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Don’t go wasting your emotion (lay all your love on me)
He can’t believe he’s doing this.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Steve grumbles, looking out the window of Eddie’s van as if there’s something to see. Even though it’s just the same night sky and blurry Hawkin’s landmarks, endless grass and cows whizzing by them as Eddie speeds down the highway toward some party Robin “invited” them too (read, semi-forced). “I literally told Robin I would rather eat glass the last time she wanted me to come to one of these Freak parties.”
“Well,” Eddie says, a lit cigarette clenched between his teeth, “last time, Eddie, your boyfriend, didn’t need the money he’s gonna make selling weed to all your aforementioned freaks at said aforementioned party (“Oh, aforementioned. Did you learn that two dollar word from Nance? Henderson maybe?” “You think you’re so fucking funny don’t you? ”).”
This is, unfortunately, Steve thinks, the truth of the matter. Because yeah, Eddie might’ve gotten his name technically cleared, but it’s not like any of the businesses in Hawkins were rolling out the red carpet and trying to hire him. And it’s not like he hasn’t tried, either. Steve and he had spent an entire afternoon a couple of weeks ago filling out and dropping off applications for him — or at least trying to. Some of them took one look at Eddie, shook their heads, and (usually not very kindly) told him to take a hike. Eddie, of course, had played it off. But from how quickly he’d agreed to sell at Robin’s ex-band geek’s party, it was obvious he was still thinking about it. Because sure, Eddie had his regulars who stopped by the trailer to buy, but similarly, there was no red carpet, not even for the local drug dealer, to be found at most of the parties around here these days.
Not anymore.
For either one of them. Not that Steve was anxious to go back there. He was quite okay with retiring his crown, thank you.
“They’re not my freaks,” Steve says, trying his hardest to keep the grumpy edge out of his voice. “And you know, Dustin says referring to yourself in third person is a sign of Narcissistic Personality Disorder.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, says something snarky, but Steve is too distracted by the way Eddie’s hands look clutching the steering wheel, the way the streetlight sort of made the rings on his fingers glitter in this really mesmerizing way, to hear him. Jesus. Steve can’t even look at Eddie’s fucking hands these days without his brain screeching to a halt.
Too many memories of those hands all over him.
And Eddie always, always knows. Because he’s a dick. “Lost you there for a minute, honey, didn’t I?” And he’s totally not grinning that evil smile as he stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray between them. “Thinking about anything interesting?” Eddie adds, all nonchalant as he reaches across the gearshift to squeeze Steve’s upper thigh. Just for a second before putting his hand back on the wheel.
Maybe someday Steve won’t literally malfunction every time Eddie touches him. He groans, thankful that it’s dark enough that Eddie can’t see just how red his face is right now, now that he’s been caught. “Shut up,” he mumbles. “How long do we have to be here?”
Eddie’s pulled up to the curb now, the final bars of 2 Minutes to Midnight fading away as he kills the engine. When he turns to look at Steve, all of the teasing has leached from his face, replaced by that look of concern that Steve gets, he totally does. But, he also hates it. “Baby, you didn’t have to come. Really. I can take you home right now and it’ll be totally okay —”
Eddie hates when he says this too, but Steve will call them even for the pitying look. Even though he knows it’s not actually pity, but still. “I’ll be fine. I’ll stick close to you. And Robin and Nancy are already inside, and if I freak out — well, I can always hide in the van or something until you're done.”
Sure, that night of The Hideout had its fair share of hiccups, but it certainly had turned out in his favor. Very, very in his favor, Steve thinks, flushing again at the memory of Eddie pressing him into the couch. But he means it, really. It’ll be fine. He wants it to be fine, and he highly doubts that a party thrown by an ex-Tuba player in the marching band is going to get all that wild.
Eddie’s got that look on his face again, sort of pinched with disapproval (which is funny in itself, coming from Eddie. But it seems like he reserves that one specifically for Steve. Go figure) but he doesn’t say anything else, which Steve is grateful for. He’s even more grateful for the way Eddie reaches over, grabs his face, and kisses him thoroughly, deeply, sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip until Steve finds he really couldn’t care less about the party by the time Eddie pulls away.
“That was mean,” Steve breathes out, trying to bite back the whine he knows Eddie is waiting for.
“No, that was an appetizer,” Eddie says, winking in a way that really should be more annoying than it actually is. “Be good, baby, and I’ll give you the whole entree later.”
"Oh my god. You are disgusting." Steve lets out a strangled sound. “You are a menace to society.”
Eddie laughs as he unbuckles his seatbelt, and Steve’s too, before reappearing at the passenger’s side to open the door with a dramatic flourish and bow. It’s more funny than chivalrous because the van’s passenger door is, like, hanging by a thread, and they both wince when the hinges squeal loudly in protest. “No, honey. Just to you, these days.”
…
Steve isn’t quite sure what he’s expecting, but it’s not all that different from the keggers he’d attended (and thrown) in high school. Maybe he’d been expecting more, like, twister and iced tea or something lame like that (although it’s not that lame now, he guesses, considering his main friend group is composed of, essentially, children). But when he and Eddie make it through the front door and start weaving through the crowd, there’s the same moving mass of bodies dancing, smoking, and drinking as any other house party he’s been to. Though, he notices, there are a lot more people here from various cliques — not just band geeks. Freaks, goths, a handful of the nicer jocks (none of Jason’s crew, thankfully). Certainly a more eclectic crowd than the usual A-Crowd parties.
Considering Steve is basically letting his freak flag fly these days, it’s kind of comforting.
It’s crowded enough, thankfully, that Steve can clutch Eddie’s hand without drawing too much attention, and follow his lead to what turns out to be the bonus room where Eddie’s apparently setting up shop for the night. It’s not as crowded as the kitchen, the living room, thankfully. And he can still hear the music — plenty of the usual shit, plus a couple of the weirder bands that Robin likes to make him listen to — but muffled enough that it doesn’t make him feel all that bothered by the noisiness.
There are plenty of couches to sit on, too. And all the better, a few of Eddie’s bandmates — Jeff and Gareth — are sitting down already, Robin and Nancy next to them, so at least he’s greeted with familiar faces. Gareth isn’t exactly Steve’s biggest fan, but it’s not like Steve blames him. Hell, if the situation were reversed, he’d be just as fucking suspicious of some ex-jock dating his best friend. He’s polite at least, and doesn’t completely freeze him out of any conversations. Not that Steve is the most conversational these days,
Eddie’s already busy rolling joints, pulling the one he’s usually got stashed behind his ear and handing it to Steve. Steve’s hands are a little too shaky and his heart is beating just a little bit too fast to deal with that right now, so he just passes it to Gareth, offering a reassuring smile when Eddie fixes him with a curious look. Evidently, Steve passes whatever inspection because Eddie nudges their knees together and goes back to rolling without saying anything else.
“Steve! My best friend!” Robin says, getting up from the chair opposite them to collapse next to Steve (and shoving Gareth aside without so much a second glance, which makes Eddie laugh. A sound that automatically makes Steve feel just a little bit better) on the sofa with a loud oof, her arms and legs splaying awkwardly into his lap. She’s got that goofy smile on her face she gets whenever she drinks, which is rare enough as it is.
“How many has she had?” Steve asks, arching an inquisitive eyebrow in Nancy’s direction from her perch on the arm of the sofa closest to Robin.
“One,” Nancy says, grinning, reaching over to run her fingers fondly through Robin’s hair.
“Hey — and a half!” Robin says, lifting the can Steve hadn’t noticed her clutching in her hands.
Nancy is rolling her eyes, but she’s got that just-for-Robin look in them that Steve just really, really likes seeing these days. Gives him a similar safe feeling that being near Eddie always did.
“Okay, well — I think we can wait on the other half,” Steve says, shaking his head and chuckling when Robin lifts the can above her head when he tries to grab it. All he has to do is tickle her side once before she huffs in protest and gives it up. Before moving resolutely to Nancy’s side to pout.
“Hey, nobody invited Daddy Steve tonight,” Robin grumbles, sticking out her tongue. So childish.
“Oh my god, never ever call me that ever again, Robbie,” Steve hisses, covering his face. “People can hear you.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, that devilish shit-head expression on his face as he leans in close enough just for Steve to hear him, a hot whisper into his ear. “People like me.”
“Asshole,” Steve mutters, squirming slightly if only to quell the shiver that voice always gets out of him. Not that either reaction gets Eddie to stop laughing at him any sooner.
The beer he’d confiscated from Robin was a little over half full, actually, although it’s not even cold anymore. Not that it matters much to him. By the time he finishes it (and has also taken several hits off the still-circulating joint) Nancy and Robin have disappeared again to go drink and dance, and Steve feels a lot less like he’s gonna freak out.
Although, as the night wears on and Nancy and Robin don't come back for a while and Jeff and Gareth disappear in search of more beers, it occurs to Steve that as various customers cycle through the room, people are staring at him.
At first, he kind of thought he was just being paranoid. Anxious like usual, but it’s starting to feel a little like he’s in one of those enclosures in the zoo. It’s not like he’s dressed weird or over-the-top — his regular jeans, one of Eddie’s threadbare Corroded Coffin shirts stretched over his chest. Plus, while he hasn’t left Eddie’s side all night, it’s not like he’s been straddling his lap or anything (it wasn’t fair, he thinks. It’s not like Robin and Nancy had it easy of course, but people were less likely to bat an eye when girls danced together like that. Not that Steve wanted to dance with Eddie. Or straddle his lap at the moment. All that much).
Finally, after a couple of punk-looking girls buying a dimebag from Eddie, who seem much more like the type to go after metalheads than ex-jocks, won’t stop giggling and whispering and staring in his direction, his tongue is apparently finally loose enough to talk.
“Uh — do I, like, have something on my face and nobody’s fucking told me or something?” he asks, exhaling smoke as he passes the still smoldering rolled cigarette to one of the girls – the one with the, frankly, impressive purple-streaked mohawk.
“No – sorry, it’s just —” the blonde one giggles, before going on, almost conspiratorially from the way she leans in like she’s telling a secret, “ — we all heard, you know, about what you did to Jason Carver a couple of weeks ago. It was pretty surprising, I guess. To hear it was King Steve who fought off a whole group of jocks and broke both of Jason's hands.”
At first, all Steve can do is blink dumbly. Because what. But also… fucking Henderson, he thinks, seething. “There were only, like, three of them. And it wasn’t both his hands, Jesus christ. It was only a finger. And Eddie helped,” Steve adds, exasperated. “It’s not like I’m fucking Rambo or something.”
Eddie snorts next to him, because, yeah, okay. Maybe he’s done some Rambo-esque activities in regards to certain interdimensional monsters, but it’s not like these two girls knew that.
“Well, it was still hot,” Mohawk Girl says, shrugging as she passes the joint.
“Extremely,” the blonde says, taking it from her. “So — we heard you and Wheeler were together again. Is that, like, true? Because —” and then, to Steve’s horror, she exhales smoke and leans in again, trying to go for flirty, Steve guesses, because she’s brushing her fingernails over his wrist, her thumb caressing his pulse point.
Nobody’s touched him like this that wasn’t Eddie, that it almost doesn’t register for a second, because it’s so odd and out-of-place to him now, he realizes. Maybe that’s why it takes him a minute to gently (hey, Steve knows how to politely turn down a girl, thanks) pull his hand away. “I’m — seeing someone else, actually,” he offers
“Okay, thanks. Enjoy, have a good night, tell your friends, et cetera,” Eddie says suddenly, with that edge to his voice that Steve definitely hears and recognizes. Not like the girls notice, but Steve is mildly confused by it. Until he looks at Eddie’s face watching the two of them head back into the throng of the crowd.
It’s the same look Eddie’d had that night in the kitchen when he’d wandered in and seen him and Nancy talking. Entirely innocently then too, but apparently it hadn’t mattered to Eddie at the time. Or right now, if the way he’s suddenly getting up from the couch, his hand now encircling Steve’s wrist and pulling him up.
It’s not like Steve’s going to fight or anything – history has shown that he’s more than happy to let Eddie drag him around wherever he wants — but he is sort of curious. “Where are we —”
Eddie just grips his hand tighter and pulls him along a hallway, opening a couple of doors until he finds the bathroom — surprisingly empty – which Steve opens his mouth to remark about also, but he never gets the chance for any more words, only half-hears the click of the lock behind them before Eddie’s pressing him up against the door.
Steve wonders, only briefly before his mind completely fogs over, if Eddie kissing him will ever stop feeling like he’s somehow dying and coming to life all at the same time. Like his feet are stuck to the floor and he couldn’t move, couldn’t stop touching Eddie if he tried. All he can do at this point is hold on for dear life because Eddie’s practically assaulting his mouth with his at this point, messy and fast, with those filthy, sloppy strokes of his tongue that make Steve see stars almost as much as Eddie’s cock in him always did.
When Eddie finally stops long enough for Steve to catch his breath again, he only has long enough to gasp out, “We should not be doing this here,” before Eddie licks into his mouth again.
“I locked the door,” Eddie hums against his lips before pulling back to press a shockingly gentle kiss to his forehead. Even when he’s being insane, Eddie’s still sweet enough to make his legs feel like jello. “And if anyone tries to get in we can just say you’re tossing your cookies or something.”
Okay, yeah, that’s less sweet, Steve thinks, making a pouty face that just makes Eddie grin maniacally and kiss him, ridiculously, on the tip of his nose. Adorable idiot.
“Why do I have to be the barfing one in this scenario?” Steve protests, but what’s the point really. Like he’s going to stop Eddie when he’s touching him like this. Touching him period. He’s been dying for it anyway all night and Eddie knows it.
“You still gotta try to be quiet, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, ignoring his whining, clearly, though the fact that Eddie’s also sucking Steve’s earlobe into his mouth, dirty, as he says this isn’t exactly helpful. “We both know how loud you get.”
“Your fault,” Steve pouts, again, his fingers digging into Eddie’s scalp hard enough to make him growl into his collarbone and slide those big hands of his up the slope of Steve’s back, the cool metal of his rings pulling another very unquiet whimper from his throat. “Not that I’m complaining, but what brought this on, exactly?”
He thinks he knows, but honestly, he kind of just wants to hear Eddie say it. Not that he’s gonna gloat about it. That much.
“You know why,” Eddie grumbles, grinding the thigh he’s got pressed in between Steve’s legs just hard enough to make Steve’s dick throb painfully. God, it’s so fucking annoying, he thinks, when Eddie chuckles into his throat before sucking another hickey just beneath the slightly-stretched collar of his shirt, how easy it is for Eddie to take him apart with only a couple of kisses.
“Mmm — not sure if I do,” Steve singsongs, pulling Eddie’s face back to his mouth for another kiss.
“Brat,” Eddie hisses, but then he’s getting on his knees, and oh my god, that’s a view Steve’s one thousand percent sure he will never, ever get used to. In a good way. When Eddie unzips his jeans and grips his cock, he’s looking up at Steve with this positively feral look in his eyes. “She touched you.”
And there it is. “I know. I’m sorry,” he breathes, his eyes fluttering shut, his teeth clamping down on his lip because now Eddie’s stroking him. So fucking softly. Teasing. It’s too good, and he can’t —
“Not your fault,” Eddie murmurs. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to cut off her hand for it though.”
“You’re insane,” Steve laughs, because Eddie’s joking, obviously, but the fact that he can hear it in his voice, how gone Eddie is just at the thought of somebody else putting their hands on him. It’s hard not to feel precious. Coveted. Wanted in a way that literally nobody else on the planet has made him feel before.
“That is your fault,” Eddie parrots, still pumping Steve’s dick in his clenched fist, just hard enough to make him feel like he’s going to burn up right here in this bathroom before he even gets to come at all. Eddie always makes him feel like that. “You drive me fucking crazy, baby. Christ —”
All Steve can do is whine helplessly at that point because Eddie’s swallowing him practically all the way down his throat, all at once, and it feels a little like someone’s punched him in the lungs and the gut. How can one person be so fucking perfect — how can he even love one person this much?
Eddie’s doing that thing with his tongue, swirling it up and down, flicking that vein on the underside of his cock that makes him buck his hips. Or try to. Eddie’s got his hands held so tightly on his hips there will definitely be bruises tomorrow. Steve isn’t going to think about how the thought of seeing Eddie’s fingerprints, familiar purpling smudges around his waist, makes him get that delirious, giddy feeling the way it always has since the first time he’d woken up with Eddie’s marks on him.
“Eddie —” Steve moans — loud enough, apparently, for Eddie to pull off of him, gaze up at him with a disapproving arch of his eyebrow.
“ No, no — please, I’ll be good, Eds. I’ll be quiet,” Steve whispers, though he’s wiggling slightly, whimpering softly under his breath, still loud enough for Eddie to notice. And disapprove, apparently.
“Would have believed you if you hadn’t done that, princess,” Eddie says. And then he’s reaching in his back pocket for something — something that turns out to be that familiar skull handkerchief he’s always got. Just the sight of it makes Steve dick ache even harder. “You know what to do, sweetheart. Don’t make me get up there and do it myself.”
Steve nods weakly, taking the cloth with slightly-trembling fingers and shoving it between his half-parted lips, biting down.
It was definitely a smart move, honestly, because the make-shift gag is the only thing that keeps him from screaming when Eddie starts to fuck his own mouth on Steve’s cock, holding him against the door and just wrecking him.
It takes almost no time at all for him to shoot down Eddie’s throat. Thankfully, Eddie’s still holding him up even as he tucks Steve back into his jeans and zips him up, that smug smile on his face as he reaches up to stroke Steve’s flushed cheek with his thumb. “All hail, Steve Harrington. Re-coronated King of the Freaks.”
Everything is hazy still, but not hazy enough that Steve can’t manage to stick out his tongue, thrust his hips up just enough against Eddie (who he can feel, deliciously hard still, against his thigh). “Shut up. Dick.”
He can feel Eddie’s grin, shark-toothed, sharp against his throat rubbed raw, sensitive from Eddie’s stubble, his eager mouth. “You love me.”
Steve grins drunkenly (not from the beer, not anymore. It’s all Eddie. Just Eddie, as usual). “I do. You don’t have to worry, you know,” Steve adds softly. “I — I don’t even see them anymore.”
Eddie doesn’t seem all that interested in getting off. He’s rocking against him almost lazily, trailing gentle, sweet kisses up Steve’s jaw. Probably for the best, since there’s bound to be a line outside by now and who knows how much longer they’ve got in here before somebody, like, breaks down the door or something. But he pulls back long enough to offer a puzzled look. “See what?”
Somehow Eddie looking at him like this, it’s still enough to unmoor him. Make him all nervous like some seventh grade girl with a crush. “Any of them. Anyone. I — just want you.”
He hears Eddie’s harsh, shuddering exhale, but he doesn’t get to see Eddie’s face because the older boy hides in Steve’s shoulder, nuzzling him wordlessly for a long minute. And then, Steve hears it.
“Mine.”
Steve just grins, tugs gently on Eddie’s hair to let him know he’s heard him. “Yeah. Yours.”