Since the hookup, he’s barely even thought about that guy in any terms outside of being disastrously hung up on Steve. Waste of a decent blowjob, really.)

“It’s just,” Steve says, and Eddie has never felt more nervous to hear the end of a sentence before in his life. (Does Steve think he’s a slut? For one guy? Did Steve want that guy for himself? Are they going to have to divide up cruising territories going forward?) “I guess I, I didn’t think you were a hookup kind of guy, because I haven’t . . . seen you go off with anybody like that before?” The smile Steve gives him is cracked, a little pained, a touch self-deprecating. “So I kind of panicked, because I . . . I really like, um, living with you, man. And what if you started dating somebody and moved out to live with him instead? So, yeah.” He shrugs and reaches for another cracker, dipping his knife into the jar between them.

“I would never leave you high and dry on rent like that, Steve,” Eddie says, thinking immediately and guiltily of jumping to the conclusion that Steve had done that to him earlier. “You’re a great roommate—” please don’t leave me “—I was just pissed at you because I didn’t know why you were mad at me.”

Steve shrugs awkwardly. “Yeah, well. I was walking back to the bar and started to feel like an ass for overreacting, it was. . . . I was just being stupid, so I got the milkshake as a peace offering. And then I kind of panicked when you didn’t want it, but Robin pointed out that maybe you really just didn’t want to hurl again. Anyway, none of that was your fault, is what I’m saying. It was all just my stupid shit.”

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly, still turning the ‘I didn’t think you were a hookup kind of guy’ thing over in his head while he tugs some of his hair thoughtfully over his mouth. (When had he ever given Steve that impression? How else did Steve imagine he’d gotten any action while living in Hawkins?) “Uh, I appreciate that. And I’m sorry I got so drunk that I basically ordered you to go get my keys for me, that wasn’t cool.”

“It’s fine,” and now Steve is the one talking with his mouth full. “I don’t mind you bossing me around.”

Then he blinks, and his cheeks start to redden, like he hadn’t meant to say it, and Eddie thinks, That’s . . . interesting.

(Lie, it is everything and he needs his overactive imagination not to latch onto it, but he can already feel it happening. A shiver runs along his spine at all the bossing Steve around he would like to do, if he could, if it was his place or he had any right—Why the fuck did Steve have to phrase it like that?! A few simple words and suddenly it’s like Eddie’s now aware of colors he’s never seen before.)

While Steve attempts to glue his own mouth shut with a frankly insane amount of peanut butter on his next cracker, Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He wishes he’d changed into something with more give than the jeans he wears to work. He wishes he could turn off his brain.

And, okay. On one hand, he wants to say something. That’s not (just) his horny brain talking; Steve had just explained that he’d been angry over the possibility of Eddie leaving. Makes since, considering the Harrington’s had always fucked off and left Steve alone in that big, empty house. And Nancy leaving him for Jonathan. And Robin leaving for college, with now only a few more short months before most of the kids follow suit. . . . But the salient point right now is, Steve doesn’t want him to leave that badly. So, what are the chances that Steve would leave over finding out that Eddie would give just about anything to haul him over the table and kiss him stupid, peanut butter and beer breath and all, right the fuck now?

On the other hand, he’s got all these firecracker warnings of fear he can hear calling ‘snap,’ ‘crackle,’ ‘beware’ in the back of his head, and he doesn’t know which impulse to listen to.

(Lie. He does.)

It all feels like an out-of-body experience without the hassle of having to go anywhere. He’s on a roller coaster, tipping over the final incline into free fall and leaving both gravity and his stomach back at the top. His heart is slamming in his chest like something that wants to get out, like cutting the bedsheet rope and running out beneath a sky of murderous demon bats all over again.

The worst he can imagine right now (which is still pretty bad) is that Steve won’t even be mean about it. Apologetic, probably, and almost definitely awkward, while explaining that he doesn’t feel that way about Eddie, but that he really wants to continue being friends. Maybe any kind of being wanted by Steve is something, though. Maybe. . . .

“Maybe I wasn’t being . . . totally honest, before,” Eddie says. His voice sounds rough to his own ears, and he takes a fortifying swig of beer before going on. If he were to tip his head forward he could hide behind his hair, but he keeps his chin jutted forward because he is not going to be a coward about this anymore, goddammit. He twists the rings on his hands and looks Steve straight in his wary hazel eyes and admits, “I was kind of mad at you before you got mad at me.”

“Oh,” Steve says. It sounds more like a sound punched out of him than an actual word. “Because . . . of movie night? I should’ve rescheduled instead of just canceling, I’m—”

“It’s all the guys, Steve.”

There. There it is. He’s doing this.

Oh fuck.

And Steve just looks utterly confused.

“It’s the guys,” Eddie repeats, holding his gaze. “Whenever we go to the bar, there are guys all over you. They dance with you, they buy you drinks, they kiss you. . . . I see them grab your ass and I just want to, to—”

So many possible ends vie to be the end of that sentence, all of them violent, that instead Eddie just growls deep in his chest. At the same time, he slides his socked foot forward under the table to nudge Steve’s, runs it up his ankle a little, and isn’t sure which of the two makes Steve jump.

“You’re always looking at all these beautiful people,” Eddie continues, momentum built, unstoppable now. Wild and aching and leaning halfway across the table to make his point (and, yes, still a little hard in his jeans). “And I see how much you like it when they look at you, because you shine brighter than, fucking, all of them. I mean . . . you look good all the time, but it should be illegal how good you look when we go out, with the eyeliner and tight shirts and tighter pants, dancing with guys like you want them to fuck you right there on the dance floor and it kills me that I’m not the one touching you.”

He sees Steve’s eyes widen as what he’s saying sets in, mouth drifting open to form another perfect oh.

“You go home with them instead of me, and it’s awful, Stevie, because even when we go home together it’s to two different beds. It kills me that they get you and I don’t, and I’m just so—” Eddie breaks off, rubs at his forehead, shakes his head. “Fuck, man, I’ve been so jealous. It was stupid and I was drunk but I just wanted to feel wanted, and you were never going to be an option, so . . .”

Steve is still staring at him like he’s just been completely winded, flushed and speechless.

In the stunned silence that follows . . . the adrenaline of confessing starts to ebb.

Eddie reaches for whatever normalcy he can get out of making himself another peanut butter cracker. Time for damage control, time for making it clear that being just friends is fine and he’ll take what he can get, because he can’t imagine what a life without Steve in it would be like anymore. It’s fine.

(Lie. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this, because he’s put himself out there, waaaaaay out there and now he’s just . . . hanging. And panicking. And, oh god, he is a coward.)

“But I can get over this, okay?” Eddie insists as he goes through the motions. “I can, and I’ll try not to be weird about it because the last thing I want is to not be able to be your friend, so if this is going to ruin anything then I—”

Before he can finish, Steve lunges across the small table, snagging one big hand around the back of his neck, palm against his scarred jawline, and drags him in sharply for a kiss.

And Eddie kisses back. Of course he kisses back, he may have taken senior year three times but he’s not stupid.

#they did it! they achieve an amount of communication!#steddie #steddie fanfic #post-canon eddie munson lives #my fanfiction #stranger music anthology #lie one more time come on fic

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atmilliways · 1 year

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Part Five: Come, Come On

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) - complete

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2455 Ships: Steddie Major Tags: Jealousy, The Pining Is Mutual Actually, Getting Together Additional Tags: Smut, Steve Harrington Has A Praise Kink

Author’s Note: Banner by @xirayn.

Read it on Ao3

They stumble into Steve’s unlit bedroom, because they both know he has the better mattress.

(Even though Eddie has been trying to pretend he doesn’t know that ever since the day they moved in and Steve had joked, ‘I bet my mattress is better than yours’—and no shit Sherlock, but then Steve hadn’t let it go until Eddie had rolled his eyes and laid on it to officially confirm its superiority.)

Steve lands on his back, Eddie’s hands holding his wrists down to either side of his head and Eddie’s knees to either side of his hips and Eddie practically sitting on his lap. Another press of lips and ragged breathing into each other’s mouths has Steve arching up, not fighting where he’s being held but seeking contact, and Eddie wants to fucking combust.

“Wanted this,” Steve moans into his mouth. “You. Fuck, Eds—”

“Of course you did,” Eddie growls back.

Whether he believes him or not, Eddie has spent too long stewing to let this happen totally on Steve’s terms. That’s not how this is going to go. So he pushes himself up, out of range.

Steve whines, trying to roll his hips again and still not getting what he wants.

“I was trying to be, be cool about it,” he says desperately.

Eddie’s eyebrows disappear behind his bangs. “Cool? Is that the word the popular kids are using for ‘slutty’ these days?”

Steve pouts, all bratty and defiant, and nods down between them. “You don’t seem to mind that much.”

‘He likes for people to see what they’re missing out on by not being with him,’ Nancy had said.

Well, fuck that. Right now, Eddie decides, is all about showing Steve what he’s missed by not being with him. He leans down and bites at the junction of Steve’s neck and shoulder, first with teeth and then with suction, and Steve moans, trapped wrists jerking under Eddie’s hands and pressing up into his rings.

“Yes, okay, yeah, yes,” Steve is babbling, “I was being slutty, oh fuck—”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie says roughly, licking over the spot when he’s done, “that’s better. So much better when it’s me you’re moaning for.” (He’s never actually heard Steve moaning for anyone else, he’s been careful about that. But he’s thought about it. Punched a few walls over it, and on one occasion a door—which had been very ill-advised, because the damn thing had rebounded off the wall and smacked him in the face. No one is ever going to hear about that, not even on his deathbed.) “Wanna tell me why you were being so slutty, sweetheart?”

And god, the way Steve’s throat bobs at the endearment. “Wanted you to look at me.”

“I was looking at you anyway.”

Enjoying the pink flush that paints Steve’s cheeks at that, Eddie moves both captive wrists up to above the man’s head, pins them with one hand while the other scrabbles down for the button on his own jeans. A groan of relief spills out when he gets that undone and the zipper down, adjusting himself to no longer be so tightly confined, and then he wastes no time going after Steve’s as well.

“But what can I say?” He nips at Steve’s earlobe, worrying it in his teeth to elicit a series of gasps. “Guess I got a little jealous, Steve—or was that what you were going for?”

“Kind of,” Steve admits, his pout a shade more contrite now. His arms are relaxed where Eddie is holding them above his head but his hips strain with every beat at the pulse point Eddie is nuzzling now, like he just can’t help himself. “I didn’t—I think I did it wrong.”

“Mm, and why’s that?” Eddie murmurs against his skin.

“It took too, ah, too fucking long, Eds, please. . . .”

The whine, the way Steve turns his head to seek another kiss, need rolling off him like steam from a kettle quickly coming to a boil, has Eddie immediately indulging him.

(Indulging both of them, really.)

Keeps playing with him while Steve spills about the whole thing. About how knowing Eddie liked guys didn’t mean he’d like him, and feeling self-conscious about having no experience with guys himself. When Eddie had backed off from dancing with him, he’d spiraled into thinking that maybe it was because of the uncaring asshole that he’d been back in high school; that maybe there was no forgiving King Steve.

(Which is fucking ridiculous, because Steve had literally saved his life and that bought a hell of a lot of leeway.)

So he’d set about proving that he was serious, which. . . . “You know how the last time I was any good at dating was in high school?”

(Debatable. By all accounts, King Steve had been pretty slutty before he’d landed Nancy as a girlfriend, though he had landed her. They’d dated for a whole calendar year, even. And Steve hadn’t exactly been going through a dry spell in the spring of ‘86, before that last brush with the Upside Down.)

“And back then,” Steve continues breathlessly as Eddie strokes a ringed knuckle over the front of his boxers, “it usually worked to, uh. Pretend I didn’t care? It, it drove the girls nuts. So I thought—f-fuck—”

Oh my god, Eddie thinks, feeling his face go completely slack. Oh my god. This is either too funny to be real or so stupid he can’t stand it.

“So,” he says slowly. “You decided to woo me by . . . sleeping with other people.”

(Holy fuck, he was going to kill Nancy. Steve had been jealous of him getting laid because he wanted Eddie’s attention, that’s what had been going on with Steve. And she’d fucking known it.)

Steve whines. “Don’t make me defend it.”

“No no, science is on your side, Steve.” The ‘I really like you’ and ‘I think about you all the time’ parts of the conversation are starting to sink in now, zipping around in Eddie’s blood and making him feel almost manic. The growing damp spot on the front of Steve’s underwear is also a contributing factor.

(Holy fuck, Steve wants me.)

Eddie can’t help the grin that stretches across his face as he continues, “You’re like a bird showing off his sexy plumage and ability to attract a lot of mates—”

“Wanted to make sure I knew how to be good for you, if you ever gave me a chance,” Steve blurts out. “But I haven’t, I haven’t done everything. Eddie, I want you. Not just to show me the rest—that too, please god that too because you’re so, y-you’re—but not just that.”

They should probably talk about all of this more. Except Eddie is tired of talking, tired of anything that isn’t kissing Steve now that that’s apparently a thing he can do.

He breaks away after another moment though, shoving Steve’s shirt impatiently up his chest. “This needs to come off.”

“Just the shirt?”

Brat, even now. Eddie bites sharply at his bottom lip. “Depends on how much you want to give me, sweetheart.”

“Everything,” Steve groans. “Fuck, Eds, all of it. All of me. ‘S yours. Yes.” Which is really all he needed to hear, isn’t it?

That was all he’d ever needed to hear.

Eddie has been thinking about this for a long, long time. In the privacy of his room, in the shower, in his dreams. He’s thought about what Steve would sound like, what he’d feel like, what he’d like, when—

Well. Now, with their clothes flung in all directions and Eddie’s rings on the side table and Steve face-down on the mattress, clutching at the sheets with every fraction of an inch that Eddie eases inside of him, moaning with every little teasing rock back only to push further in. Slowly—because despite his hookups this is one of the things Steve somehow hasn’t done. And when Eddie is buried in him to the hilt, still pushing his ass hopefully back to take more, Jesus H. Christ.

“God, look at you,” Eddie murmurs, breathless. “You fucking love this, don’t you, Stevie?” He has one hand in the other man’s hair, pulling until Steve glances back at him and gives a dazed nod.

“Can you,” Steve pants, eyelids fluttering at another tug of his hair, “can you. . . ?”

Apparently unable to assemble the words, he gives up and lets his mouth fall open, craning back to look up with the side of his forehead braced against the mattress. His tongue lolls invitingly, making Eddie shudder.

“Shit, sweetheart.” Eddie leaves his hand in Steve’s hair, brings the other one up from Steve’s hip instead and slides two fingers into his mouth. Kiss-reddened lips close over them immediately, eager to the point of almost jumping the gun, and Steve moans around the digits as his eyes roll back and he begins to suckle. “Fuck. . . .” Eddie bites his lip, cock throbbing inside him in response. “You just want somebody filling you up all the time, huh Stevie? Is that what you want?”

Another obscene moan and the suction increases—and, yeah, if this is a ploy to get him to pick up the pace then it’s working. There’s no way he’s going to last long.

“You were jealous too, weren’t you,” Eddie breathes heavily into the shell of Steve’s ear as he builds up to a faster tempo, tingling all over because this is fucking happening. “That’s why you let the bartender take my keys, hmm? Why you walked me home? You wanted to get me out of there and have me all to yourself, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes,” comes the shaky but heartfelt reply around his fingers, a brief interruption in the wet heat and suction.

Eddie licks along his neck, biting down on the tendons there just hard enough to leave imprints in time with his next thrust, and the admission is just as delicious as Steve’s skin. “God, you’re so fucking good like this.”

Steve makes a low, desperate noise beneath him, flushing and fluttering around him, and isn’t that an interesting reaction.

‘I don’t mind you bossing me around.’

“You like being good, baby?” And oh, the muffled whine in response shivers down Eddie’s spine in the best possible way. He slides his fingers out, cups his palm by Steve’s mouth and, obediently, Steve spits. (Not that they need it, with the mess Steve is making of himself; he just wanted to see if he would.) “Good boy.”

“Eddie,” Steve groans. He also cries out when Eddie’s hand smears down his chest and wraps wetly around him.

“That’s it,” Eddie pants, bracing himself from a new angle and nipping at his ear, his jaw, his pulse point. “Wanna hear you, big boy. Make those pretty noises for me, mmmn—Let me hear it and I’ll let you come.”

(Next time, he swears to himself, Steve will be facing him so he can see while it happens. Next time he’s going to draw it out.)

Steve keeps making these low, desperate noises while rocking between his hand and his cock like he can’t decide which one he wants more, captivated in perpetual motion between the two. There’s curly hair in Eddie’s face, in his eyes, sweat-dampened and draped over Steve’s shoulders.

(Next time, if he doesn’t get to tie his hair back and get Steve’s cock in his mouth he’s going to mutiny against the universe.)

“Close,” Steve gasps desperately, the word bursting out in all its cracked glory as he chases the pleasure that Eddie is both wringing out of and pounding into him.

“Good,” Eddie, breathing hard, is about five seconds from coming undone, pressing wet kisses against his neck and shoulder as he doubles his efforts to give Steve his absolute best, to ruin him for anyone else. (As though it’s not the other way around, as if any other man could possibly compare to Steve fucking Harrington, the dude who’d literally carried him out of hell.) “Come for me, sweetheart, be a good boy—”

At the command, Steve goes taut so immediately that the orgasm seems to somehow catch him by surprise. It catches Eddie too, Steve’s tight heat convulsing around him—sweeps him up and tumbles him in his own body until he can no longer tell up from down.

His toes curl, and when he catches his breath several minutes later, he can’t remember the last time he experienced that particular cliche. If ever.

(Absolutely goddamn ruined.)

Steve is adorably pliant when Eddie rolls him gently out of the wet spot on the comforter for a quick wipe down with a warm washcloth. He moves slow and sweet as honey, grinning dazedly up with his eyes barely open. “Stay?” he murmurs hopefully.

Despite some lingering uncertainties, Eddie smiles softly back as he traces over scars that echo his own. They really are like a matching set. “You want me to, baby?”

“Yeah. . . . ‘Sgonna be cold though, comforter’s dirty.”

“You don’t say.”

“Mm.” To emphasize the point, Steve wriggles lazily until he’s off the comforter—Eddie just sits back and enjoys the show—and kicks it off the bed. “You’ll have to hold me.”

Eddie snorts, but he’s grinning. “You wanna be the little spoon, Stevie?”

“Learned lots of new things about myself over the past few months,” Steve replies, sounding very pleased with himself.

Well, Eddie thinks, appraising and giddy and edging on interested in going again sometime soon because he’s in bed with Steve goddamn Harrington. The guy is an Adonis, all broad, strong shoulders and kiss-reddened smile and everything Eddie has been kind of obsessed with for years. Why not be the dish that ran away with the spoon, in the end?

He does make a quick trip to his own room to grab the blanket off his bed, though, because he spent too many winters in a poorly insulated trailer to run the risk of sleeping cold, no matter how much of a heat source Steve is. After all that life and death stuff, he figures they’ve both earned that comfort.

Earned treating this like it means something, because it does.

It’s everything.

A few weeks later, when Robin inevitably visits them in their shitty two-bedroom apartment, she sleeps in the second room. She openly makes fun of them for two years of friendship and two really dramatic nights to figure their shit out, too—nothing that Eddie hasn’t already heard from Nancy, really, and Steve takes it with resigned good grace.

Eddie loves him so fucking much. He’ll tell him one of these days.

(. . . Lie.)

(He’s already written it on the J-card of the mix tape he’s made for their one-month anniversary.)

#steddie fanfiction #steddie smut #post-canon eddie munson lives #steve harrington has a praise kink #stranger music anthology #lie one more time come on fic

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