Work Text:
If there is a god somewhere out there in the universe, Steve’s pretty sure they hate him specifically.
Almost being eaten by a demogorgon, sure. Fine. Steve willingly went back into the Byers’ house, that’s on him. Being beaten half to death by Hargrove, well, that’s just on account of Hargrove being a gigantic asshole. Defending a bunch of kids in tunnels while trying to avoid being eaten by a bunch of smaller demogorgons, that’s just on par for the course. Even being held captive in a secret underground bunker by evil Russians could be explained away without blaming any kind of deity.
But this? This is the kind of sick, twisted plot that only a god would pull off. Erica’s on a Greek mythology kick recently, which means that Robin is on a Greek mythology kick, which means by extension he’s all too familiar with the schemes and shenanigans those bastards get up to.
Clearly, he’s done something in his lifetime that the gods are displeased with, and their obvious solution is to give him a fate worse than death. Arguably one crueller than the dude who gets his liver pecked out by birds for a bajillion years, or whatever it was that happened to that guy.
Why today, of all days? Why would this happen to him the day they’d planned to have a lake trip? He can’t go to the lake looking like this. He’ll be laughed at, and then he’ll have no choice but to drown himself in the lake and ruin the day for everyone. Then he’ll probably be stuck haunting Lover’s Lake, which is objectively just not a cool place to haunt.
Worst of all is that Nancy and Jonathan are both coming along on this stupid lake trip, and if he embarrasses himself in front of them he won’t even need to drown himself because he’ll shrivel up and die on the spot.
Steve slides back into bed, pulling the covers over his head. He’ll fake being sick, he decides, and he’s just debating whether it would be better to radio Dustin or call him up when his doorbell rings.
Shit. He’d forgotten he’d told Robin to come over before they pick Dustin and Max up. Okay, not to panic. He’ll wait for Robin to leave and then he’ll radio Dustin.
The doorbell rings again. And a third time, a minute later. Then, just when he finally thinks she might’ve gotten the message, he hears the distant sound of the front door opening and closing.
He groans. The spare key. Of course Robin has her spare key. There’s no way Robin will buy that he’s sick. But—maybe she’ll feel sorry for him. Maybe this can work out in his favour.
“Dingus?” Robin’s voice is muffled through the wood of his door. “Don’t tell me you’ve overslept.”
Steve pulls the duvet up over his head.
“I’m coming in, so if you’re naked now’s the time to say so,” Robin says, and then his door opens.
“I’m not going,” he says into his pillow.
“Gonna need you to repeat that without your head in the pillow, bud,” she says, sinking onto the end of his bed.
“I said,” Steve lifts his head, the duvet still tucked up to his neck, “I’m not going.”
Robin stares at him. “What? Why not?”
“I don’t want to?” he tries.
Predictably, it doesn’t work. “You’ve been talking about this trip for days. What’s the real reason?”
Steve lets out a longsuffering sigh. “Promise you won’t laugh.”
“I… promise to try not to laugh,” Robin says.
It’s good enough for him. Slowly, he lowers the duvet, revealing his chest—and the white silhouette of hands splayed across his stomach from when he’d fallen asleep by the pool yesterday.
In fairness to Robin, she’s trying very hard not to laugh. He can see her shaking with the effort of keeping it in. If it wasn’t happening to him, he’d probably find it funny, too.
“How—” Robin starts, and then cuts herself off abruptly as a giggle escapes her. She clears her throat, and then again, taking a deep breath. “How did you—manage that?”
“Robin,” he whines, because this is serious, damn it. The very shreds of his remaining social life are at stake.
He can’t show up like this in front of Jonathan and Nancy. It would be one thing if it was just that they’re, respectively, his ex and her new boyfriend, but it’s not just that. No, because things have to be complicated, Steve had to go and develop a crush on both of them.
Maybe it had been Starcourt. Maybe it had been remnants of before, the lingering memory of Nancy’s lips on his and the smell of her perfume on his sweater, the strong grasp on his wrist when Jonathan had pulled him out of danger and the surprised laugh he’d let out when Steve had made a stupid comment. Maybe it had even been a reaction to falling out of love with Robin, like when he’d started trying to get over his crush on her in favour of friendship he’d accidentally flipped some switches and developed new crushes on his old friends.
If you can call Nancy and Jonathan his friends, anyway. They might not think about him at all.
“Are you going to start crying?” Robin asks, alarmed, which tells him that his face has fallen without him meaning to. “It’s not that bad, really. I mean, it kind of is, but we can—we can work with it!”
“Work with what?” He gestures, uselessly, at the hands. It’s even worse now that he’s stopped shaving. It looks like ghost hands are trying to grope him, or something. The right hand could even look like it’s reaching for his dick.
It’s social suicide. He buries himself back under his covers.
“No, no, listen,” Robin says, peeling back the duvet. “Maybe you can… wear a t-shirt?”
“They’ll see straight through me,” he says miserably.
“A white t-shirt, then. That’s sexy, right? At a pool?” She gently prods his side, to which he huffs. “And, hey, if anyone questions it, you can pull the broken ribs card.”
“Dustin saw me shirtless yesterday,” Steve says. “He’ll rat me out.”
“He won’t, on pain of death,” Robin says. “Or, like, pain of guilt and regret. I’ll remind him whose fault it was we ended up beaten up by Russians.”
“We?” He sits up, squinting at her. “Did they hit you, too?”
Robin pauses, suddenly looking very suspicious. “Uh. No. Obviously. Anyway, listen—”
“Robin.”
“—he’ll feel too bad about it to push the subject any further and he’ll drop it. Okay? He won’t be a problem.”
“He’s always a problem,” he mutters. It doesn’t escape his notice how she’s changed the subject, but he makes a note to press the matter later. “I dunno, Rob…”
“Plus, the Byers are moving in a couple of months, right? This is, like, one of the last get-togethers they’re having, and they really want you there.”
Steve groans. The guilt tactic is surprisingly effective, goddammit.
“Fine,” he says, and then holds up a finger to pause her before she can say anything else, “but you need to make sure my t-shirt doesn’t come off. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Robin gives him a two-fingered salute, deadly serious. “Aye aye, captain. Hey, look, I’ll keep my shirt on too. Solidarity, or whatever.”
He peers at her outfit. She’s wearing an oversized white t-shirt and a pair of shorts, which does make him feel a little better.
“Fine,” he repeats, and drags himself out of bed. Robin sits patiently on the end of his bed as he rummages through his closet, kicking her legs even though he knows she’s tall enough for her feet to reach the floor.
When he grabs a t-shirt, though, she stands.
“Lotion,” she says, and he sighs. She raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, remind me how you got into this mess again?”
She’s got him there. He grumbles, but shoos her downstairs anyway with a promise of applying lotion downstairs.
He’s quick enough to dress after she leaves, and he grasps his t-shirt in his hand and hurries down the stairs after her. She’s waiting at the foot of the stairs, now wearing a comically large hat that he raises an eyebrow at.
She’s already found the lotion, clearly, because she wields it like a sword, and makes a come hither motion. He rolls his eyes, but obeys, jumping slightly as the cold cream touches his back.
“You can do your front yourself,” she says, her hands weirdly cool against his skin. “I love you, but I am not massaging that jungle.”
He holds out his hand for the lotion when she’s done, and she passes it. As he starts to apply it to his chest and stomach, he catches her biting back a laugh as she sees the outlines of the hands again, and he scowls.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says, turning to face the wall.
“Laugh it up, Buckley,” he mutters, squeezing out another dollop of cream into his palm. “I’m the one putting sunscreen on your back.”
Robin whips around, eyes wide. “Skin cancer is not a joke, Steve! Don’t you dare draw a penis on my back. Or boobs,” she adds, as he opens his mouth. Steve just snorts.
“Turn around,” he says, and she side-eyes him before doing so, pulling her t-shirt up at the sides to reveal her back. She’s wearing a blue bikini top, and he’s surprised to see it’s dotted with freckles upon freckles.
“What?” she says, sounding worried, and he realises he’s stopped. “Is it the swimsuit? I haven’t been swimming in ages and I didn’t realise my costume didn’t fit anymore, and all I could find was this stupid bikini set my mom must’ve bought me last summer—”
“No, no, you’re fine,” he says, starting to rub the lotion into her skin. She squeaks at the cold, but remains still. “I just never noticed how many freckles you have.”
“Now imagine them all with sunburn,” she says, shuddering.
He snorts again, and soon enough he’s done, tapping her shoulder for her to turn around. She turns, as predicted, and he quickly dots a tiny glob of lotion onto her nose, grinning when she smacks his hand away.
*
“You know we’re going to a lake, right?” Dustin says doubtfully as he climbs into the back of the car.
“We’re aware, thank you,” Robin says.
“You’re going to boil.”
“We’ll be fine,” Steve says, before Robin can start pulling out guilt tactics. He doesn’t actually want to make Dustin feel bad about the whole Russian thing, and while he’s pretty sure she’d been joking about bringing it up, he doesn’t want to take the risk. “Anyway, we’re driving currently, so zip it.”
Dustin shakes his head but buckles himself in as they head to pick up Max.
Privately, Steve’s been pretty worried about her. It’s only been a month or so since everything at Starcourt, and while she hasn’t necessarily acted like anything’s wrong—Well. She’s been quieter of late, is all.
She agreed to come today, though. He supposes that’s something.
When Max throws herself into the back seat, Robin leans over, holding out the sunscreen. “Mayfield. Lotion.”
“Why didn’t you check I put on sunscreen?” Dustin asks, sounding genuinely offended.
“For one, you’re not a redhead. She’s, like, basically inviting the sun to scorch her,” Robin says. “For two, I’ve met your mother. My question’s been answered before I even need to ask it.”
Dustin grumbles, and Max sticks her tongue out at him. She’s still quieter than usual, even as she applies the sunscreen, but Steve knows she doesn’t like being fussed over so he keeps his mouth shut.
*
When they get to Lover’s Lake, Dustin scrambles out to go meet the others. Max takes a few seconds more, but then she, too, is letting herself out of the car and heading over.
Steve double, then triple, checks to make sure he doesn’t have any other embarrassing tanlines he might’ve missed. There is a white strip on his wrist where his watch sits, but he’s wearing a waterproof watch today anyway, so it isn’t a problem.
The problem, it turns out, might actually be just surviving, because as Steve and Robin head to join the rest of them he sees that Nancy’s wearing a pretty lilac number with matching lavender sunglasses. She looks—well, incredible. Beautiful, obviously. His throat dries.
Jonathan, at her side, is wearing a black t-shirt, which might help his case, at the least. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and grey shorts, and presumably he’s brought music because he’s nodding his head to something Steve can barely hear. His hair is kinda tousled, almost golden in the sunlight, and Steve finds himself having to abruptly look anywhere else.
“Hey,” Robin says, voice quiet. She has a book in one hand, but she reaches out and takes his hand with her other one, squeezing it, and he’s never been so glad for her company as he is right now. “You’re okay.”
“Yeah,” he says, his heart in his throat.
He lets her guide him down to the shoreline. He’s carrying towels for them to lie on and their water, like a pack mule, and Robin barely waits for him to lie down before she settles against his side, propped up against him as if he’s a lounger.
He sees Nancy glance over, and he sees her see him. She slightly nudges Jonathan, and Jonathan, who has the tact of a flea, does a full-body turn to look in their direction and receives an elbow to his side for his troubles. Nancy says something, but neither of them move, and for a full second he’s convinced they can see his suntan, somehow.
They can’t, obviously. Even without the t-shirt, Robin’s obnoxiously large hat is working as a deterrent, shielding his torso from their view.
Still, they keep their distance, which is kind of hurtful. He figured they’d at least come over to say hi, out of politeness if nothing else. He had hoped, though, that they might be friends now, after everything. Friends-ish. End of the world buddies, or whatever.
He tries not to let his gaze linger.
Robin, because she’s Robin, and somehow has the observational awareness of a bloodhound, looks up from her book and catches him looking. “Enjoying the view?”
“Ha ha,” he says dryly. “Just because there’s, like, no beach babes or whatever for you to get flustered around—”
She slaps him lightly with her book. Which, fair.
“Asshole,” she says, her voice fond, and goes back to holding her book in front of her face. “I just wanted to remind you that you’re wearing sunglasses.”
“So?”
“So, they can’t see you looking at them.”
He frowns, not picking up whatever she’s putting down. “... So?”
“So, Steve, they’re staring at us, not knowing you’re staring right back at them, so they don’t know that we know they’re staring at us.”
“... Right.”
Robin sighs. “Which means, they’re staring at us for a reason.”
Oh. He glances back at Nancy and Jonathan, careful not to move his head, and sees that they are, indeed, still watching them.
“Maybe they’re distracted by your hat,” he offers, and she rolls her eyes, sliding down so that her head’s propped up by his stomach.
“Right, sure.”
“It’s a big hat.”
“Uh huh.” She goes back to actually reading the book, then, which ends that conversation.
Steve risks another look in their direction. As he’s watching, Nancy turns away, saying something to Jonathan, and both of them wander to the front of Jonathan’s car, hopping up onto the hood.
They don’t seem to be looking at him anymore. He doesn’t know why his heart twists in his chest at that.
*
“I’m, like, pretty sure they’re trying to explode me with their minds.”
Steve lifts his head, finding Robin peeking up from her book again. He glances over to see that Nancy and Jonathan are both staring at them again.
“Nah,” he says, his head dropping back against the towel with a soft thunk. “El can actually do that, I’m pretty sure.”
Robin turns to look at him sharply. “Wait, can she actually?”
“You saw her throw a car with her mind,” he reminds her.
“No, I saw the wreckage of the car, and then you said she had powers and to keep up and never elaborated!”
That does sound like something he did. “Oh, shit. Well. Yeah, she can, like, kill people with her mind, or something.”
“Oh my god.” Robin tips her head back against him, groaning. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t give me a heads-up about my impending death.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic.” He waves her off. “You’re one of us.”
“I’m one of yours,” she corrects. She reaches over and plucks his sunglasses from his face, sliding them onto hers and ignoring him as he protests. “And Dustin’s and Erica’s. I’m only here because you wanted me to be here.”
“That counts for something,” he says, now blinking in the sudden sunlight. “Relax.”
“Easy for you to say,” she mutters. “‘S not your head that’s exploding.”
“El doesn’t even have her powers right now, anyway.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” Robin says sarcastically.
Steve frowns at her. “You’re not at risk of head-exploding, I promise.”
She looks past him, grimacing. “Someone should tell them that.”
He turns his head to follow her gaze and finds Nancy and Jonathan watching them again. When they see them looking, they both abruptly turn away.
Weird.
*
He’s drifting off into a nap of sorts when Robin nudges him with the tip of her foot. She’s moved, he realises, to sit tucked into his side instead of against him, so that they’re lounging side-by-side. Which kind of makes no sense as to why she kicked him with her foot instead of just, like, nudging him, but whatever. “What?”
“They’re ogling you,” she says.
Steve snorts. “There’s nothing to ogle.”
“That’s not stopping them.”
He turns his head, squinting at her. “I thought you were reading. Book’s that bad?”
“Don’t change the subject. And don’t look,” she hisses, as he turns to look in their direction. “I’ve got the sunglasses. They can’t see that I see them.”
“If only someone hadn’t stolen my sunglasses,” he says, but he remains deliberately still, resisting the urge to look for himself.
“Oh, wait, they’re back to shooting daggers at me.”
“Which one?”
“Both of them. Wow, some real opposing energies coming from them, huh?”
Steve chances a look this time, now wide awake. Nancy is staring at Robin with a scarily intense look and Jonathan’s gripping a can of coke so tightly that the metal’s getting crushed beneath his fingers.
Robin’s right—they’re not looking friendly towards her at all.
A spike of irritation rises within him. Woefully doomed crushes aside, who do they think they are, glaring at Robin?
Robin’s fucking amazing. Robin’s the greatest person he’s ever met. She’s his best friend.
“I’m gonna talk to them,” he says, and Robin whips back to look at him, looking horrified.
“What? No!”
“If they’re glaring at you—”
“Steve. It’s fine. I just—They don’t know me. It’s fine.”
It’s not fine, but he’s not going to make a scene in front of her. Not when she’ll be mortified. Plus, he might, like, ruin the vibes of this little get-together, or whatever.
No, he’ll wait for the right moment, when everyone else is distracted, and then he’ll confront them. Because, yeah, things might be awkward between them, and he might be half in love with both of them, but what’s not happening is his only real friend being scared off because, what, they haven’t given her a chance?
They don’t need to be friends with her. That’s fine, he gets it. They haven’t exactly buddied up to him the last few times. But to, what, be mad at Robin just for being here with them? Not cool.
Robin was part of everything, too, this time. He’s not letting her get shut out in the dust.
He just… has to wait for the right moment.
*
His chance comes in the form of Erica Sinclair fifteen minutes later.
“Scoops,” Erica says, hands on her hips as she towers over them. Steve blinks at her, and she sighs. “Not you.”
“Why is she Scoops?” he protests, just to make a point of it. “We both worked there.”
“One of you actually spent your time scooping ice cream. I’ll let you guess who.”
Steve gapes at her, a little offended now, but Robin sits up, stretching.
“What is it?”
“I need your help,” Erica says.
“With?”
“Chicken.”
Steve frowns. “I don’t think she’s chicken just for asking for details, Erica.”
Erica lets out an exaggerated sigh. “The game, dipshit. Dustin’s challenged me, and Lucas is his teammate, and no way am I letting the two of them beat me.”
“Uh, wouldn’t Steve be the better option here?” Robin says, gesturing at him. “He’s, like, pure muscle, or whatever.”
Steve looks at her, touched, and gets an eye roll in return. So much for a compliment.
“You’re tall and spindly,” Erica says. “We can work that to our advantage.”
“Thank… you?” Robin says uncertainly. She looks at Steve, who tries his best to appear casual.
“I think you should go for it,” he says, patting her arm. “Girl power, or whatever.”
“Mr Feminism over here,” she says, and he kicks her, yelping when she immediately elbows him with her bony elbows.
All the same, Robin heads off with Erica. As soon as she’s far away enough—and sufficiently distracted—Steve beelines towards Nancy and Jonathan.
“Hey,” he says upon reaching them, pinning on a charming smile as they both blink at him, seemingly surprised by his appearance. “You guys got a minute?”
“Uh,” Jonathan says, looking nervous. He glances at Nancy, who gives a minute nod, which Steve doesn’t miss. “Sure, I guess.”
“Great.” Steve turns back to the shore, just to check nobody’s watching them. He spots Robin easily in her beacon of a hat. She’s standing with both of her hands on her hips as she yells something at Dustin, from the looks of it, and unable to help himself, Steve finds himself grinning so broadly that it hurts.
“Is everything… okay?” Nancy says, voice tight. Steve blinks. Right.
“Let’s take a walk,” he says, keeping his tone light. Nancy and Jonathan exchange a glance, but they trail after him all the same.
He walks without real purpose, only intending to get some distance from everyone else. He doesn’t want to be within earshot of them all if he’s about to chew them out. Nor does he want Robin to be within earshot if they’re about to say horrible things about her, or whatever.
It’s only when the familiar sight of Skull Rock comes into view that he actually realises where he’s walked to. Habit, he supposes.
Oh well. There’s been worse places to talk. At least there’s nobody else around. Now that would be awkward.
Nancy’s looking at him, a wary look in her eyes, and Jonathan’s standing awkwardly, his shoulders hunched, steadily refusing to make eye contact. It’s a jarring contrast.
Nancy’s icy eyes almost—almost—make him chicken out. It’s cruel how even now, almost a year after they broke up, he still wants to soothe the crease from her brow, to gently tease the tight pinch of her lips to a smile.
But then he thinks of Robin, and the way they’d frowned at her, and his resolve hardens.
He cuts to the chase. “Why do you keep glaring at Robin?”
Jonathan’s mouth drops open. Nancy, on the other hand, only frowns, deep lines etching into her face.
“We’re not glaring at Robin,” she says hotly, her tone pointed and defensive in the way that Steve knows means she’s talking out of her ass. “We barely know her. Why would we—”
“Uh, yeah, you are,” Steve interrupts. Nancy scoffs, and anger bubbles in his chest. He folds his arms, fixing her with a glare of his own. “I want to know why, because if you’ve got a problem with her then you’ve got a problem with me.”
“We don’t have a problem,” Jonathan lies, only irritating him further.
“I’ve seen you,” he snaps. Jonathan opens his mouth, as if to protest, and closes it again. “You keep looking over at us and—and glaring, and maybe you think we don’t notice or we don’t care but we do. I do! Maybe you don’t care what Robin thinks, or what I think, but I care about her, alright? If that bothers you—”
“Oh my god, Steve,” Nancy says, and she sounds irritated, now, too. “We don’t hate your girlfriend, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“My—” He cuts himself off, caught off-guard, and blinks at them. “What? What girlfriend? I’m talking about—” His brain catches up before he can finish, and he stops again to look at them incredulously. “Robin’s not my girlfriend.”
Nancy’s brows furrow, and she looks at him like he’s the one being ridiculous. “What?”
“Robin’s not my girlfriend,” Steve repeats. “She’s my best friend.”
“But—You—” Jonathan seems to struggle to get the words out, as if trying to reckon with this new information, and despite his mixed-up feelings Steve kinda wants to ease the worry lines from his expression. “But you’re—”
“You’re so touchy,” Nancy blurts.
Steve shrugs. “Yeah, well, being held captive together will do that.”
Jonathan blinks at him. “What?” he says, but something’s just dawned on Steve.
“Is that why you’re acting weird?” Exasperated, Steve shakes his head. “Because, no offence, Robin and I don’t do anything at all romantic, and I’ve seen the gremlins be really gross when it comes to PDA, so if that’s the issue—”
“We weren’t glaring at Robin,” Nancy says. “Or, well, it’s not—what you think. We don’t dislike her. We’re just… we’re just—”
“Jealous,” Jonathan says bluntly, and Nancy nods.
Now they’ve completely lost him. “Of what?”
“Robin,” Nancy says. She sounds pained. “Ever since Starcourt, you’ve been spending all your time with her, and it’s—You don’t spend time with us, you don’t do any of that stuff with us, and—You were ours first.”
“I’m—You’re literally dating,” Steve says, no longer sure that any of this is even happening. Maybe he’s still on the shoreline, asleep, getting heatstroke, or whatever it is Robin would worry about. “I haven’t been yours in a long time. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve never even been yours,” he gestures at Jonathan, “and we broke up months back,” he gestures at Nancy. “You ditched me. Now you’re mad about it?”
“We’re not mad,” Jonathan mumbles. He’s staring down at the floor, and when Steve actually looks at him he sees that his face is screwed up, eyes closed. “We shouldn’t have ditched you, but we… didn’t know how to, uh, process it.”
“Process—Process what?”
Nancy groans, pinching the bridge of her nose, and then says, “Oh, for god’s sake, we’re in love with you.”
No, wait. He must’ve misheard her. He thought she just said that they’re in love with him, but that can’t be right. Sand in his ears, or something.
“Come again?” Steve says weakly.
Nancy falters, just slightly. She’s putting on a confident front, trying to pretend she’s nothing but casual, but he can see the cracks in it; she’s being painfully vulnerable. Genuine.
He glances at Jonathan, who remains avoiding eye contact. The tips of his ears are burning bright red, though.
Steve licks his lips. Swallows hard, then tries again. His voice cracks as he does, “You’re in love with me?”
“Yes.”
“... Both of you?”
Jonathan flushes pink. “Yeah.”
Steve just… gawps.
His brain might’ve short-circuited, actually. Maybe it really is heatstroke.
“We didn’t realise,” Nancy says, speaking quickly now. “We—It—We only work with you around. Or—I don’t know, it felt like something was—missing. When everything happened at Starcourt—we felt something, but it wasn’t until you were always around Robin that we realised—Well. Yeah. We’re both… in love with you.”
“This isn’t, like,” Steve starts, eyeing them warily, “a joke, right? Some fucked up way to get back at me for—I don’t know, everything?”
Jonathan’s the one to answer him. “It’s not a joke.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
“Oh, good,” Steve says, and leans in towards them.
He’s not sure who actually starts what, who starts kissing who, but then they’re entangled, and his mouth is on Jonathan’s as Nancy mouths at his neck, and he’s in heaven. Cathedrals everywhere for those with the eyes to see.
Nancy tugs at Jonathan’s t-shirt, and he slips it off. Steve lets one hand slip under Nancy’s bikini top, feeling Jonathan’s hand fumble with the hem of his t-shirt, and Steve moans, low, biting at Jonathan’s lip, and slowly, slowly, his t-shirt’s slid up his skin, and—
Nancy giggles.
Giggles?
Oh no.
Steve pulls back, turning beetroot as he realises his mistake. He’s too late to stop his t-shirt being pulled off, though, finally revealing his bare chest—and that godawful tanline.
Jonathan snorts, abruptly clapping a hand over his mouth.
“They were—my hands,” Steve says, his voice strangled. He was right. There is a god, and whatever god it is, it hates him.
Strike me down where I stand, he thinks miserably, squeezing his eyes shut, and he continues, with some difficulty, “Yesterday. I was—by the pool, and I—I fell asleep, and—”
Nancy wraps an arm around him, surprising him, and he opens his eyes to see that she’s placed her hand over one of the white hands. Jonathan does the same with the other one, and then Nancy’s breath is hot on his neck, tickling his ear.
“Perfect,” she whispers, and he shivers, swallowing hard.
Jonathan leans in on his other side, slowly kissing up his neck, and Nancy caresses one hand up his torso, slowly, slowly, slowly, and, oh.
“We’ve wanted this for so long,” Nancy continues in her whisper, pausing only to kiss his shoulder, and he stutters on a breath. “You think we’re going to let some stupid suntan get in the way?”
God, Steve decides hazily, might actually be the best guy in the world. He thinks that maybe he’ll start going to church.
Then, as he pulls Nancy into a deep kiss, and as Jonathan’s hands slide down to toy with the waistband of his shorts, he doesn’t think much of anything for a long, long while.
*
When Steve trots over to her, Robin lowers her—his—sunglasses down her nose and raises an eyebrow.
Okay, so maybe there’s a spring in his step. And maybe his hair’s tousled. And maybe, as he drops down beside her, she can see the glint in his eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
“Good news,” he says, casual as ever. “They don’t hate you.”
“What did you—” She stops, squinting at him, then slowly swivels to see where Nancy and Jonathan daintily pick their way into the water. “Actually, I don’t want to know. Just—Worked it out, then?”
Steve looks over at the other two. Jonathan glances over at him, and then so does Nancy, and he’s unable to help the smirk the spreads across his face. Jonathan goes pink, quickly looking away, but Nancy only smiles, shaking her head.
“You could say that,” he says, coy, and steals Robin’s hat off her head, dropping it onto his own.
Robin rolls her eyes, but there’s a fondness in her expression that betrays her. “Dingus.”
She settles back against his side, leaning back to lie on the towel, and Steve stays propped up on one elbow, looking out across the lake. The kids are messing around in the water, sending sprays of lake water everywhere, and he catches Nancy’s eye as she trips Mike and sends him flying.
Nancy grins, a faint blush just barely visible, and Steve feels his heart flutter. Moreso, when Jonathan looks over at him and smiles, too.
He’s got a feeling that the rest of the summer’s going to be a good one.