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“Dude, what do you keep doing with those? I’m getting concerned.”
Steve pauses, lowering the wad of napkins he’s holding to peer over at Jonathan on the couch.
It’s been good, living together. Moving from Hawkins had been a tough call to make, at the time – which is nearly two years ago now, Jesus – because neither of them were particularly keen on being so far away from the kids, but– they belong here. The bustling city suits them: when Steve is tucked away in a café with Robin, or following Jon around as he photographs the sprawling, winding streets, he can’t help but feel that this is just right. He loves it, if he’s being honest.
But sometimes he wishes Jonathan had a little more tact.
“Dude,” Steve says meaningfully. “I’m not getting laid. So. You know.”
Jonathan does not, in fact, seem to know. “So you’re stealing all the napkins? Are you writing your number on them to… hand out at clubs?”
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t believe he’s going to have to spell it out for the guy.
“Jon,” he says, slow and deliberate. “I’m jerking off.”
He watches Jonathan’s face colour in real time, suppressing the laughter that desperately wants to escape him as his eyes go wide and he blinks rapidly, obviously processing.
“How much are you jerking off?” Jonathan asks, seeming genuinely perplexed.
Steve shrugs, scratching his head. “I don’t know. The regular amount?”
“What’s the regular amount?”
“Like,” Steve drags the word out as he thinks about it. “I did it, like, three times last night?”
“You– three times?” Jonathan asks, eyes wide.
“Well… I mean. Yeah?”
Jonathan whistles lowly. Steve sneaks a glance at him as he opens one of the cabinets for a mug, because he seriously needs coffee if he and Jonathan are going to have this conversation.
“I think you’re leeching off my libido, man,” Jonathan says, sinking further into the couch. “I haven’t jerked off in, like, a month.”
Steve almost shuts the cabinet door on his head. “What?”
Jonathan glances up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Jonathan frowns. “...No? Is that– is that weird?”
Um, yes?
Steve opens and closes his mouth a couple times, unsure how to answer. Unsure if there are lines here he’s unknowingly threatening to cross. “Just…” he shakes his head. “A month? Are you sure?”
Jonathan stares at him, a bemused expression creeping onto his face. “I’m pretty sure I know when I last jerked off, Steve. It’s not happening in my sleep.”
“A month?” Steve says again.
“Harrington,” Jonathan says flatly, crossing his arms. “If I had a dick it would be flaccid. My balls would be empty. My–”
“Okay!” Steve interrupts, abandoning his coffee in favour of throwing himself onto the couch next to Jonathan. “I don’t need, like, the full picture. You’re not jerking off. I get it.”
“Well,” Jonathan amends, tilting his head to the side. “It’s not like I’m not trying. I’m just not… getting there.”
Steve blinks. “Shit, man,” he says, a pang of sympathy shooting through him. He doesn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t get off. He wacks his dick a lot. Like, first thing in the morning. After work. Post-run.
…Maybe he does jerk off too much.
“I think it’s because of my T dosage,” Jonathan sighs. He looks so forlorn Steve sort of wants to give him a hug. “And, you know, we’re in the same boat. I’m not getting laid either, and– I don’t know. It’s always been easier… getting there, with someone else. Like, I know my body, and I have toys, and stuff, but– there’s something about being seen that just makes it so much more intense, you know? ”
Steve feels his gut flutter with– something, at that. He looks at Jonathan, and he can’t help but picture it, can’t help but see him, head thrown back in the throes of pleasure, chest flushed, hands woven into someone’s hair to push them down, down, down, between his legs. Wonders at just how much he’d like to be seen. If he’d let Steve watch.
“Sorry for stealing your libido,” Steve says, in lieu of having anything useful to say. His voice is a little too thick, a little too low.
Jonathan pouts, rolling his head to look at Steve. “Give it back. I’m suffering, here.”
Steve studies him. He’s only in a threadbare shirt and his boxers, his slender arms tanned from a summer working outside with Robin on one of her art projects. His hair still falls into his eyes, like in school, but it’s different now that his Mom isn’t cutting it anymore. Now, it falls around his ears, flyaway strands framing his face, and in that moment, sitting with their thighs pressed warmly together on the couch, Steve thinks he’s never seen someone he wants to kiss more.
It’s nothing he hasn’t thought before, but the new context throws him. Because now, it’s not just that Steve wants to. It’s that he could– he could help. He could relieve some of Jonathan’s tension, fulfil a need. He could be of use.
“Okay,” he says quietly, before gently grasping Jonathan’s chin and pulling him into a kiss.
It’s chaste, just a soft press of lips, and Jonathan flails before pressing a hand to Steve’s shoulder and pulling away. His eyes are intense, they’re always so intense, dark and rich, pinning Steve in place.
Eyes flickering between Steve’s, he swallows. “What are you doing?”
Steve watches him right back. “Helping.”
The moment shimmers between them, thick and sticky like the summer heat, and Steve feels his heart kick in his chest at the way Jonathan’s eyelashes flutter.
When Jonathan nods, lips parted just so, Steve kisses him again.
And Jonathan lets him, his breath shuddering out of him as Steve presses forward, pushing him back into the couch. They part and come together again, over and over, the sounds they make slick and arousing in the suffocating silence of their apartment. Steve licks at the seam of Jonathan’s mouth, unhurried, a knee between his legs, and when Jonathan opens up for him he shudders, full bodied, like a man possessed. He dares a hand under Jonathan’s shirt, relishes in the warmth of his skin, then moves it up, tweaking Jonathan’s nipple. Jonathan jerks, biting harshly at Steve’s lip in retaliation and grinning against his mouth when Steve hisses.
“You fight dirty, Byers,” Steve murmurs, pulling back to tug at Jonathan’s shirt until it’s up and over his head. He flings it out of sight as Jonathan pulls him in again, muttering, “you started it.”
Steve smirks, pressing their lips together, liquid heat pooling in his gut as he carefully, slowly inches his hands lower. Jonathan shivers as Steve runs his fingers through his happy trail, gasping against his mouth when Steve tugs at the coarse hair there. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Jonathan’s boxers, he nudges their noses together. Jonathan sucks in a breath, stomach flexing beneath Steve’s hand.
“Okay?” Steve breathes, eyes flickering between Jonathan’s.
“Okay,” Jonathan confirms, voice barely above a whisper.
Steve grins. “Gonna make you come now.”
Jonathan makes a noise akin to a squeak. “Okay,” he says again.
It’s easy, then, to tug his boxers off the rest of the way, and Steve’s gut kicks with desire at the sight of him. He feels completely intoxicated, already, and he’s not even touched him yet.
“Jesus, Jonathan,” he breathes, flattening his palm on Jonathan’s stomach and feeling the muscles jump in response.
“What?” Jonathan murmurs.
Steve catches his eye, feeling his pupils blow wide, enraptured by the sight of him. “You’re beautiful.”
Jonathan grips his shoulder. “Come here.”
They crash together, lips and tongues and teeth, and if Steve didn’t have a mission, here, he’s sure he’d get burnt up in it. He’s dreamt about this, on particularly lonely nights with Jonathan just on the other side of the wall. Has imagined what he’d look like, how he’d sound. But everything he’s imagined pales in comparison to the enormity of this moment, to the singular, focused desire that rips through his body as he spreads his fingers out over Jonathan’s hips and pulls back to watch a flush bleed across his chest. He ducks his head, laving at a nipple, nipping at the old scars which stretch across his skin. Jonathan moans brokenly, his hand finding Steve’s shoulder, then the back of his head, and he threads his fingers through Steve’s hair.
Planting small kisses along the way, Steve shuffles down, laying a hand over Jonathan’s inner thigh. He hopes Jonathan can feel it, the honey-slow energy thrumming between them. Steve is alive with it, with the way they fit together.
“Steve,” Jonathan pleads, hips twitching.
Voice low, Steve promises, “I’m getting there.”
He mouths at Jonathan’s happy trail, fingers finally slipping between Jonathan’s legs. And, fuck– he’s wet. So wet his inner thighs are slick with it. He groans at the feel of him, hot and smooth. He did that. He turned him on.
Circling the flat of his thumb over Jonathan’s dick, he grins as Jonathan jerks, a surprised moan slipping from his lips. His head is thrown back against the couch, arm resting over his eyes. Steve presses more firmly against his cock and Jonathan keens, his throat working.
“Let me see you,” Steve requests, soft but firm. He mouths at Jonathan’s inner thigh and circles his cock again, rubbing harder, coaxing more moans out of those pretty lips. He’s rewarded when Jonathan reluctantly removes his arm from his face and meets Steve’s gaze, his cheeks flushed dark with arousal.
Steve swallows thickly, unable to resist darting forward to press his mouth to him at the same time as he slips a finger inside, lapping gently at Jonathan’s dick, and though Jonathan’s chest heaves with a punched-out moan, he doesn’t break their eye contact.
“Oh my God,” Jonathan breathes, eyes fluttering shut.
Steve pulls back, smirking. “Magic fingers.”
Jonathan groans, tugging Steve's mouth back to his hole. “Shut up.”
Steve feels it, the moment the slide gets easier, the movement smoother and wetter all of a sudden. His eyes flutter shut at the taste of him on his tongue, salty and a little sweet, the musky scent of him surrounding Steve, and he gets lost in it, in laving his tongue where Jonathan is hot and wet and willing.
“Steve– fuck, Steve, another,” Jonathan says– moans, as he tugs at Steve’s hair.
Heart beating a tattoo against his ribs, Steve slips another finger into him. Pulls back to watch his fingers get coated in him, in Jonathan, as he fucks into him a little faster, the noise of them connecting again and again loud in the room.
Shuffling on his knees, Steve puts his unoccupied hand to use, running his thumb down the side of Jonathan’s dick, where he knows he’ll be oversensitive, after the softness of Steve’s mouth. Jonathan fucking whimpers then, and all the blood in Steve’s body rushes south.
Dizzy with it, he wraps his thumb and pointer-finger around it, giving it a slow stroke.
Then, eyes focused on Jonathan’s face – his open mouth, his fluttering eyelids, his sweaty hair – Steve changes the angle of his fingers.
Jonathan jolts.
“Right there,” he says quickly, cheeks flushed. “Right there, right there–”
If there’s anything Steve is, it’s a good listener. He keeps his pace steady, crooking his fingers just so on the next stroke.
Jonathan’s hips jerk.
“Yeah?” Steve crooks his fingers again, planting open-mouthed kisses on Jonathan’s thigh.
“Yeah, please–” Jonathan shudders, head falling back as he clamps his mouth shut.
Steve watches him, nosing at his dick, so hard it’s painful. Jonathan’s chest stutters on a breath, then stills, like he’s forgotten how to.
“Breathe, baby,” Steve tells him, jerking him a little faster.
Jonathan gasps, heaving as he spasms around Steve’s fingers. He looks ruined, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, punched-out moans leaving his lips, and Steve realises all at once that this is what Jonathan looks when he’s being fucked.
“Close,” Jonathan groans, hips twitching like he wants to fuck himself on Steve’s fingers, and fuck into Steve’s hand simultaneously.
“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “That’s it, sweetheart, come for me.”
And Jonathan does. He moans between his staccato breathing almost like he’s surprised, loud and shaky, as he presses down hard on Steve’s hand, legs clamping around him. Steve does his best to keep fucking him – Jesus, he’s so wet – as he slips further down the couch, eyes glued to Jonathan’s face.
Jonathan’s gorgeous when he comes: his neck arches, eyes squeezing shut tight like he’s giving himself over to the pleasure entirely, one hand still fisted in Steve’s hair and the other clutching at the back of the couch, giving Steve a clear view of his arm flexing, the muscles working beneath the skin. Steve does his best to ease him out of it slowly, not pulling his fingers out until Jonathan makes a soft noise and pushes his hand away, overstimulated. He’s still for a long while, like he’s basking in the afterglow, before his eyelids flutter open again– and then he smiles— soft and sweet and just for Steve. It’s a lopsided thing, and oh, Steve’s so into him it’s kind of pathetic.
“Come here,” Jonathan slurs, tugging at Steve’s shoulder. “Your turn.”
“Won’t take much,” Steve admits. He’s pretty sure he’s leaking through his pants, which- woah. “You’re, like, crazy hot when you come, dude.”
Jonathan flushes. Mumbling, he says, “Shut up. Want me to jerk you off?”
Steve makes a weird garbled noise, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, sure. That’d be– yeah.”
Clearly suppressing a smile, Jonathan reaches for Steve’s pants. “Okay, Casanova.”
And then he yanks Steve’s sweatpants down and wraps a hand around his dick.
Steve chokes. “Oh my God.”
Jonathan thumbs at Steve’s head, looking pleased when precum beads there, dribbling steadily over his fingers.
“Hot,” Jonathan says, lips tugging in amusement, even as his pupils blow. "You're so turned on."
Steve makes another stupid noise, his dick twitching in Jonathan’s hand. He feels like he’s burning up, like his skin is on fire. Molten desire sitting heavy in his gut, he stares at Jonathan, not sure what he’s trying to communicate without saying it out loud.
Jonathan flicks his wrist, and a moan tumbles from Steve’s lips.
“Close?”
“Yeah,” Steve rasps, letting Jonathan pull him closer— close enough to share air, panting into his mouth.
Jonathan’s eyes flicker from Steve’s face to his dick, legs splaying wider beneath him. “Wanna fuck me next time?”
Steve laughs around a moan. “Thought that’s what I just did.”
Jonathan squeezes around him on the next stroke, and a ragged gasp tumbles from Steve’s lips. He levels him with a look. “With your dick, asshole.”
“Fuck, Byers,” Steve pants. “Yeah, I wanna fuck you with my dick next— next time.”
“So there is a next time?” Jonathan asks, nudging his nose against Steve’s. Fuck, Steve wants to kiss him.
He brushes their lips together. “Is this twenty questions? Are we— Jesus— are we playing twenty questions right now?”
Jonathan twists his hand around the next upstroke like he’s trying to wring the pleasure out of him, the movement slick with precum.
“You want me dead,” Steve rasps.
“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, man,” Jonathan says, before finally — finally — kissing him.
Steve shoots off like a fucking rocket, white-hot pleasure crashing over him. He gasps as his cock jerks in Jonathan’s firm grip, spitting ropes of come all over Jonathan’s stomach. Jonathan twitches beneath him when he does, groaning into Steve’s mouth.
Once Steve’s stopped panting, Jonathan loosens his hold around him, before letting go entirely, and for a second, they just look at each other, breathing heavily.
“Good game,” Steve says after a moment, grinning.
Jonathan gives him a flat look. “You’re ridiculous.”
Never one to be deterred, Steve wiggles his eyebrows. “So… what do you say? Magic fingers?”
Jonathan doesn’t budge an inch. “Aren’t you late for work?”
Steve freezes, eyes flying to the clock on the wall.
He groans. “Ah, shit.”
Jonathan laughs at him, and doesn’t really stop laughing until Steve trips out of the apartment ten minutes later. Before Steve turns the corner, though, he calls out, “If you order pizza later we can do that again!”
He looks so beautiful, pushed up on his elbows on the couch, his hair tousled and sweaty, his eyes dancing with mirth. His chest still shines with pearlescent drops, and Steve can't think about that too hard if he doesn't want to end up playing hooky with work. His answering grin must look stupid, but he can’t bring himself to tamp it down. “Don’t bite the hand that fingers you, man.”
Jonathan's bright laughter follows him down the hallway.