Archive of Our Own

“Wanna dance, wanna sing, wanna feel my heart beat,”

Steve feels lost after the battle with Vecna. He feels like he almost lost everything but ended up losing nothing and the whiplash is disorienting. There’s something to the finality of it, the instinctive knowledge that they got the mastermind behind it all that’s fucking with Steve. 

Since that first night at the Byers’ there's always been something to fight, something new that pops out of the wood work for Steve to swing his bat at and it's uncomfortable to sit in the knowledge that the bat might no longer be needed.

It still sits in his trunk though. He doesn’t trust the peace. When he sits and thinks about it (which was exactly once ) he realizes that he’s never felt so discombobulated.There was a kind of tranquility in the chaos. His mind was most focussed in the middle of a fight and it felt good . It felt like winning when he swung his bat. The flash and style of the nails became his thing . He was a protector. Who was he if there was nothing to protect from?

He still checks his windows when he gets home, locks the doors on his car as soon as he gets in, wears shoes with laces so he can run if he needs to. They feel like good habits. They feel like a drug.

At this point Steve is just waiting for the other shoe to drop, the monster to rear its head and yell surprise. The Upside Down has snuck up on him so many times that he has to expect it. He needs to be able to roll with the first punch, pivot and fight back on a dime.

He’s not wrong. The other shoe does drop, it's just not how he thinks.

The nightmares come to him out of order; the demogorgon, the dogs and the tunnels with dustin. The junkyard and the mind flayer are all so present and real. They are easy things to hate, to combat, because they are all monsters. But it gets his heart pumping, a dizzying sort of panic that drives him from his bed in his empty house

His house is so silent and the rushing in his ears won't stop, He needs to feel this energy, to feel like he can fight. He's literally bouncing off the walls with paranoia. The back deck of his house leads into his kitchen which leads into his living room and Steve can see the pool light. He hates the pool light, hates his need to keep it on just so he can see out into the darkness

That's another thing he hates, the darkness. It's not even the darkness’ fault. He hates that he needs to push it out, to have all the lights on in the house just to drive it away. He used to love the darkness and all the secrets it kept.

It reminded him of quiet times and cozy isolation. The darkness was always present when his parents weren’t, when his lights were off and he was tucked under the covers, his parents would be in their own room or downstairs in the kitchen quietly loathing each other, formulating plans on how to convince the town that they didn't. The quiet of the dark accompanied him there where he could pretend to believe that lie just to lull himself to sleep.

But now the darkness is poisoned, tainted by the knowledge that where there is peace in ignorance, there is fear in the unknown too. He's conquered this fear before. It's just an enemy, unabashed. He’s fought it and killed it dead. He needs to feel that energy again, the thrumming of bloodlust that spells the end of an evil thing. 

Fingers twitching with energy, he crosses the room and cranks up the stereo. He rifles through his tapes and funds nothing that suits before he remembers the one Eddie gave him a couple of weeks ago. He hasn’t had a chance to listen to it and he doesn't know if it'll be what he needs but he takes the steps two at a time and grabs it from his room.

As soon as he hits play the drums kick in and he knows this is perfect. It's plodding and pushing and perfect for screaming. He doesn't know the lyrics so he just sits in it, bouncing on his toes. He readies himself for a fight, mimes the motions, the roll of his shoulders and the twist of his neck. Suddenly he has the urge to feel close to the darkness again, to sit in it with this kind of aggression. He needs to feel wild like he could be in the same room as the upside down and rip out its jugular with his teeth. He thinks Eddie might like the image.

He makes his way around the house, nearly stalking the halls, to shut off every light. He starts at the edges and works his way to the center of the house. When he’s shut off every light except the living room lamp and the pool light he just breathes. He waits and sinks in the moment. His fingers still itch for his bat but he finds that he wants to use his fists, and wants to imagine the feel of the monster tearing apart under his own hands.

He grunts, nearly growling and stalks over to the switch on the wall, flipping it and plunging the pool deck into darkness. The second track dies and there's silence both audio and visual. He knows it's just the pause before the next song but it feels pregnant, like change. In the silence and the quiet he feels what he’s been looking for, the fear. It feels justified like this. Justified when he's breathless and running and bathed in the light, surrounded by darkness.

He knows what lurks there, he has to remind himself. He knows how to fight it. Angrily he turns his back on the glass doors, on the pool, on the forest beyond and yanks the cord of the living room light. The darkness envelops him as the next song starts. He starts to move, to dance. He feels like a wild animal ragin in his living room at one am. 

He kicks and punches at the air and bangs his head. In between all of that he actually listens to the lyrics. The story they are singing feels like a legend. He kind of feels like a legend, like a ghost, like the memory of Steve Harrington haunting his own life and home. He doesn't feel real.

This fear though, he thinks he only feels real anymore when he’s scared. He’s encountered the supernatural, the real legendary shit, and been spit out the other side. How does he just fucking, go back to normal after all that’s over.

It's driving him a little insane, especially when he’s delirious with sleep deprivation and adrenaline. 

His foot connects with what he thinks is his couch and it hurts but it brings him back to the real world so he kicks it again. And again. And again. And again. He must spend only a half an hour raging and by the time the fifth song ends he’s breathless and tired .

He’s tired of being scared, of needing to feel scared to feel real. But he doesn't feel all that scared right now, just burnt out. His night usually arrives at this point, the one where he’s worked himself into a dead end and his body shuts down. He feels himself getting dragged under. He’s propped up against the couch, one hand gripping his shirt over his heart and the other laying limply on the ground. He can feel his heart beat like this, feel it pumping blood through his veins all the way into his fingertips and it brings him back to earth. He thought his brain would be louder but this music has silenced it. He falls asleep there, head tilted back and thinking of nothing but the music blaring from the speakers.

“Wanna climb up a mountain and run naked through the trees,”

The cassette tape becomes his go to for when he needs to feel a little more alive. Steve goes to record shops to look for other cassettes and ends up with a collection of rage music. It serves as a good substitute for kicking all of his furniture which is a good thing because he bruised both of his toes.

When Robin had asked why he was wincing while they were walking into the diner after work to get an early dinner, he had blown it off as sleeping wrong, stiff joints and an achy neck. These were not technically lies but they were misleading. She didn't need to know how close he was to snapping, not in the daytime. In the daytime everything felt manageable, distant.

Steve feels the need to thank Eddie for the tape but doesn’t know how without disclosing that he uses it for a specific purpose. He listens to it in the car after dropping the boys off at the arcade, just sits in the driver’s seat and faces his car to the forest and dares it to look back. It feels like self destruction, like taking a knife to the throat or a gun to the head and hoping the next touch will be the slice of metal through the skin.

There's a different kind of fear that fills him when he thinks like that. A human fear. This kind of void does not exist because of the monsters, it has existed since the dawn of time. He doesn't want to kill himself but it seems like maybe everything would be a bit more manageable if he could just stop for a moment. Push it all away and fucking sleep for one night.

It makes him think of Billy, of Jonathan, of other things he doesn't want to think about. All the fights he’s lost and how they’d felt. There was fear in the unknown but there was fear in the known too. Fear in seeing your enemy, feeling the split of their knuckles as they cracked your skull open and being unable to escape. 

He’d wanted to feel that when he’d goaded Jonathan on. Wanted to feel like maybe he wasn’t untouchable. He was King at the time, a boy that had other boys to do his bidding and he’d felt horrible. He’d needed that punishment, the tear down of another boy to feel better about getting cheated on by someone he thought he might have loved. At the time it’d felt like justice a little. He’d reached for daggers and found hot pokers; shitty parents and absent family and dead people. Will hadn’t actually been dead but the possibility of his death was just as terrifying.

Steve didn’t have people like that at the time but now, in hindsight, Steve is glad Jonathan punched him. He yearns for that kind of pain again. He wants someone to take him and pin him down and hurt him for all the shitty stuff he’s done, the tainted person he is. 

He remembers the wild, borderline aroused look in Billy’s eyes when he’d straddled Steve on the Byers’ living room carpet. His thighs had bracketed Steve’s and the man had loomed over him, sweat dripping and breath like the panting of a dog. Billy had grinned and Steve groaned, trying to make sense of the threat above him.

Billy had raised his fist and unleashed himself on Steve. He’d been trapped by body weight and delirium and lost in confused pain. The memory of that and the moments after, waking in the car and still barely being able to see, of launching an assault on the tunnels, the fire and slick pump of fear fueled adrenaline through his body, it all made him woozy with a confusing mix of repulsion and want .

He’s terrified of that immobility too. There’s nothing tethering him to this planet more than his ability to run. He thinks of Max, disfigured from her encounter with Vecna. She’s alive but her legs will give her problems for the rest of her life. The only consolation is that she can still run, however limited the amount of time may be.

That's another fear; the kids. He’s kind of okay with the fact that he’s shit at taking care of himself, he kind of feels like he deserves it, though he doesn't think it in so many words. No, the thing that paralyzes him in the end is the thought of anyone else getting hurt again. When he sleeps, dreams about those breathless moments between punches, it's not him he’s scared for. He wants the human touch, it's the only kind that he thinks might be good for him. He’s done terrible things and now he’s just reaping what he's sewn. No, what gets him bolting out of bed at night is the thought that Billy might get through him to the kids.

He had, that night. He’d had Lucas punched up against the wall, growling threats into his pores before Steve had been able to stop him. What if he was a second later? Those fists that’d ground into Steve's cheek bones and nearly broken open his skull like an egg. What if they had wound up and driven through Lucas? Max? Mike? Dustin? His brain refuses to process it.

Until he sleeps that is.

It's a week or so after Steve had his midnight mosh and he’s still riddled with that jitter. He’d gone to sleep knowing it was going to be a bad night. Despite his day hanging with Eddie, a new development that has Steve chasing after him. 

He likes being around Eddie, his manic energy and boisterous attitude. It feels like a touch of that chaos he’s looking for when he plays the cassette on repeat. Eddie couldn’t go very many places so Steve’d swiped a movie on his way out from work and they’d watched together. He knows it's probably just because it's daytime when he gets to Eddie’s new trailer, but there's something settled about being in the older man’s presence.

Even though Eddie knew him in highschool, he only really knew about him, knew the rumors of his legendary reign over Hawkins High. There’s less history, more clarification in their conversations. Steve feels like maybe he could remake himself in Eddie’s presence.

So they’d watched the movie and smoked a bit and Steve just wanted to bask in it. There had been a giddy feeling building in his chest at the prospect of peace. The smell of Eddie’s cologne and his leather wax and something that was just him. Maybe cigarettes and weed or maybe just the natural aroma of his sweat. It was like a trigger, making Steve sigh and his muscles unclench.

While Steve had just been looking for an excuse to be around the man, Eddie had genuinely watched the movie; pointed out things that he thought were interesting, laughed and commented on the plot. Steve listened, of course he did, no one could ignore the rasp of Eddie Munsons voice, but he mostly watched Eddie. Watched him have full conversations with himself. His hands were so expressive. They waved through the air and fluffed up his own hair, leaned on the ground so he could whisper conspiratorial words in Steve's ear when Eddie had figured out the plot twist.

It was intoxicating, being near him. It grew to be his drug of choice after a while, a couple of weeks of movie nights and midnight dinners and smoke sessions after work down at the quarry and Steve knew he was whipped.

He’d debated calling Eddie on so many occasions, especially late at night when he woke in a cold sweat craving the comfort of Eddie’s laugh. He hadn’t yet, didn't know if that's the kind of friends they were. Eddie might not care about the woes of Steve Harrington. 

Often Steve would think of how he deserved it. He used to eat up boys like Eddie Munson, tear them apart and drive them from polite society. The man would be justified in torturing Steve. Like knuckles to his head, Steve kind of craves it.

So that night he falls asleep after watching a movie with Eddie, stewing in self hatred and has a billion dreams. It's like a photo reel, the flashes of moments clicking through his mind's eye. The image of Dustin keeled over and choked on his own blood, Max with her inner organs on her outsides, Lucas’ head bashed in. Mike and Nancy and even Jonathan suspended in mid air as their bones disintegrate. All the while he's pinned down.

He doesn't even know what to do, just that his feet won't move and his eyes can’t look away. When he is able to take a step it's like he's walking on sand. His feet sink in and barely goes anywhere, just trapped as the monsters come and devour the bodies. 

It's here, splayed across a concrete wall that Billy makes an appearance. He has blood pooling in his mouth and spilling down his jaw, a viscous grin plastered onto his face. His eyes are black and there's a hold in his middle. Steve can’t see though the hole but in this dream world he feels like he can, feels his hand plunge through the sticky center and out the other side. There's a sick pleasure in it. He thinks that on the edge of getting bashed in the head again by Hargrove, at least there's the pleasant knowledge that the man is dead.

His body laughs with fear and the joy and the need to move .

He’s scrambling up and out, limbs suddenly unlocking. There’s something tangled around his feet; he kicks and twists and he’s free. He runs across the room and out the door, down the stairs and just leaves the house. He can’t process anything but the need to leave.

He doesn’t know how long he runs. He’s only snapped out of it when he trips, the lance of pain spiking up from his foot and into his knee. The first thing he registered was the thought of feeling far enough away from the danger, his feet were bloody and he’s panting.

Steve’s in the woods, surrounded by underbrush and tree cover. There’s a cold mulchy residue mixing with the early morning dew. The trees are still a bit spread out so he must not be too far in.

He tries to move, roll over and get to his feet but he only falls. As the adrenaline starts to wane he can suddenly feel the throbbing pain in his ankle. He fucking twisted it in his mad dash to escape.

He feels a scream building in his throat but pushes it down. Right now he needs a solution, not emotion. God he’s fucking stupid. What was he running away from? Himself? Little images in his head that scared him? He’d bolted out of bed before, maybe jumped across the room, but never left the house entirely. And now he was out in the woods with a possibly broken ankle and no way to call anyone.

With concerted effort he pushes through the fire racing up his leg and gets to his feet, resting his weight on the closest tree.

This is the first time he’s felt grateful for the light in his pool. The soft glow emanating from the trees is like a guiding light. What’d felt like miles was actually a couple dozen yards from his own backyard. That was doable.

Traitorous was his mind though. It reminded him of the darkness, the threat. The thing he was running from came from the forest originally, birthed from its depths. The mulch spreading between his toes didn't help either, only brought him back to the upside down, to demo bats and slimy skin around his throat, his flesh ripped from his middle by otherworldly fangs, the ensuing infection.

He’d nearly turned green with it. There was something about running around barefoot in the upside down with gaping fleshwounds that made you vulnerable to alien pathogens. Who;d have thought. Somehow Eddie had gotten off scot free and not had to deal with the vomiting and the smell of rotting flesh. Maybe they were able to haul him out of the Upside Down before anything had a chance to dig inside him and lay eggs. Steve had wrapped himself up and gone back . Spent a total of three hours in the alternate dimension. It's like he’d been begging for it. Maybe he had been.

He hadn’t gotten close to dying but had seemed like it to everyone else. The infection had made his skin smell like it was dying on his bones. Steve doesn’t remember it but Dustin hadn’t hesitated to share the gorey details.

Long story short his idiot brain reminds him of this all while he’s hobbled and coming down in the woods where his ex-girlfriend’s best friend got eaten .

The panic builds slowly this time as he limps back to his house. It's a crescendo of blood and memory and breath. When he slides the door shut behind him it's so quiet. He didn't realize how many sounds there were outside until he cut them off. He wants them back.

He can't let himself loose in his living room. He can barely reach the top of his kitchen counter. it takes a monumental effort but he leverages himself back up to his feet and reaches for the phone.

He can’t call Nancy, honestly he doesn’t know her and Jonathan’s new number. Plus, wouldn’t that be weird? They hadn’t really discussed their conversation in the woods in the upside down, his embarrassing confession. He was over it but…nope. He can’t call Nancy.

He doesn’t think he wants to be called Robin. He loves her but he doesn’t know if she’ll understand this feral anger inside of him; he’s always tried to hide it from her, at least a bit. He’s too wild right now, too close to lashing out. He’ll just hurt her.

But Eddie? Maybe Eddie will get it. He got eaten up too, forced to watch as the bats chewed at him. He’d looked into Dustin’s eyes and smiled as he nearly died.

Steve dials.

Eddie picks up on the third ring

“Hello,” Eddie’s voice floats through the air. Steve is a little loopy so he doesn’t answer right away.

“Hello?” Eddie asks again and Steve groans.

“Hey Eddie.”

“Steve, what's wrong?” Is it terrible of Steve that he kind of likes the note of concern in Eddie’s voice? He can hear it through the airwaves, washing over him.

“Hey I uh, I need a bit of help.”

“Steve.” Eddie’s voice is hard but Steve barely hears it. He doesn’t like how woozy he feels. His bone didn’t break skin so he’s not bleeding. Maybe it was the adrenaline. It's all left his system now and his knees feel like they’re shaking apart. Steve sits down, dragging the handheld with him.

“Yeah?”

“What happened, are you hurt?”

“Uh, yes. I may have twisted my ankle. Like a lot.” He feels a natural desire to downplay this. It's not that bad really, Steve’s just being dramatic. He’s taken worse. He has to feel like he can take worse.

“God I’m stupid,” he mutters, “I don’t even know why I called.”

“Steve.” There’s panic when Eddie says his name, “what the fuck. Hey I’ll be there in like ten minutes just stay awake okay?” Not all of that was meant for him but Steve nods before remembering that Eddie can’t see him.

“Aye aye captain,” he says with a mirthless laugh.

In the absence of Eddies voice steve feels a sickening dread start to pool in his gut. He closed the door, he knows he did, but the darkness seeps in anyway. It's festering in him, filling him with twin cells of self-loathing and the need to be taken into someone’s arms. He wants someone to pet his hair and call him good. He wants someone here to treat him nicer than he deserves but who the fuck would want to do that? Who would see him and think he’s  worthy of that kind of care?

“Stevie?” Eddie asks and Steve jumps. Steve forgot he was on the line. Actually, he thought he’d already left. It felt like it had been an eternity.

“Yeah?” Steve whispers back.

“I’m coming sweetheart just…just hold on okay?”

Steve wants to cry.

He doesn’t.

“Wanna scream ‘til I’m blue, light a fire to jump through,”

The drive to the hospital is tense. Eddie had found Steve where he’d left him when the line had died. The dial tone was blaring through the speaker but Steve preferred it to the silence. He’d been looking into the middle distance, his arm propped up on one knee with his bum leg stretched out in front of him. 

Eddie’s face appearing in front of him had broken the trance and Steve blinked hard. His eyes were dry and he’d felt a little skittish but a few words from Eddie and he was hobbling to the van parked haphazardly out front.

They’re halfway to the emergency room when Eddie finally breathes. Steve has his head resting on the window, the vibrations of the road drilling into his head. He thinks it's fitting. 

“Steve what the hell?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes and he can sense Eddie puff up like a bird.

“No seriously, explain what happened. It's three in the morning Stevie, how’d you break your ankle?”

“I went running, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to,” Steve replies quietly. He doesn’t want to talk about it except that he does. The scream is still mounting in the back of his throat. Building and biding its time. Steve suppresses his shudder. 

“What does that mean?” It's Eddie’s incredulous tone that forces it out of him. Steve says confesses it all in one breath, lets it out into the cabin air and breathes with it.

“I fucking, I had a nightmare alright. I didn’t know where I was so I ran. I tripped, really, I did. I didn’t know who to call so I called you. Fuckin. Yeah…” Steve deflates, “I called you okay?”

Eddie’s quiet for a while, just their breathing and the sounds of asphalt under tires as they trundle along the pothole filled back roads. When Eddie speaks next it's barely audible.

“What did you mean when you said ‘you don’t even know why you called?’”

Steve thinks on his answer. He doesn’t want to scare Eddie but he doesn’t want to be dishonest either. There’s more to this self-loathing than just mean words. He wants things to hurt, wants the punishing crash of fists on his skin, wants to rip himself open and bleed on the Earth. At least that way he’s good for something. Good for plant fertilizer and a punching bag.

“Maybe I just caught up with it all. I don’t know why I- why I try to do it anymore.” His voice is toneless but he’s a little scared. He lied. He does want to freak Eddie out, wants to see if this hurts him. He wants to see if someone cares enough to call him out on it.

“Steve.”

“Sometimes I think we’d all be better off if I just- Stopped one day.”

“Fuck you Steve.” The words rip from Eddie’s chest and when Steve looks over in shock, Eddie's eyes are furious.

“What-”

“No fuck you, you don’t get to make vague as hell statements about wanting to die like you don’t have some of the best people looking out for you. You don’t see anyone anymore. I know, I talked to Robin,” at Steve’s face Eddie bullies along, “Yeah we talk now, we hang out cause you’re not there and she’s so worried. She doesn’t know how to reach out to you but- fuck.” Eddie breathes harshly.

“Steve I know what you need, and that’s to wake the fuck up.” At that Steve barks a laugh, throwing his head back a little violently.

“No, I need sleep Eddie. I’m so fucking tired .” He closes his eyes so it's a shock when he feels the calluses of Eddie's fingers gripping his jaw. Steve’s head swivels to look at Eddie. His fingers are tight enough to bruise. It feels a little twisted that Steve knows it won’t leave a mark.

Eddie’s holding the wheel with one hand and he takes a moment before he takes his eyes off the road and looks at Steve. 

“You’ve got a life here Steve. Don’t give that up. Don’t let it take that from you too.” Eddie’s voice softens as do his eyes and Steve melts a little. The numbness thaws and a tear finally rolls down his cheek.

“Okay.”

____

Eddie puts his foot down and forces Steve to live with him until he’s healed. Eddie lives in a new trailer, separate but close by to his uncle. It’s a little messy and sparse but it’s undeniably Eddie’s. While he resents Eddie bullying him into leaving his house, he finds a little bit of pleasure in getting to be in Eddie’s space.

It’s kind of the only thing that feels good for a while. He calls out from work for the week, lets Robin know he’s okay, asks Eddie to fill her in if she wants to know. He’s on suicide watch. Per Eddie. It’s  humiliating. 

He’s embarrassed when the sun rises. His cast is black as are the rings around his eyes but Eddie’s there, making sure he’s comfortable on the couch. There are little bursts of joy in between the overwhelming numbness.

Eddie goes to work during the day, leaving Steve to stew in it. Eddie works at a sympathetic mechanic’s shop about two towns over. It’s terrible for his gas budget but it gets Eddie work experience. He does off the books jobs and smaller repairs the other technicians have little time or patience for. He mainly stays out of the way and minds his business. The only person he really talks to is his boss.

All this Eddie tells to him while he makes dinner. After he’s showered and gotten the grease off his skin, he heats them both microwave dinners and they sit in front of the TV and veg.

It holds Steve’s head above water even though he’s still quiet. It's like all of his words evaporated with his confession to Eddie that night. He wants to let Eddie know it won’t happen again, that he was low and now he feels a little more okay. Instead he tries to say it in the nudge of his toes against Eddie’s where they lay facing each other on the couch. He tries to say it with small smiles and clean sinks, and folded blankets. 

He’s feeling kind of shitty today both in mind and in body. He’s short without meaning to be, selfish and greedy and cruel. Everything he’s been trying to get rid of. He doesn’t want to be King Steve anymore.

Steve keeps rubbing at his knee like that’ll solve anything. He was weaned off the pain medication and stopped taking it entirely yesterday. His ankle still throbs though. Its manageable but a bitch and he’s cranky about it.

“You okay?” Eddie asks. Steve appreciates that he doesn’t tip toe on eggshells around him. He just creates a space, lets Steve exist. He’ll owe Eddie so much for all of this.

“Yeah I’m-” he cuts himself off and really thinks about it. Is he okay? He doesn’t think he’s ever really been okay. His life is a series of masks and like he said before; he’s tired.

“No actually, my whole leg hurts.” He closes his eyes for a second and when he opens them, looks at Eddie, his eyes are a little wide.

“Um, okay. Do you want to- Wanna smoke?”

“Fuck yes.”

Steve manages to get up on his own, hobbles with his crutches across the room and out of the door. The steps give him a little trouble but it's mostly because of the door. Its spring loaded and keeps whacking him in the shins when he tries to side step down.

By the time Eddie joins him Steve is a little sweaty but a whole lot more comfortable. He likes these chairs, likes Eddie’s front stoop. It feels like a good people watching spot.

Eddie lights up, the sound of the click and hiss of flame filling the air. It crackles through the rolling papers. He hears Eddie inhale and exhale and Steve turns to him. With one hand Steve makes grabbing motions for the joint, with the other he asks for the lighter. Eddie hands him the joint first and follows with the lighter, a little confused.

The little huff of laughter that comes out of him makes Steve smile a little. It's cute.

Steve sticks the joint between his lips and breathes in. He runs his thumb along the lighter’s strike. It sparks to life and there's a flame, the safety’s been removed so there’s little sparks mingling with the fire. It's got some color to it. It's mesmerizing. He lets the flame die.

They sit in silence for a while waiting for the weed to melt into their muscles. When it does, Steve feels a bit better. He can still feel the pain and the memories but they feel a little further away, easier to ignore. He tries to lean his head back but there’s no headrest so he slouches down in his chair until he can rest his head on the metal bar that frames the chair.

In his right hand is the lighter, to his left is Eddie, and straight out in front of him is the afternoon sun hanging in the sky over the trailer park. Behind him is the trailer, a known quantity. He finds he’s content, here in the daylight with Eddie.

He flicks his thumb over the strike of the lighter lazily. It's not enough to light the flame but a couple sparks fly from the tip.

“I hate myself all the time now, I feel like I can’t tell anyone that but you,” Steve says numbly. He can't look at Eddie, just rolls his thumb, spinning the metal strike.

Eddie’s tone is a little wry when he responds, Steve can hear the small smile, “I gathered that.” Steve huffs a laugh, a little self-deprecating thing because yeah, it's obvious.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to take it out on you though.”

“Steve.”

“No, I’ve been a shitty person, it’s not- you don’t deserve that.”

“Shut up”

“What?”

“I said shut up Steve Harrington. I might have said you were a shitty person about you a year ago, but not anymore. You have to know how I see you.” Eddie’s tone is a little desperate. 

“What do you mean?”

“Oh god you don’t, you don’t see it? I told you already, Dustin worships you , he loves you like a brother and every time I’ve talked to him lately he’s just been worried about you. I’m worried about you…”

“Why do you care?” Steve whispers, mystified. 

“Why do I care?”

“Yeah, what could possibly make you care about me?”

“Well for one you saved my life-”

“I didn't-”

“-and two I actually got to know you.”

There's a pause.

“Steve, no one else knows that I like peanut butter the as much as I do.” The comment seems absurd that Steve can't help the laugh that escapes.

“I didn’t even really tell you, I just mentioned it and you brought me some the next time we hung out. You listen to me talk and you don't interrupt and you're funny. You love Dustin and you laugh at his stupid fucking jokes. You’re smart-” Steve makes a sound of protest but Eddie bowls him over, turns to him and reaches out to grab his forearm where it's still lying on the arm rest of the lawn chair.

“You are. I love your stupid insistance that we go on walks when we get too high and that you bring home movies that you literally picked up at random. I like going on little stupid adventures with you. I l-like you okay? I can’t have you self-destructing. It hurts too much.”

Steve doesn’t know what to do with all that. Those were things he just did, he thought they were expected, but Eddie lists them like they’re important to him. They’re looking at each other now, Eddie’s eyes fierce and Steve knows he looks desperate.

It feels like water, it cleans off the sticky residue, leaves him clean. He drinks in the praise and leans in towards Eddie. He feels like a sunflower turning toward the sun. Hah. Eddie, water and sun and maybe everything he needs to survive, to move on.

“I feel like going feral. All the time.” Steve grits out. His eyes haven't left Eddie’s, he doesn’t even know if either of them have blinked. Eddie takes the joint and pulls in, holds the smoke, and exhales it from the corner of his mouth. The wind still blows some of it his way and Steve breathes in. The ghost of Eddie’s breath flowing over him.

“That’s okay.”

“I want to scream.” He says brokenly, just for Eddie. 

“Then do it.” The words pull Steve up short. He doesn't know how actually screaming will help. He’s always thought it was a metaphor, one of those things in school that went over his head. People don’t feel this strongly, and they definitely don’t need to claw sounds out of themselves to feel a little fucking stable. To expel them into the atmosphere and let them go. Eddie isn’t like him though. Eddie embraces the absurd and in a way Steve never has. He’s never even thought it could be an option for a man like him to change like that.

Steve breathes out again and turns his hand over to reach for the nearly finished joint. Eddie’s hand is still on his arm and Steve nearly cries when it stays despite the movement. Instead of handing it to him though, Eddie places the joint between Steve’s lips and tilts his head as if to order him to suck. Steve holds Eddie’s gaze as he breathes in.

As he holds it in.

As he turns awat, faces the street.

As he balls himself up and just fucking yells.

He has to curl himself over to push it all out, the screams and the pain and the fear and anger and grief. It's all built up and it really does feel like he’s taking out all of these packages of emotion and shipping them off to wherever.

Eddie’s hand stays, grips tighter at Steve's forearm like he thinks Steve will shake him off but Steve would never dream of it. Right now the feeling of Eddie’s fingers digging half moons into his skin is a rope to the real world, his only way back lest he gets lost in the maelstrom.

When he collapses against the back of his chair he’s still making little pained sounds. It's as if he’s wounded, ripped out the stitches to get at the infection and scraped as much as he can out. He only wishes Eddie were closer, that he could hold him tight. Or maybe Eddie could hold him. Maybe Eddie could wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders and kiss the crown of his head and just speak about happy things.

Maybe Steve could ask Eddie, selfishly, to tell him more of the things he likes about Steve. He’d respond, whisper back the little anecdotes and quirks Eddie has that Steve loves too. Let Eddie in on this thing that's building inside of Steve, full of affection and need.

Instead he moves his arm, dislodges Eddie’s hand and clasps it in his own. In the middle of it all Steve’s realized he’s been crying but he doesn’t really care. He’s always felt like he can be broken around Eddie, what’s a little crying in the face of that?

Eddie holds back just as tightly, his thumb stroking along the skin of Steve’s hand. It's soothing. Grounding. He runs his thumb along the strike of the lighter still in his other hand. He looks down at the flame. It's little but could grow so big. He liked fire. The way it burns and warms and destroys. It's versatile and persistent. It reminds him of a strong defense and an even stronger offense. It reminds him of good things.

He can still feel Eddie’s eyes on him, a mile away in his own chair. Steve takes the hand in it and rests his elbow on the arm rest. Hands intertwined he brings their fingers to his mouth. He doesn't kiss, just rests them along his lips and breathes, closing his eyes. He wants to envelop their joint arms, bottle the moment and have the freedom to uncork the scent whenever he’s feeling lonely.

He sniffles and lets the tears roll down his cheeks.

“Better?” Eddie speaks softly, no longer treating him like a wild animal. Instead it's soft and inviting, full of affection.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles small, the effort it takes is monumental and the result is watery but he’s full of some bittersweet kind of joy. It feels good to be here. He knows it won't last but he’s enjoying it for the moment. There’s this sprouting hope in his chest that maybe he’ll get to be here again.

It's unspeakably intimate and so good that if Steve weren’t already crying he might’ve just started.

“You’re okay.” Eddie whispers and Steve repeats it back. He’s starting to believe he could be.

“I’m okay,” and he really breathes for the first time in months.

“Wanna howl at the moon,”

It's an avalanche from there. Steve’s never seen an avalanche but he’s seen clips of them in science classes and on TV. They’re roiling and devastating and beautiful. All he used to be is in ruin in the avalanche of Eddie Munson on his life. He’s everywhere. In Steve’s car or at his job or in his thoughts as he takes out the trash.

Steve loves it. He’s not fully pushed out the pain and fear but what he did manage to rid himself of left a hole. It left a little cave for Eddie to bury himself in and make a home.

Now he’s not so preoccupied he wants Eddie like never before. He felt like he needed Eddie, like Eddie could keep his feet planted, but now he can't get enough of him.

It's been five weeks since Steve screamed and they’ve been dancing around each other (even if Steve can only hobble on his cast). He’s supposed to get it removed later on today and he’s looking forward to it. He’s a little scared too. Scared that Eddie will move on once Steve doesn’t technically need him to take care of his ankle anymore. He shoves down that fear though. It's not like before when he’d ignore it. Now it's like he recognizes the uselessness of the thought, how little he needs to keep it around.

He’s excited too because this feels like the end of one thing and the beginning of another. He doesn’t know what he’s anticipating but something will happen once he gets the cast cut off. Something will change.

The drive to the hospital is tense. It's emanating from Eddie. It's in the line of his shoulders, the white knuckled grip he has on the steering wheel. It's like that when they wake up, when they load into the van, as they clamber out and through the double doors. 

Steve doesn’t really know what set him off today. Maybe it's being in a public setting. Eddie hates getting recognized, hates getting questions from clueless teenagers about what it was like to kill someone. It always puts him in a bad mood and Steve can’t blame him. 

But Eddie would have told him about something like that. Steve can’t recall anything that might have gotten under the man’s skin.

Eddie has to step behind him when another couple passes them and Eddie’s hands go to the tops of Steve’s hips. Eddie’s left pointer finger manages to find Steve’s skin and Steve shivers a little. He shakes his head. Hospital. Cast. Eddie . 

They check in fine and find some seats fine but Eddie’s obviously not fine and while Steve kind of likes the tense atmosphere, he wants it to be a little more playful and a lot less ‘murder glare.’

“Eddie.” Steve says firmly.

“What?” Eddie’s head snaps to him, a snarl on his tongue.

“Shut the fuck up,” his harsh tone snaps at Eddie and his eyes widen.

“What?”

“Do you want to kill that kid's teddy bear with your eyes?” He asks, a hard edge in his voice.

“Shit sorry Steve, I just-” Eddie cuts himself off, bowing his head and leaning on his elbows. His jacket swings open, draping across the outside of his thighs.

“You just what? Come on man, you’re fine. I’m fine, we’re both gonna be fine.”

“I am not fine,” Eddie says with a little self deprecating laugh.

“Is this about being out and about? People stopped caring about your reputation as soon as the chief was legally resurrected. You’re okay. This’ll be over soon and we’ll go back to the trailer and everything will be fine .” Steve realizes that he’s kind of trying to convince himself too.

“No, Steve- shit,” Eddie grits out. He looks around the waiting room and Steve looks out too, trying to see what Eddie’s searching for.

His eyes snap back when he feels Eddie’s hand on his wrist. All of a sudden Eddie’s pulling Steve’s hand, dragging it under the wall of Eddie’s leather jacket and resting it on the junction of his pants. Eddie’s hand leaves and he can’t meet Steve’s eyes.

Steve leans back in his chair, otherwise not moving an inch. 

Under his palm he can feel how big Eddie is in his pants, his hard length stressing the zipper. The breath evaporates from Steve’s lungs and he licks his lips. He kind of needs water, instead he has Eddie munson’s clothed cock twitching slightly in his hand.

He turns his neck to look at Eddie. His eyes roam up the line of the man’s neck, the embarrassed flush running up to his ears.

“Hey,” he says lowly.

“That’s why I’m so tense. I’m sorry I didn’t-” Steve squeezes his hand, pushes the heel of his palm across the zipper of Eddie’s jeans and pulls away. Steve’s a little giddy at the face Eddie makes. His eyes bug and he drops his face to hide it behind his hair.

Out in public, where anyone can see. It gives Steve a head rush. It feels like the good kind of danger. The same hand that just palmed Eddie goes up to the nape of Eddie’s neck, just rests there as Steve leans closer.

“It’s okay, honey.” Steve grins. He knew something would change today. 

He barely hears Eddie’s whispered “fuck” before his name is being called and he’s picking himself up. He’s half hard now but he has to ignore it, to will it away before it gets too noticeable in his sweats.

He has a cast to have removed.

_____

When he’s done, his cast a memory and his ankle free, he didn’t even consider returning anywhere else but Eddie's trailer. This place has become home in a way that his childhood house never was. There are no bad memories here, no calming darkness or unpleasant glow. He’s just Steve living with just Eddie.

He walks up the two steps on his own two feet, barely a limp in sight. He can feel Eddie’s eyes burning into his back and loves it. He wants Eddie to eat him with his eyes. Finds this is a new need to replace his old one. He can’t self-destruct anymore now that he knows he’s hurting Eddie in the process. Why not give the reins to Eddie, let him handle it all? 

He steps through the threshold and Eddie is instantly there, in his space, breathing his air. The breath is punched out of Steve’s lungs as Eddie turns him and pushes him against the front door. The bang of the door shutting is the final straw. They're locked onto this trajectory, for better or worse. Eddie’s hands are on his face, thumbs just in front of his ears, his forearms brushing against Steve’s chest. Steve glances down at Eddie’s lips and back up again. He knows Eddie sees, he can tell by the way Eddie’s eyes widen, his pupils dilate and his mouth parts just a sliver.

“Is this okay,” Eddie whispers. He leans in closer as if pulled by a magnet. 

“Yes,” Steve responds and Eddie surges forward, pulling Steve’s mouth into his own at the same time. Their bodies collide despite already touching from toe to hip. Eddie shifts and drives his leg between Steve’s and Steve whines . He’d forgotten a bit about his dick but now he’s reminded. His hardening cock is dragged up the line of Eddie’s thigh and Steve chases after it.  

He’s panting and he wants more, wants to feel all of Eddie, wants skin on skin, wants Eddie inside him whatever way the older man wants.

But Eddie leans back and Steve catches a playful look in his eye. Eddie just looks at him, the motion of Eddie’s chest leaning away only puts more weight on Eddie’s leg. The one between Steve’s. It's like another punch to the gut. Steve rolls his hips and moans at the contact, lost in the little shocks of gratification that shoot through him.

“Look at you,” Eddie murmurs, “so pretty.” The words don’t seem like they’re for Steve, it's like Eddie is talking to himself but they go straight to Steve’s dick anyway. He feels the precome start to spot his underwear. Thank god he decided to wear sweats to the appointment and not jeans, he’d be dying right now otherwise.

“Say that again,” Steve groans and Eddie smiles.

“What, call you pretty?” Steve chokes, rolls his hips down and starts shamelessly grinding little circles onto Eddie’s thigh.

“Yes,” Steve breathes.

“I’ll call you pretty every day of the week, sweetheart. Fuck I love the sounds you make.” Eddie groans tightly in his chest. One of Eddie’s hands drifts a little lower to cup Steve’s neck, his thumb resting right over the pulse point. The other hand drops to Steve’s hip, slides around to his back pocket and palms his ass. 

“God I always wanted to call you a pretty boy. Always. I never knew if you'd like it. But god I wanna see you, wanna see everything.” Steve is making little high pitched grunting sounds as he rolls his hips, as Eddie’s hand guides him through the motion. Steve’s cock is fully hard now and he rubs himself, adjusts the angle so his balls are straddling the line of Eddie's thigh. It makes his knees weaken, making him fall a little bit.

He’s almost sitting on Eddie’s knee now, head thrown back making sounds he’s never made before. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he just reaches out for Eddie. They land on the man’s chest and he gathers the fabric in his fists. Holds on for dear life. 

“Fuck baby, just like that. I wanna see you take me, wanna see my dick up your ass. I wanna see you beg for it.” Eddie leans closer with it, removes his hand from Steve’s hip to get at his own pants. Steve hears his zipper and the rustle of denim as Eddie pulls out his cock. Steve wakes up enough to look down. He’s never sucked a cock but he thinks he wants to with the way his mouth waters.

“Eddie,” Steve whines.

“What is it baby?” Steve shudders at the sound, the pet name and the gravelly texture to Eddie’s voice. In the quiet before he answers he can hear the sounds of Eddie jerking himself off, just looking at Steve. He has to swallow before he speaks.

“I think I’m gonna come.” He whispers, his hips get desperate and his rhythm is fucked but he’s so close. He feels it building, clenching his muscles and pushing as hard as this position allows into Eddie’s jeans. He’s so wet that the friction is different. There’s no pain, just pressure and the zing of pleasure through his pelvis, the hot slick of his own come against his dick.

“Come for me then, it's okay,” Eddie’s close when he says it, breath ghosting over Steve’s ear and he’s coming. It shoots into the fabric and everything feels so slippery in his pants. He grins at the sensation, hits his head on the door and keeps rubbing himself down Eddie’s leg anyway. 

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” Eddie groans, reaching out with his teeth and taking Steve’s earlobe in between them. Steve feels himself spurt and stutter a little at the tone and the touch. It feels like he’s boneless and floating. Like he could do anything. 

Eddie’s still going though, leaning against Steve and thrusting his hips into the ring of his own fingers. Steve’s coming back to himself and he can feel a desperate edge to Eddie’s movements. He relates to it, and understands that need . It's something they share now.

Steve reaches up, untangling his fingers and takes Eddie’s wrist from where his hand was still holding the side of Steve’s neck, bringing it around to the front. Eddie’s eyes are wide and he’s a little breathless, hips still stuttering. Chasing the high.

“Hold me, squeeze me here, I don’t care. Use me.” Steve says it quietly but forcefully. He wants Eddie to know that Steve is his. Needs Eddie to know that he could do anything and Steve would beg for it. He’s so gone for the man it should be embarrassing but it just feels like waking up. 

There’s wonder in Eddie’s eyes, a little bit of disbelief. His hips have slowed, Steve can feel it when Eddie rocks against his still sensitive dick, how he’s diverted his attention to the hand at Steve’s throat.

Eddie does a little experimental squeeze. It's there and gone again but the feeling jolts the breath from Steve’s lungs, makes his head jerk back against the door. At this rate he’s going to get another concussion but he doesn’t care.

“You gotta-” Eddie starts but seems to choke on his own spit. He clears his throat before he continues. “You gotta let me know if I go too far.” Eddie sounds scared and that’s the only thing that sobers Steve. He nods his head.

“I need to hear you say it.” There's more force in his voice now and he punctuates it with a little pressure with his fingers. Steve’s hands scramble at Eddie’s wrist and he holds him there, looks up through half lidded eyes and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Yes, yes, I- yes, please ,” he sounds so needy when he says it, the sound of his own desperation makes Steve’s dick twitch. He’s already come once but he’s getting hard again. He’s still so full of come. Eddie’s fingers tighten enough to make Steve struggle and his mouth drops open. A breathy moan escapes his throat without his consent and his eyes roll back.

“Fuck Steve,” he hears Eddie say. It's like he shocked Eddie out of the little game they were playing, the one where Eddie has his way with Steve, whispers praise to him and makes him desperate for release. It makes Steve preen, makes him moan a little louder when Eddie’s hand tightens again.

He can barely register the world around him. There's the feeling of Eddie's rhythmic weight pushing him into the door. The sounds of him fisting his cock, tiny puffs escaping from Steve’s mouth. But his air is cut off and he can’t breathe and his vision is going fuzzy and it feels so good .

It feels like oblivion, like being tamed. He bucks at hard as he can, the scrape of overstimulation almost too much. There’s a continuous stream of come leaking from his cock, the pressure at his neck jerking with the drag of his hips. His pants are so wet now and he lets his hand fall down to feel it. He runs the heel of his hand over his dick and feels it flutter.

Steve slips his hand under his waistband and clamps his hand over his cockhead. Trapped between the soggy fabric covering Eddie’s knee and Steve's hand, Steve pushes his cock through the tight hole he’s made. All the while his eye contact with Eddie has been uninterrupted, Steve staring at him, half lidded.

“God your mouth,” Eddie breaks first, looking down Steve’s throat. The younger man has slid down the wall so he's supporting his weight on Eddie’s thigh. Steve tries to respond but it gets stuck. Eddie looks like he’s suffering just looking at him.

He taps Eddie’s wrist when his vision starts to spot and Eddie releases. His hand is still resting there, a pleasant weight, but there's air rushing into his lungs and the scent of everything is heady. Their mingled sweat and come wafting around the room. Its the smell of sex and as he pulls in lungs full of air he comes for a second time. He feels it shoot into his hand, warm strings coating his fingers. His hand is coated in it.

He spreads it along the line of his cock, slicking himself up. It feels so intoxicating to just stroke himself, even when his dick can only jump weakly in his hold. 

Eddie is shuddering against him, spilling across his own hand and onto Steve's thigh. Steve distantly registers that there's drool dripping out of his own mouth and he likes it all. There’s the feeling of drying body fluids and he loves how messy it makes him feel. He feels claimed and owned and so blissfully loved.

Eddie lifts his head, no longer moving, just resting his body weight against Steve and their lips meet. This kiss isn't as desperate or charged, it's just them meeting together. Languid kissing in the wake of a natural disaster. 

So like he said, Steve hasn’t seen an avalanche in person, but he thinks this might be pretty damn close.

“'Cause I know I’m safe when I’m with you.”

It's a week later and Steve's third night sleeping with Eddie. Like really sleeping. He hasn’t had so much uninterrupted sleep since he was ten and didn't know any better. It's amazing, the feeling of Eddie’s arms holding him from behind. 

So far they’ve just cuddled, held each other and spoken into the dead of night. They talk about anything and everything except the bad stuff. The sad things and the scary ones too. 

Steve knew they would catch up to him though, Eddie’s arms couldn't be a safe haven forever. 

This time it's the Russians. Men yelling at him, tying down his hands and his ankles and asking him questions he’s already answered honestly. But this time there’s no rescue. Steve stays trapped, locked in a cold cell and forgotten. His wounds throb and he screams and screams and screams but no one hears him. 

He wakes up thrashing, trying to pull at the vice holding him.

“-teve, Stevie come on, you’re safe, you’re home-” Steve barely registers it, just feels a little wild, paranoid. His arms are trapped and he cries out a muted shout before a hand clamps over his mouth. It's like a switch is flipped and his head falls back. 

He rests like that, open and panting against what he now realizes is Eddie’s chest. He's still whispering sweet sentiments and it brings Steve back down faster than anything has. He's bewitched, blinking in the darkness and melting into the body behind him.

He curls his legs in the same movement as reaching up to grab at the arm covering his mouth. He gasps at the feeling of his dick in his pants, of the long line of Eddie’s brushing against the knobs of Steve’s spine.

“You here?” Eddie asks and Steve nods. When Eddie’s hand leaves his mouth he feels a little bereft. Eddie lays Steve flat, rolling over so he’s lying a little on top of Steve, chest to chest. One hand holds the nape of Steve’s neck and the other rests on Steve’s chest. His fingertips start to trace patterns in Steve’s chest hair.

“You okay?” Eddie asks. Steve shoots him a half hearted look that says really ? “Yeah dumb question.”

“I’ll be okay,” he croaks. Eddie’s eyes bore into his and he gets lost in it for a moment. Eddie’s fingers graze across his nipple on accident and Steve shudders, a closed mouth thing. He raises his hands, he never knows when to touch but he wants to right now, wants to just hold Eddie and stay grounded. 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, moving up the bed, stroking his finger from the tip of his chin down to the center of his chest. Steve’s breath quickens and his legs draw up. He has the insane urge to drop his legs wide, rip off his pants and expose himself to Eddie. There's a little involuntary jerk of his hips at that, his cock bouncing with the movement, still limp.

“Touch me,” Steve whines. Eddie grins, pets his whole hand through Steves chest hair and pushes up into the hollow of Steves throat. Steve tilts his head back, begging for Eddie’s hand around his windpipe again before another thought enters his mind.

“How do you want me baby girl?” He keens, his body arching off the bed for a second, his hands gripping the comforter. 

“I want your fingers in my mouth. I want you inside me, I want to feel your come.” Steve's breathless and embarrassed and horribly turned on. The feeling of his cock sliding around in his sleep pants, hardening with every move and Eddie’s hand barely out of reach makes his nipples harden, makes his hand jump to his own stomach. he kneads his belly, needing something to do with his hand and accidentally presses against his very full bladder. Steve stops.

Steve reaches out, Eddie’s face is a little dumbfounded and grabs his wrist. He folds his fingers so there are only two pointing out and guides them to his mouth. Parting his lips he nearly eats Eddie’s fingers. They slide into him firmly and sit for a second, his fingernails nearly scraping the back of Steve’s throat. He sucks once, just to see Eddie’s eyes darken, and let his mouth hang wide.

It's a slow exploration, the push of Eddie’s fingers into Steve’s mouth. It's salty and dry and a little bit calloused. The pad of Eddie's pointer roams across Steve’s teeth and around his gums. He wants to close his mouth, to bite, to suck on his finger like a straw and imagine he’s drinking Eddie’s load. But he doesn't, he restrains himself and just lets Eddie stroke his insides. 

Eddie's finger drives a little deeper, so slow, like a warning. Steve opens his eyes (when did he shut them?). They’re heavy and only half open and from here he can only see Eddie’s black pupils, his face draped in the curtains of his hair. It makes his eyes glint, predatory.

He wants to know what Eddie’s rings taste like. He wonders how they’d feel on his tongue, on his teeth. What would Eddie do if he just…bit down and held Eddie there. He wants to know what Eddie’s whole fucking fist tastes like, if Eddie can mix up his insides with his hands like he does with his words. 

Steve whines and tipps his head back. With the motion, Eddie’s finger crooks and pulls against his jaw. Slightly, ever so slightly Eddie pushes down. 

Steve sees everything, every thought and feeling as it passes over Eddie’s features. The other man is obviously distracted looking at his own finger entering Steve. His pupils blown, a rosy hue to his cheeks, and a sweat building on his brow. Eddie pumps his finger in and out once as he presses down on Steve’s tongue. The action, so unexpected, drives a choked whine from Steve’s chest. Steve thinks of the sight he must make. He can feel the spit building in his throat, his own breath stuttering with the lack of air. He opens his throat and swallows, watches as Eddie mirrors him, as the older man licks his lips and sighs. 

“God you’re pretty,” Eddie murmurs. Steve preens at the praise. He’s not used to it, and is more accustomed to teasing about his looks and mind. It's usually an anomaly for someone to genuinely compliment him. Eddie must see the thought. Is it the way he closes his eyes, unable to look at the man? Is it how he breathed deep like maybe he could inhale some of Eddie’s air? Or was it the way he tries to bare his throat? He wants Eddie to take him, grab him by the jugular with his teeth and grip him by the jaw from the inside. He wants to be called beautiful names while Eddie thoroughly ravishes him. 

“So pretty and mine ,” and the last part is growled into Steve’s ear and Eddie raises himself up a little on his other arm, leveraging himself closer. Their breath is coming together in aggravated pants now. 

Steve slowly pulls Eddie’s hand from his mouth. He still can’t breathe right and Eddie is so close. Eddie takes the opportunity to lean in, his tongue sticking out. He opens his mouth wide.

The slick glide of Eddie’s tongue licking Steve’s wakes him from his haze. The touch sizzles through his body, from the point of contact down through his dick and out through his toes. Steve pushes himself up, tries to touch more of Eddie. His hard lines and heady pressure. Eddie pushes up too, rearranges himself so he’s straddling Steve’s thigh, his own leg suddenly there against Steve’s cock. He feels himself leak into his briefs and groans. 

Eddie’s lips wrap around his tongue and he suckles it for a moment, holding Steve’s tongue captive. He just as soon releases Steve. 

Eddie’s tongue, just like his finger seconds before, pushes into his mouth, licking into him. Eddie falls, his arms on either side of Steve’s head, the full weight of the man resting on him now. 

“I’m gonna eat you alive baby girl.” Eddie’s tongue has to leave Steve’s for him to say the word but Steve can not give less of a fuck because it’s back again just as quickly. 

The kiss is messy, more of a bite than anything. Eddie seals his mouth over Steve’s and shoves his tongue in deep. There is an absurd slurping sound, like Eddie’s trying to suction Steve’s tongue out of his mouth. There’s spit dripping from his lips. Their mouths, still wide, their breath tangling together. 

At the same moment, Eddie lifts his hand, the one with the rings Steve likes to play with, and shoves it unceremoniously down Steve’s pants. He takes Steve in hand, squeezing from the base to the tip, running his fingertips along the seam of his cockhead.

Steve’s mouth drops impossibly wider and he reaches for Eddie, one hand tangles in his hair and the other reaches down to join Eddie. To still him.

He freezes for a moment, just rests in the anticipation of thrusting into their combined grip. Eddie is panting and sucking on Steve’s tongue and Steve is lightheaded.  

“Stop,” Steve manages and it's Eddie’s turn to freeze. He can see a little panic there but Steve just grins lazily, flushed and a little punch drunk.

“I want to sit on you, I wanna ride you.” Steve's always loved when girls rode him, their slick holes gliding up and down his shaft. In those moments when a girl was bouncing on his cock he felt the most powerful. He wants that for Eddie, and wants Eddie to see him vulnerable.

Eddie rolls off Steve and onto his own back. Steve takes a breath and sits up. He turns to straddle Eddie and is struck a little dumb. Eddie’s breathing hard and there's a tent in his sleep pants. Steve just looks and  takes him in. His flushed neck and hair fanned out across his pillow. Steve lifts himself up on his knees and sinks his hand back into his pants.

He towers over Eddie like this. His knees bracket Eddie’s thighs but he’s propping himself up, putting himself on display. 

He pushes into his fist languidly. His cock is slick with come already, and Steve whimpers at the smooth slide. His cockhead rubs up against his sweats and he’s suddenly filled with the need to have Eddie look at him, to see his dick poke through his fingers, covered in semen. 

Eddie’s frozen underneath him, his hands cupping the backs of Steve's knees, staring at the spot where Steve’s hand has disappeared into his pants. It's the hint of something more that makes Steve’s hole flutter in anticipation. The idea that Steve is fucking into his own fist and Eddie doesn’t get to see it. Steve pulls his hand out slowly, dragging his cock along with the tips of his fingers, trapping it with his waistband so Eddie can just barely see the tip, purple and wet. He sees the moment Eddie’s control snaps.

Eddie sits up, pushing himself onto his palms so he’s nose to nose with Steve. He makes a frustrated sound and grabs for Steve’s wrist, the one that was moments before buried in his own briefs.

“Take these off.” He growls, snapping the waistband of Steve's pants. It slaps against the head of Steve's dick from where it's poking out. Steve tries to thrust into the feeling but it's stopped halfway by the hold Eddie has on his wrist. He releases Steve and Steve rushes to slip out of his pants and underwear. 

His cock is heavy with come, his balls fat and swinging between his legs. He reaches down to massage them, sighing lewdly at the little drops of come he manages to squeeze from his cockhead. His hole is clenching when he crawls back over, releasing his balls and letting them rest on top of the covers when he sits down.

Eddie’s slid down his pants, has already slipped them off his ankles when Steve looks at him fully. Steve’s resting on his haunches, spread wide and holding his own ankles.

It's the most open he’s ever been. His body is his, he doesn’t like sharing it with others. It's intimate and private and Steve is so used to being isolated. But he wants Eddie to see how gone he is for him. He can practically feel Eddie’s doe eyes rake across his chest down to his flushed tip. The look causes Steve’s dick to spit a little bit of come and he can see Eddie’s eyes follow it drip down the line of his cock.

Eddie's own dick is flat against his stomach, drier but no less hard. Steve knows his cock is leaky when he’s turned on. He thinks its why sex can be so intense for him, its like one long drawn out orgasm. It's one of the few things he allows himself to like about his own body. It's like his penis can’t help but weep for Eddie. 

“Get over here,” Steve walks on his knees until he’s cock to chest with Eddie, towering over him but undeniably under his spell. Eddie's reclining so he’s almost eye level with Steve’s crying cockhead. It doesn’t matter that Steve’s sitting on top, Eddie’s the one controlling the scene. 

Eddie leans forward and pokes his tongue out. His eyes are still on Steve’s and Steve can feel himself drooling a little, lost in what feels like a trance. One of his hands goes to Eddie’s shoulder while the other goes to bury itself in Eddie's hair again. 

Eddie’s tongue licks just the tip of Steve’s cock, just a swipe and Steve keens . He doesn’t mean to, he just feels so desperate and ready.

“Please,” he whispers.

“Go ahead baby,” Eddie responds and Steve sits down. He didn’t prep at all and Eddie’s dick is a little dry. He doesn’t even think, just lowers himself, feels Eddie’s dick split him open. He feels his eyes water and snot starts to drip out of his nose. Eddie's hands go to his cheeks wiping at the tears and Steve lied. This is the most vulnerable he’s felt. 

All the muck bubbles to the surface now, all the hidden bad feelings and self hatred. Its not useful here. His brain shuts off and it's only emotion and the pleasurable sting of pain as Eddie slides inside him. Eddie’s shushing him in between moaned pants and little cries. He’s babbling all the while.

“Steve please, you’re so good, you take me so well, fuck. I wanna move, please can I move? I’ve been so good, I wanna make you scream baby, make you moan so fucking loud the neighbors hear.” Steve spurts at the pictures Eddie paints. Eddie cups his hand at the tip of Steve’s cock and lets it fill his palm. He rubs it around with his thumb and brings it to his face.

Steve holds his breath, he thinks he's almost to fully seat himself in Eddie’s lap, he must be. But he’s distracted momentarily by Eddie’s tongue dipping through his fingers, licking Steve’s come between the digits. His motions are full of urgency. Steve’s brain whites out and he tenses, his cock squirting up and down Eddie’s chest. They both moan and the feeling.

Steve’s dick is still hard but his muscles fail him and he falls the rest of the way down Eddie’s cock. He cries out in pain, in the momentary bliss. Eddie moans and clumsily shoves his fingers down Steve’s throat. His other hand splays across Steve's back to support him as Steve mindlessly starts to move.

“Suck,” Eddie orders so Steve closes his eyes and does his best to swallow Eddie's hand. He grips Eddie’s wrist again to hold him there. Steve rises up on his knees slowly, achingly feeling every inch of Eddie’s dick again. 

He licks to the webbing between Eddie’s fingers and drops himself down. They both shout and Steve loves the way he towers over Eddie, gets to watch the man watch him, grinning and sucking on his fingers. He draws himself up again. 

Steve starts to bounce in earnest, grinding a little forward and back as he rises and falls. Eddie’s mewling a little bit, twitching his hips and pumping his fingers slowly in and out of Steve’s mouth.

Without warning, Steve’s back arches and his hole flutters. There’s a pulse of pleasure that races up his spine from where Eddie grazed his prostate. He wails around Eddie’s fingers and Eddie’s coming inside him. Steve jolts on his knees but keeps pumping Eddie's cock with his hole. His walls are trembling, squeezing and releasing as best Steve can manage. He wants to milk it, to feel every drop along his inner walls. 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes and pulls Steve’s face to his. Compared to everything else the kiss is tame, but it's the thing that makes him come, makes him spill a second time. Eddie’s own cock is softening so Steve just sits down. He lets himself stay speared on Eddie’s cock, basking in the fullness.

“Baby,” Eddie breathes, and Steve loves that he sounds a little winded, “you’re wild.”

“Yeah?” Steve replies, his voice is small and he still feels a little bereft.

“Look at me,” Steve is helpless to comply and his eyes drag up Eddie’s chest to meet his gaze, “you’re perfect.” 

Eddie punctuates the praise by grabbing the base of Steve’s cock and Steve shouts feebly. He clenches down on the dick in his ass and out of nowhere his bladder threatens to spill. He can’t piss on Eddie, not in the middle of this. But he’s over sensitive and the skin of his dick is tender, and still Eddie plays with him. He squeezes and pulls him off, wringing the last of Steve’s come out of him.

He strokes the space under his cock, in front of Steve’s balls, pushes his pointer finger deeper while he continues talking. “I just want to eat you, wanna bury you in a hole and save you just for me. I’m scared of it Steve, how much I want you. God I need you in me all the time. I’ve been desperate for this for weeks. You’ve been around so much and I started imagining things.”

Steve starts crying out, little sounds pushed from his chest by the feeling of Eddie's hand tickling his cock and peeling up his foreskin. He’s so desperate, the pressure is building in his core but he holds back. The skin is so sensitive and Steve didn't know there was any come left in him but there is. It wells up, spilling out of him and onto Eddie’s finger tips. A little bit of piss escapes, mixes with the rest of it and he groans in distress. Eddie only stares. Continues his ministrations. Keeps massaging his limp penis. 

The hazy headspace he’s entered hasn’t left yet and he lolls into it. His head falls to the side and he knows he looks fucked silly but he is. He can’t form words, only sounds and little grinding motions with his hips. It's like his body is on autopilot. He loves it.

Eddie leans back, readjusting his body, twisting his hips so he can lie down and see all of Steve. The motion nudges Eddie's cock along Steve’s prostate and he gasps. Eddie grins.

“Play with yourself baby, let me watch you.”

They sit like that, with Steve still sitting on Eddie’s soft cock, full of Eddie's come and Steve jerking off his own flaccid dick. It's so malleable like this, so soft and loose. It's entrancing, the sensations and Eddie’s gaze. There are shocks of pleasure that ripple down his thighs every time Steve pulls on himself, another little drop of come leaking from his tip as he pinches his cockhead. 

Eddie just watches, his hands behind his head, eyes on Steve’s cock where it's passing through his fist.

Steve’s mouth drops open when he feels Eddie’s cock come to life again, feels it twitch and start to fill again. It's like a balloon inside of him, pushing against his walls. Steve’s since relaxed a little, settled his weight and it only shows how far Eddie’s seated inside him. The cockhead pushes up into Steve's prostate and Steve can’t breathe. He doesn’t need Eddie's hand around his throat to feel the dizzy haze spread over him. He sways and begs himself to get hard again. 

He wants to come with Eddie, wants to chase him to the edge but his cock is spent. He contracts his muscles and gets only resistance. He whines when a little more of his piss oozes from his little hole. Eddie must see, or else he’s a mind reader because he reaches out with his hand and presses down hard on Steve’s bladder.

Eddie’s eyes are dazed and locked onto Steve’s cock where it rests flat on Eddie’s stomach. Steve whines and scrabbles at Eddie's fingers to release the pressure, fights the impulse to piss. Throws what he hopes is a questioning sound in Eddie’s direction.

“It's okay, baby, I want it. I know you want to come again, baby I know you can’t, I want it, please .” Steve never thought this would do it for him, the begging, the piss, the drawn out session. Their cocks are already spent but he feels like he’s floating and he doesn’t want it to stop.

“I gotta go,” he keens. It sounds childish to his own ears and he can feel Eddie’s cock pulse inside his hole. He’s a wreched thing, Eddie’s little baby, pissing himself while they fuck.

“Go on baby girl, mess me up,” Eddie whispers.

Steve wets himself, Eddie’s hand is still on his pelvis pushing down and Steve jerks into it, grinding forward on Eddie’s cock as his piss pools in the dip of Eddie’s stomach. It trickles over the scars on Eddie’s waist and he feels more that hears Eddie groan, feels his cock quiver inside him before he too is coming. Semen mixes with the pee and Steve doesn’t know what planet he’s on. 

All he knows is sweet bliss, the feeling of being completely emptied while simultaneously having his other hole so deeply filled. His piss drains out of him in a stream until that too is spent. Eddie rhythmically rolls his knuckles across his pelvis, massaging him. He still dribbles for a couple seconds before he has nothing left. 

Like a tidal wave, it slowly becomes terrifying and his breath speeds up. It was so much so fast. The intensity like nothing he’s ever felt before and he starts to crash before Eddie is holding him. There’s wet all down his front and he can feel the cooling sticky sensation of come and piss and a little bit of blood dripping from his hole.

“Shh baby, shh, you’re okay,” Eddie croons. He’s holding Steve tight, slowly tipping them over so Steve is lying on  a fresh section of bedsheets. 

Eddie’s skin leaves him, his cock dragging from Steve's hole and he feels the come drip out of him. It still feels good but there’s an underlying rush of adrenaline. Eddie sits, placing his hand back on Steve’s cheek, just resting there. Steve can’t meet his eyes right now but he twists, lays a kiss on Eddie’s inner wrist.

“I'll be back in a second baby, just stay here okay?” He waits for Steve to nod before he lets go of his face. Steve doesn’t have anytime to spiral before Eddie is back with a washcloth. He rolls Steve over and Steve watches him wipe economically but carefully over Steve's skin, over his cock and around his balls.

He’s not turned on anymore, but the feeling of being cared for is a shot to the heart. Eddie drags the cloth along his abused hole and it comes away red. Eddie whines, a distressed sound that makes Steve reach for his wrist.

“Hey,” Steve whispers and Eddie tears his eyes up to meet Steve’s, “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie breathes back and maybe he doesn’t really believe Steve but he’s trying to.

“I wanted it to hurt. I want to feel it for weeks.” Eddie makes a sound of acknowledgement. His hand has found its way on top of Steves and he just lays it there.

“You’d let me know if it was too much right?” Eddie asks.

“I said I would.”

“Okay,” Eddie finally holds his gaze, opens his mouth and asks, “did you like it, the- everything?” Steve’s breath catches and he considers it. The rushes he gets when Eddie moves him around, directs him into desperate corners and makes him find his own way out. It’s like an orchestra, always building to some new high, some new discovery about his own body that he’d never considered before.

That’s a lot of what’s been happening lately, pushing himself to the limit and seeing what kind of person he becomes. He likes who he is around Eddie. Likes who Eddie wants him to be.

“I like falling apart with you, anyway you’ll have me.” He hopes that's enough of an explanation.

The look Eddie gives him is openly adoring and Steve indulges in the freely given praise.

“You’re somethin’ else Harrington,” Eddie says it through a smile and Steve laughs.

“Don't call me ‘Harrington’ after that .” Steve rolls his eyes but his mouth dries up when Eddie replies.

“I’ll call you whatever I like baby girl and you know you’d like it.” The sentiment echoes in between Steve’s ears and he feels his face heat, covers the blush with both hands and groans.

“You know it's true baby,” Eddie teases.

Steve’s voice is muffled but sober when he replies, “I know.” His hands slide from his face and he finds Eddie’s eyes. He hopes he looks resolved, like he’s confident and honest when he keeps talking.

“I love you Eddie,” Steve bowls over Eddie when he tries to respond, “I do, you don’t need to say it back, but I love you. I don’t know if I’ve ever loved someone like this.” 

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes, gasping a little like a fish. He looks like he has a million things to say but doesn't know where to start. Steve loves catching him off guard, rendering the man speechless, but right now it only ratchets up his anxiety.

“Most of the time I feel crazy, like I’m thrumming with energy and something else I don't understand. I can’t sleep. You know I can’t, but I feel so much better around you. It's like you’ve tamed me Eddie. I feel feral and wild and you just match me. You can control me and it feels safer here.” Steve grabs for Eddie’s arm with his other hand. Eddie’s hand is supporting his weight next to Steve’s shoulder. His legs are kicked out and he’s resting on his hip. His cheek lays on his shoulder as he looks down at Steve.

“I feel safe when I’m with you,” Steve whispers. 

Eddie still looks a little wide eyed, just a little stunned. His other hand floats to Steve’s chin and he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Let me talk, je-sus.” A laugh bubbles out of Steve that's a little wet and so full of light.

“I love you too Steve Harrington, you’re mine, I told you that right?” Steve nods his head, just a tilt of the chin.

“I don’t care if you need to lose it all, I’m here, I’ll take care of you while you’re gone.” Steve closes his eyes. Its so much, the overwhelming sexual expereince he just had, endorphins ripping through him, and the euphoric sense that there’s someone who gets it. Someone who sees him.

“Okay Eddie,” Steve whispers. He feels Eddie’s body weight shift. There's the pressure of Eddie’s lips on his forehead and Steve sighs.

“I love you Stevie,” Eddie whispers back. 

Before he knows it, Steve is asleep, content in the fact that he’ll get to see Eddie when he wakes.

It's the best night’s sleep he’s ever had.