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Chapter Text

Steve Harrington had always prided himself on being able to handle whatever life threw his way. He’d survived 18 years of bullshit while living with his parents, he’d survived high school’s dumb hierarchy system and he’d survived the worst heartbreak in the history of heartbreaks. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for sharing a tiny dorm room with Eddie “The Freak” Munson. 

The guy was a walking stereotype. He embodied every metalhead cliché rolled into a big mess of a 180 cm scrawny man. His hair was long, untamed curls that cascaded past his shoulders, framing a face that seemed permanently contorted in a grimace—or at least it was every time he looked at Steve’s general direction. His clothes were all ripped black jeans and dark band t-shirts, leather jackets and mismatched rings, each one some ridiculous, creepy things. His whole appearance screamed what those kids believed to be a rebellion against a world that didn't give a shit about them. Steve couldn’t really blame the world.  

The way he moved was totally over the top too, flailing around like a maniac in a mosh pit one minute, then acting all dramatic the next. He was the kind of guy who would've been an easy target for bullies in high school—not the beat-him-up kind of bullying, but the laugh-at-him-till-he-cries variety. The class clown, but in a really not-funny way—someone to laugh at, not with. Steve knew he would be one of them, laughing and calling him names. But then, sometimes, there was something about him. A darkness that would lurk behind those dark eyes; a weird smirk that would creep onto his face, and he would radiate this aura of pure chaotic energy, like he was daring people to mess with him. At those times he looked like a living, breathing middle finger.   

It was hard work to even try to understand him. 

Not that Steve was trying, really. 

They weren’t friends. Not even close to that. The silence between him and Eddie was palpable. It wasn’t just the lack of conversation; it was the lack of acknowledgment. They moved around each other like ghosts, only interacting when absolutely necessary. And even then, it was brief and often hostile. Steve had pegged him as a freak from day one when he first opened the door of their shared room to some loud, horrible noise that made Steve’s eardrums vibrate. It had immediately erupted into a verbal fight within seconds, Steve shouting over the ear-splitting riffs while Eddie defended his right to play whatever he wanted. After that, they settled into a routine of mutual avoidance, an implicit agreement to stay out of each other's way. It suited Steve just fine. He had no interest in talking to Eddie, and the feeling appeared to be mutual.  

And there was the fact that Steve couldn't help but think Eddie saw him as the walking embodiment of the word "jock". Some meathead who lived for the next keg party, had a pathological need to flex all the time, and probably had a poster of a muscle car on his wall. There was a grain of truth to that, of course. Steve was the captain of the basketball team in high-school and he’d been part of the swimming team for most of his life—he was on a sports scholarship, for God’s sake. Steve was a jock—a prep jock like he preferred to call himself. Honestly, he had never been the soft and gentle kind of guy and he definitely wasn’t known for being smart. Textbooks had always been Steve's personal nightmare, but at least he could play in any social scenario without a care. Steve had carefully constructed personas he wore like a second skin—King Steve for his friends, perfect son at home, the charming guy for the girls; all meticulously tailored for the occasion. 

He was comfortable in any skin he decided to wear. 

It was a Friday night, and Steve stumbled back to their room at around 2 a.m. His stomach was agitated and he was feeling nauseated, the cheap beer and that weird blue drink people kept shoving at his face threatening to make a reappearance. But he was totally fine, promise—or at least that was what he said to Tommy just so he could come back to his room alone. He was seriously going to puke if he had to see Tommy and Carol eating face for one more second. And fridays were Eddie's nights to disappear into some underground bar full of weirdos like himself, leaving Steve with some peace and quiet, so going home was way better than staying with his friends. 

Or so he thought, because the stench of weed smacked him in the face even before he fully opened the door.  

The room itself had a familiar, unwelcome smell: a pungent mix of cigarettes, weed, sweat, and that bitter aftertaste of cheap coffee. Two semesters living with Eddie Munson, and Steve still couldn't get used to this absolute assault on his senses. Inside was dimly lit, with the moonlight filtering through the partially closed blinds and casting faint, uneven shadows. The only other light came from a lava lamp on Steve’s headboard shelf, its molten blobs glowing a hypnotic red and orange light that almost didn’t reach Eddie’s side of the room. 

Steve could make out the glow of Eddie’s joint immediately; long fingers holding it against his lips. He was sitting on his bed, knees drawn in, and one arm – the one he was holding his smoke – slung casually over his knee. He was wearing the ugly oversized Black Sabbath T-shirt he used as pajama and gray sweatpants; his long hair wild around his face while he slouched against the wall. And there was his other hand. Rings glinted in the moonlight, his fingers moving up and down slowly. Steve knew that rhythm all too well. 

Steve stopped dead in the doorway, a mix of anger and shock that made his already upset stomach flip over and then sink. His first instinct was to retreat. Crash on Tommy’s room and pretend not to hear all the moans (ugh!), or sneak somewhere empty—anywhere but here, in this ridiculous small space, face-to-face with the guy he still hadn't figured out how to coexist with while said guy had his dick out.  

“Shit,” he ended up saying. “What the fuck?” 

He didn’t know why he said that. The last thing he wanted to do was to let that weirdo know he’d just walked in on him jerking off. But there was no use crying over it now because Eddie definitely heard him.  

“Fuck off, Harrington,” was all Eddie said. 

Rage surged within Steve. This was his room too, dammit! And Eddie knew the damn deal—using a sock on the doorknob meant the room was occupied, like a giant "Do Not Enter" sign. He looked down to make sure he didn’t miss it, but there was no sock. No sign at all. The door wasn’t even locked to begin with! For half a second, he thought about closing the door again and maybe waiting until he finished it, but Steve's brain, swimming in alcohol at this point, wouldn't let him just turn around. Leaving wasn’t an option; pride wouldn’t allow it. So, with a defiance born more out of weird blue drink than anything else, Steve pushed the door wider and stomped in. 

He kicked off his shoes, dropped his jacket somewhere and stormed into the room. Eddie’s hand paused for a split second when Steve got closer, but then continued on its way. It was slow, so fucking slow , like he wasn’t in any hurry to get to his point. Steve could only stare. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asked again, but Eddie just kept on going. From closer, he looked amused. All the soft light coming from the window was right on him like a spotlight to the most bizarre show Steve ever watched. “Dude, seriously, what the hell are…?” 

"What does it look like, huh, Steve?" Eddie drawled, sarcasm dripping from his voice, amusement dancing in his dark eyes when he stared back at Steve. 

Steve's jaw clenched tight. The urge to fire back burned in his gut, and he was so close to throwing a tantrum and acting like the spoiled brat Eddie believed he was that it made him angrier. He choked it down, though, but a childish sense of defiance replaced it almost immediately. He was going to be the brat, then; see how Eddie liked it! So he reached for his pack of cigarettes, making sure to keep looking at Eddie all the time (and Eddie was still looking at him like the creep he was). He inhaled deeply, the smoke burning his lugs, welcomed, and sank onto his bed, facing Eddie directly. Their gazes met—his silent challenge being a substitute for a retort. Steve was daring him to look away first. 

Because this wasn't about witty retorts anymore; this was about dominance now. 

He sucked another lungful of smoke, the harsh burning always a welcome distraction, and held it in, his eyes boring into Eddie's. But Eddie just smirked around his joint, an infuriating spread of amusement across his face, completely unfazed by Steve's passive aggression. The damn freak!  

The glint in his dark eyes was already ridiculous, but the smirk playing on his lips was definitely the most annoying part. It was a smug grin that seemed to mock Steve's entire act, and Steve had to mentally count down just so he wouldn’t jump on him and do something stupid like punching his fucking dick. So instead of just staring him in the eye, he let his gaze run over Eddie’s body in a display of overacted nonchalance.  

He decided to take his sweet time studying all of Eddie's features, because why not? He wasn’t the one who should feel ashamed here! 

Big, dark eyes were looking back at him. They looked even darker under the moonlight, contrasting with his pale face. Sure, those eyes could easily charm people who dig the whole "tortured artist" vibe, the way they were so brown and how sometimes Eddie would put on some dark eyeliner and make them look even darker. Steve didn’t dig that, of course, to him they were just endless sources of real annoyance. Like that exact moment. Honestly, Steve doesn't remember to ever look at those eyes and not get that twisting, annoying feeling in his core. It always made him feel like punching and breaking something. 

The faded Black Sabbath shirt Eddie was wearing stretched tight across his chest. Steve knew all about Eddie's lack of muscle, how he looked like he never set one foot inside a gym. The first time Steve saw him shirtless, the helpful part of his brain wanted to recommend him a whole set of exercise, but that was just a few hours after their first fight and Steve was too busy fuming to care. Honestly, not that Eddie seemed to care anyway. His whole upper body was scrawny and covered in creepy tattoos – he obviously didn’t care about his appearance. Steve's nose wrinkled at the sight of the spider web tattoo crawling up Eddie's arm, some weird creature caught in it, and something that looked like a bird skull next to his elbow. The other arm, the one Steve didn’t really want to look at—but what hell—, had a weird puppet demon and, even though he couldn't see it in detail now, he knew there were bats on his forearm.  

His gaze traveled down some more, and he could make out that slow hand movement again, the glint of Eddie’s rings, the long fingers wrapped around his also long cock—a freak even in that. Steve had never seen a guy jerking off before, not in person, not live, not right in front of him. His throat was suddenly too dry, burning too much. He swallowed hard, a dry, painful gulp that did nothing to help. Licking his lips for moisture was tempting, but just the thought made him clench his jaw. Like hell he would! 

Steve wasn’t a prude. He wasn’t the kind of guy that would preach against a guy masturbating, like some hypocrite church boy. He wasn’t a weirdo like Jason Carver! But that was too much, wasn’t it? Doing that right in front of him like it’s fucking normal, like they are that kind of friends. Shouldn’t Eddie feel embarrassed? Shouldn't he feel angry for being interrupted? Not that he was, really, because he didn’t stop. He didn’t say anything else other than mock Steve. He just kept going at it. And Steve was fucking pissed off about that.  

What the hell, really? What the fucking hell?  

Steve took another drag of his smoke, ignoring his burning throat and hoping the nicotine would help calm him down at least a little, and just watched Eddie. He didn’t know why he was doing that, his brain screaming about how dumb his little challenge was, but he kept watching.  

He watched, jaw clenched, how Eddie took a final drag from his joint and stubbed it out on the thick cover of a nearby book. And he watched how Eddie parted his legs more, his cock is full display now. He could see it in all the detail the soft glow of the moonlight allowed. He could see the outline of it perfectly in front of the black shirt, the movement of Eddie’s hand up and down, up and down, the same slow, agonizingly slow rhythm. He could even see how wet it was. 

Heat prickled beneath Steve's collar. He shouldn't be noticing these things. This was Eddie Munson, the freak, the campus drug dealer, the nerd. He was everything Steve used to mock. Yet, here he was, mesmerized by the way his fingers moved along his wet cock. Jesus fucking Christ! Steve's stomach did that weird flip that comes with the well-known warmth, the one that spreads from somewhere next to his belly button to all his body and then settles between his legs. 

Steve’s cock getting hard turned his already angry, freaked-out state into some full-blown panic mode, setting a bunch of red lights inside his brain. There he was, practically memorizing the details of another guy and then getting a fucking boner after seeing some precum. That wasn't real. That was some sort of fever dream brought on by that gross drink, that’s it. It was definitely that damn drink! That blue nightmare. Was it roofed? Is he drugged right now? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck was wrong with him? 

He should get out of that damn room and maybe never come back—or he should tell Eddie to get out, why the fuck not? 

Yet, there Steve was, glued to the fucking spot. 

What Steve needed was to escape, to delete the image of long fingers and metal rings around long, wet cocks from his mind and remind himself of normal things, like girls with big boobies, that smell nice and are soft and cute. But for some reason he physically couldn’t do it—didn't want to do it—his gaze still locked on Eddie, who now seemed to be smirking even wider like he knew exactly what was going on in Steve's wasted brain. 

He was weirdly turned on by that slow hand movement, by the glint of rings, by tongue licking his lips, by his long hair, the oversized ugly T-shirt, by the smell of weed filling the room. And by the way Eddie was looking at him now with that unspoken challenge in his eyes. 

He looked at Steve like he was saying: “You’re really going to stay here and watch me do it? Fine. I’ll rub one out for you and you can fucking watch.”  

Maybe he should just admit defeat, tear his gaze away, get some goddamn fresh air, and forget this whole thing ever happened. Except, Eddie's stupid eyes were like a dare; a challenge Steve couldn't ignore. He wouldn’t back down, not even if his insides were twisting into knots, and he was questioning his whole reality.  

So Steve did exactly what Eddie wanted. He decided to fully watch the show.  

He mimicked Eddie’s position, back against the wall, knees bent and feet firmly planted on the mattress. And he watched him. He watched until his cock got so hard in his pants that it started to hurt, and he knew he was going to have to do something about it soon.  

Eddie didn’t stop, he didn’t say anything, didn’t look away. 

The initial surge of panic had subsided now, replaced by a persistent unease in his insides that existed for a completely different reason. He was unable to tear his gaze away and he really, really wanted to touch himself. His dick was literally begging now—he didn’t even know he could get this hard while being so wasted. 

Steve took the last long drag from his cigarette, held it in, resigning to the burn that went down all the way to his lungs, before letting the smoke out slowly. Finally, for the first time since he started this ridiculous stare contest, he tore his gaze away from Eddie. He leaned over his mattress, stubbing the cigarette out with a hiss in the ashtray perched precariously on a pile of books on his headboard shelf. As he sat back down again, in the same position he was before, still mirroring Eddie, he decided to say screw it . Who cared if it was weird? 

If Eddie could do it, so could Steve. 

He wasted no time to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans like he was dying to do for so long now, and the instant relief made him sigh content. Steve’s dick was hard and already leaking, and with a groan, he fished it out of his jeans. Eddie's gaze, which had been locked on Steve's face until now, flickered down, landing on Steve's hands, a glint of surprise crossing his face. Then, a slow, manic grin, wider than any Steve had ever seen directed at him, spread across his face. Eddie bit his lip, like he was trying to hold it back—or just because he liked what he was seeing, who knew? And weirdly, Steve also liked it. A lot. 

His hands were dry, and his skin burned with the first few strokes, but he didn’t care. His gaze was fixed on Eddie, the way his mouth parted in a silent moan, the way his eyes fluttered closed only for an instant, and how he let his head drop back against the wall. Eddie was slow and deliberate in his movements, and Steve could feel himself getting more turned on with every passing second. He liked it fast and rough, so Eddie’s slow stroking made Steve’s dick twitch with a weird desire; made him wish to wrap his hand around Eddie’s cock and stroke him hard and painful until he came. 

Steve blinked, trying to shake the thought. But the more he tried to push the thought away, the more it lingered. The urge was confusing, but hell if it wasn’t compelling! Steve had this weird feeling of trying to persuade himself into being okay with it, some small part of his brain suddenly being extremely loud. And honestly? He was so horny he really didn’t care; he didn’t shut the part of himself that wanted it, he welcomed it.  

Next day Steve could feel all the shame if he wanted. 

The air in the room was hot and heavy, thick with the scent of weed, sweat and sex. It made Steve feel light headed, but even so, he probably never felt so focused on something like he was now. Steve couldn’t keep his eyes off Eddie’s fingers, the way they moved over his cock, the way his thumb rubbed against the head. Steve tried to stroke himself in time with Eddie’s movements, but even though Eddie’s hand had picked up some speed now, it was still too damn slow for Steve. So he just did it how he liked, quickly and rough and painful, his breath coming in short gasps. His body taut and strung tight; it wouldn’t take much to send him over the edge.  

Eddie’s hips started moving, his body swaying from time to time like he couldn’t help it — the strokes definitely faster now. Steve bit his lip, and a groan slipped out before he could swallow it. His eyes were glued to Eddie’s cock, to the way his ringed hand was moving faster and faster, his thumb rubbing the head in hard circles. Steve watched some precome gather at the tip, and he couldn’t help himself anymore; he groaned, his hips moving wildly fucking into the circle of his fingers. Their gazes locked again, and Steve could feel the electricity crackle through the air like a lightning strike. 

Steve never ever in his life would have guessed that someday he would be thirsting over a guy, let alone one like Eddie. But the moonlight, weak and filtered through the blinds, gave Eddie an almost ethereal look, like he was some creature of the night, hypnotizing and oh so hungry . He really was staring at Steve like he wanted to devour him completely. Steve wondered what he was seeing, if it was as good as the view Steve was having. Steve's side of the room had the warm, orange and red glow of his lava lamp. He looked down for a moment to check on himself and wasn’t disappointed – his skin looked even more tanned, and the muscles of his forearms were visible. His cock, thick and red, was so hard the veins were visible even under the small light. He wondered if Eddie could see it too.  

When he looked back at Eddie, Steve was hit by another wave of want. 

Steve wanted Eddie to touch him; he wanted to feel his fingers on his skin, on his cock. He wanted to feel the slow, lazy stroking of Eddie’s hand, edging him and destroying his sanity. He wanted Eddie’s dick in his mouth. He wanted to feel the wet heat of Eddie’s tongue on his skin. He wanted— 

“Fuck!” Steve cried out, his orgasm ripping through him abrupt and strong. His dick twitched in his hand, spurting come all over his polo shirt. He didn’t have the energy to move, his body wracked with aftershocks. 

Eddie’s hand was still moving, his breaths coming in gasps. His eyes were fixed on Steve, his gaze almost predatory. And then Eddie’s body arched, his head fell back, and he was coming too. He collapsed on his bed, his body loose and relaxed, and a soft sigh escaped him. Steve’s mind was a blank slate, and the only thing he could think of was how much he wanted to go over to Eddie’s bed. To feel the warm stickiness of his come on his skin, to taste it on his lips. To have Eddie’s hands on him, to feel his touch— 

But his body was exhausted and sated, and he felt tired. Next day Steve already had too much to worry about and today Steve wasn’t going to embarrass him further by offering himself to Eddie or passing out with his dick still out—that would be too much humiliation. He packed himself back in his underwear, kicked off his jeans in the most dignified way his trembling, drunk body allowed, then yanked off his dirty shirt and slipped under the covers, facing the wall. He wanted to believe he did all this quickly, but it took embarrassingly long—long enough for Eddie to discard his t-shirt and light a cigarette. Steve could feel Eddie's eyes on him, almost like a physical touch. 

He expected it to make his body tense, to feel too aware of Eddie’s gaze, but his eyelids were heavy, and he realized he was drifting into sleep. 

And that was it. That was the first time Steve walked into his room and found Eddie jerking off, and then he ended up doing the same. That was the first time Steve saw Eddie’s hard cock. And that was the first time he saw him come. 

That was the first time Steve came while watching Eddie. 

But not the last.  

Not by a long shot.  

Not by a fucking long shot .  

Chapter Text

The red 1:07 PM on the clock mocked Steve when he woke up with a pounding headache and the awful taste of pure regret lingering in his mouth. He groaned, squinting against the afternoon light and buried his face in his pillow. The remnants of last night’s bad choices and embarrassment washed over him in waves, and he moaned, burying his face in his pillow even deeper. Why the hell did he have to watch Eddie and fucking do that ? He could almost hear a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Tommy’s, calling him every bad name in the book. Fuck. That was not how he wanted to start his day. 

It was a Saturday, thank fuck. He didn’t have to leave the room for anything, and he was grateful for that. He had no idea how he’d face Eddie. He groaned, his mind replaying all the images of Eddie stroking himself in the moonlight. He remembered the way Eddie’s head had fallen back, the way his mouth had parted in a silent moan, the way his cock had twitched in his hand. And Steve remembered his own orgasm, the way it’d consumed him like a wildfire. His cock stirred at the memory, and he cursed under his breath. 

He hated himself, and he hated his stupid dick, too. He hated the fact that the slightest memory of Eddie made him want to touch himself all over again. He hated how horny he was feeling, like he was 15 again and couldn’t control his hormones. He hated how his brain was replaying everything he saw last night, again and again. He hated it all, and he wanted it all . He wanted it in a way he’d never wanted anything before. He wanted Eddie with a desperation that terrified Steve to his very core. And he couldn't tell if the feeling was new — the result of his horny, stupid dick —, or something that had been lurking beneath the surface all along.

Steve forced himself to sit up, immediately regretting the movement when his stomach complained and his head throbbed. He rubbed his temples, trying to think about anything else that wasn’t Eddie. And to be completely honest, the hangover was brutal, but every beat of pain in his head was better than thinking about Eddie; about what that ridiculous attraction meant, making him question everything he thought he knew about himself. Steve felt pathetic, disgusted and ashamed for indulging in his own misery like that, but even the fact that he was feeling like crap was a good distraction. He wanted to kick his own ass. 

Carefully, he got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. His legs felt like jelly, and each step sent another wave of nausea crashing through him. Once he reached the sink, he turned the faucet on full blast and splashed cold water on his face, hoping to shock himself into clarity—if that didn’t work, he was also considering smashing his head against the tiled wall. The icy water worked just fine in jolting his senses. He stared at his reflection, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, and tried to clear his mind. 

It didn’t help much. In fact, the cold water seemed to make his thoughts much more clear, making everything about Eddie even more vivid. God, the attraction to Eddie was ridiculous. Steve had dated plenty of girls, and he had never really felt this way about a guy. It was exasperating, truly annoying. The way Eddie had looked at him last night, with those knowing eyes, like he could see right through Steve, see what Steve wanted , it sent a shiver down his spine. It was damn scary. 

Steve gripped the edges of the sink, his knuckles turning white. How had things gotten so messed up? He thought back to all the times he had been with girls, how easy and natural it had felt. This thing with Eddie was completely different. It made him feel out of control; made him want to let go of all control and submit to the desire. He hated that feeling. Hated that Eddie had this kind of power over him. 

Steve splashed more water on his face, trying to snap out of it. He needed to get a grip. This was just a phase that he could get past, that’s it. He had to. There was no way he could let himself get wrapped up in Eddie Munson, of all people. Even if Steve liked men—what wasn’t the case, obviously—Eddie would never be an option. He was the complete opposite of Steve's type.

With a frustrated groan, Steve turned off the faucet and dried his face. He went back to the room and looked around. Thank God Eddie was not there. He needed some time to get his head straight—literally—without his presence. Steve grabbed the forgotten bottle of water from his desk and downed the rest of it in one go, hoping it would help with the hangover. He flopped down on his bed again, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the growing knot of anxiety in his stomach. What was he supposed to do? He needed to pull himself together. He had to focus on something else, anything else. 

He looked around the space, searching for something to distract himself.  

The room was a mess. Eddie's side was covered in posters of metal bands, each one with some creepy, demonic creature that more than once almost scared Steve to death in the middle of the night. The walls, which had a boring shade of beige, could hardly be seen anymore. At the center of the mess of posters and photos and magazine clippings was the red and black guitar Eddie called “Sweetheart”, treated with more reverence than Steve had ever seen Eddie show a human being. And Steve had learned not to question the strange relationship between the weirdo and his instrument. 

Eddie’s bed was unmade, and Steve could see from where he was how dirty it was, covered in ashes, clothes and open books. The headboard shelf was cluttered with cassette tapes, more books, a glass bong of all things, and some extremely suspicious boxes—once, Steve had glimpsed what looked like a set of handcuffs peeking out of one of those boxes, but that could’ve been his imagination. Eddie's study table, at the foot of his bed, seemed to suffer under the weight of piles of books that Steve was sure was more than he had ever read in his entire life. Eddie would sit there for hours, hair tied up, a pack of cigarettes that wouldn’t last long, and spend hours opening book after book and taking thousands of notes. A total nerd. 

Steve's side was much cleaner and more organized. His bed was always made, his books – in much smaller quantities – were always neatly stacked on his shelf, and his ashtray was either on the shelf near the window or on his desk, which was always empty when he wasn't studying. The wall next to his bed was almost bare, save for a few polaroids of the kids he used to babysit back home—they were a bunch of mean teenagers now, but Steve still loved them. For a moment he considered calling them, but he was too beaten to deal with any hyperactive teenager. 

He picked up one of his textbooks and opened it, but the words swam in front of his eyes, making absolutely no sense – what wasn’t really a new thing. His eyes wandered over to Eddie's side of the room again, to the guitar propped up against the wall. Sweetheart. He remembered Eddie playing it, the way his fingers moved over the strings, sure and confident. Those hands. Steve's breath hitched, thinking about the long fingers that seemed so skilled . Steve clenched his fists and pushed the thoughts away.

The next hours passed in the same haze of headache, Eddie-Eddie-Eddie and absolute self-loathing. Steve managed to choke down some toast from the canteen and spent the rest of the morning flipping through TV channels in the communal area, unable to focus on anything and ignoring everyone who tried to talk to him. He kept glancing around, dreading the moment Eddie would walk in. Every creak and shuffle around him made his heart race. He couldn’t avoid Eddie forever, but he had no idea how he was going to face him after the night before. 

By early evening, Steve felt a little more human. He decided to go back to his room and distract himself with some studying. Maybe if he buried himself in his super boring business textbooks and focused only on how much he hated them, he could forget about Eddie and all the confusing feelings that came with him. He spread his notes across his desk, and was trying to read something about supply chain analytics, when he heard the door open. His heart skipped a beat. Eddie was back. Steve kept his eyes on his textbook, pretending to be engrossed in his studies. Maybe if he ignored him, Eddie would just leave him alone. 

But of course, no such luck for him. Eddie strolled into the room in large steps, tossed his bag onto his chair and leaned against his own desk, watching Steve with intense eyes. Steve felt a flush creeping up his neck, but forced himself to stay calm. He wasn’t going to let Eddie get under his skin. 

“So, Harrington,” Eddie drawled, crossing his arms. “Did you enjoy the show last night?” 

Wow, no mercy at all. 

Steve flinched. Eddie was really going to milk it for all it was worth, wasn’t he? Steve ran a hand through his messy hair. His eyes felt gritty and dry, his mouth parched. He clenched his jaw, refusing to look up and hoping Eddie would just get bored and leave. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, turning a page in his textbook even though he hadn’t read a single word. 

“Oh, come on,” Eddie taunted, taking a few steps closer, looming over Steve’s desk. “Don’t play dumb, Stevie. You seemed really into it yesterday.” 

Steve felt his face burn. He finally looked up, meeting Eddie’s mocking gaze with as much defiance as he could muster. “I don’t know what you think happened, but you’re wrong,” he snapped. “I was drunk. It didn’t mean anything.” 

Eddie laughed, a low, annoying sound. “Sure, whatever you say, Harrington. But it looked like you were pretty into it from where I was sitting.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Munson,” Steve said, exasperated. It had been less than a minute and he’s already tired of it all. He knew, knew that Eddie would make fun of him. 

Eddie just looked at him for a moment, undisturbed, then he tilted his head and smiled again. “Oh... Little Stevie is scared ,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. 

Steve stood up abruptly, knocking over a stack of papers in the process, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You don’t know anything,” he hissed, his voice shaking with anger. He took a step forward, getting right in Eddie’s face, nose stuck in the air, face just a few centimeters away.  

Eddie’s eyes flashed. He took a step closer, and now they were so close that Steve could feel a low vibration humming through the air, like Eddie’s body was charged with electricity. “Don’t I? Look at you, freaking out just because you liked what you saw.” 

Steve’s swallowed hard. The fuck that he would let Eddie win that argument. “You’re fucking delusional,” he spat. “I didn’t like it, you arrogant asshole.” 

Eddie smirked, leaning in even closer until their noses were almost touching. “Sure, Stevie. Keep telling yourself that.” 

Steve’s fists tightened, every muscle in his body coiled with tension. He hated Eddie for making him feel like this, for making him actually question what he was supposed to like or not. He wanted to punch him, wipe that smug look off his face, but he also felt that same confusing pull towards him, the one he couldn’t deny no matter how much he wanted to. 

“You know what I think, Harrington?” Eddie asked, voice so low it was almost a whisper. Steve wanted to say he didn’t care, but he could almost feel Eddie’s words on his lips and that, more than anything else, made him keep his mouth shut. “I think you wanted a taste of my cock.” 

If Steve were alive and well, he would have punched Eddie right on that smug smile, but he was pretty sure he died there on the spot, his soul floating away. He couldn’t feel his body at all – all his existence became only about dark eyes and echoing words. 

“You watched me last night,” Eddie continued, “and you got off to it. What does that make you, Harrington?” 

Steve was still not existing, was still floating into nothing. So it was a surprise, and a very bad one at that, when he heard his own voice say: “I’m not a fag.” 

Eddie laughed again, a puff of warm air touching Steve’s face, but there was no humor in it. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself, fine. But we both know it’s a lie.” 

Steve’s anger boiled over. He shoved Eddie, hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “Get out of my face, Munson,” he hissed. 

“Whatever. I have better things to do than watch you freak out, anyway. If you want to fuck, ask me. If not, just stay away from me.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder again, and picked his guitar on the wall and put it in a case. He walked out the door, then, leaving Steve alone. 

Steve stood there, trembling with a mix of rage and shame. He sank back onto his chair, burying his face in his hands. What the hell was he supposed to do now? 

“Fuck,” he said, exhausted. “Fuck!”  

- 

Steve spent the next few hours brooding, the argument with Eddie replaying in his mind over and over. He couldn't focus on his studies; his anger and confusion were too overwhelming to ignore. Every time he tried to read a page or take a note, Eddie's voice echoed in his head, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to escape, even if just for a little while. So when Tommy called, suggesting they hit a bar with some friends, Steve jumped at the chance. Anything to get out of there. 

He met up with Tommy and the others at a bar that was more like a club, packed with college students blowing off steam. The place was dimly lit, with pulsating lights and a mix of music and chatter. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and perfume. Tommy was at the pool table, surrounded by the group of people: basketball players from the school team – that Tommy was part of –, some people from their major and Carol, Tommy’s girlfriend. He spotted Steve and waved him over.  

“Hey man, you look like shit,” Tommy said, grinning. 

Steve forced a sarcastic laugh. “Thanks, I needed that.” 

Tommy slapped him on the back, harder than necessary. “Come on, let’s play a game.” 

Steve nodded, his mind blank. He didn’t care about the pool. He just wanted to drown his sorrows in alcohol. He could feel the familiar pull of wanting to numb everything, to make the confusion and anger disappear, if only for a few hours. The last thing he need was to become some alcoholic, but fuck if he wasn’t that close. 

"You want a beer first?" Tommy shouted over the noise, clapping Steve on the back again. 

"Definitely," Steve replied, grateful for the distraction.  

They made their way to the bar, squeezing past groups of laughing, shouting students. The bartender barely glanced at them before pouring their beers—what was great because Steve forgot his damn fake ID. Small mercies or something like that. Steve took a long, satisfying gulp, feeling the tension ease just a bit with the cool liquid. He glanced around the room, taking in the scene: people were dancing, flirting, shouting to be heard over the music. It was chaos, but it was exactly what he needed right now. Chaos, alcohol and hopefully a good laid. 

"So, what’s going with your roommate?" Tommy asked. "You sounded angrier than usual on the phone." 

"Man, you have no idea," Steve groaned. "The guy is a complete asshole. Thinks he's better than everyone." 

Tommy laughed, shaking his head. "Sounds rough, man. Maybe you just need to show him who's boss." 

Steve snorted. "Yeah, right. The guy's a dick. And he thinks... I don’t know, man, he thinks I'm into him or something." 

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Into him? Like, you want to bang him?" 

Steve felt his face heat up. "No! I mean, I don't know." 

"If he’s a fag, it’s motive enough for the school to let you change rooms, dude,” Tommy casually said, and Steve grimaced.  

Didn’t he also say that fucking word to Eddie’s face? He really was an asshole and he didn’t even know for sure if Eddie was into dudes. Sure, he did all that while looking at Steve like he was some fucking midnight snack, but so did Steve—and Steve wasn’t into guys.

“I don’t know, man,” Steve replied, running a hand through his hair and feeling tired. “They didn’t allow it the last two times I tried.” 

“If he’s a queer and a druggie,” Tommy insisted, “you can say you feel threatened you might catch the gay disease.” 

Ugh!  

“You know what? Drop it, man. I was just angry. He’s not queer or whatever, I was just saying shit. He’s just a fucking asshole.” 

Steve rubbed his face, pressing against his eyes until he started to see stars. God, he was tired of everything.  

“Sounds like you need more than just one drink tonight," Tommy said, flagging down the bartender for another round. "Just forget about him. We're here to have a good time." 

Steve nodded. He needed to get Eddie out of his head, at least for tonight.  

As the night went on, Steve found himself drinking more and more. The alcohol dulled his senses, making everything feel a bit more bearable. He laughed at Tommy’s jokes, flirted with the girls Tommy introduced him to, and tried to forget about everything else. And a couple of hours later, Steve was well and truly drunk. The bar was a blur of lights and bodies moving to the music of some live band that was playing on the small stage. He was feeling loose and almost happy. 

“Come on, man, let’s find you a girl. You need to get laid,” Tommy said after they went back for their hundredth round of drinks, a mischievous grin on his face. He was as wasted as Steve felt.  

Steve rolled his eyes but didn't protest. Maybe Tommy was right. Maybe that was exactly what he needed to get his mind off Eddie. They moved through the crowd, Tommy leading the way. They stopped somewhere near the stage when Tommy all but grabbed Steve by the shoulder and pointed at a girl who was standing alone next to the wall. 

“Trust me, man, that will be an easy lay,” Tommy shouted next to his ear. 

Steve checked the girl out. She was watching the stage, a drink in her hand and some bored expression on her face. She was tall and slender, with short, blonde hair and a pretty face— definitely out of his league (for tonight at least, since he felt like crap). But what the hell, why not. So without thinking too much about it, Steve made his way over to her. 

"Hey," he said, leaning his arm against the wall.  

The girl looked at him with a mixture of amusement and pity. “Can I help you?” she asked. 

“You’re really hot,” Steve said like a total loser. 

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Thank you?” 

"I'm Steve. What's your name?" 

The girl looked him up and down, unimpressed. "Robin." 

"Nice to meet you, Robin," Steve said, flashing his best smile. "Can I buy you a drink?" 

Robin raised an eyebrow. "No, thanks. I'm good." 

Steve frowned, not used to being turned down so quickly (or at all). Maybe he looked worse than he thought, which meant he wasn’t going to score at all that night. Well, great. 

He was about to leave, feeling a little embarrassed, when Tommy appeared at his side. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked, eyeing Robin. "You giving my buddy Steve a hard time?" 

"She’s not interested, man," Steve muttered, but Tommy ignored him. 

"Come on, don't be like that," he said, leaning in towards Robin. "Just have a drink with him. He's a great guy." 

Robin crossed her arms, glaring at Tommy. "I said no. Get lost." 

"Hey, don't be rude," Tommy shot back, his voice rising. "He's just trying to be nice." 

Steve could see the situation escalating and tried to pull Tommy away. "Come on, man, leave it." 

Tommy shrugged off Steve's hand, stepping closer to Robin. "What's your problem, huh? Too good for us?" 

"Back off, asshole," Robin snapped, clearly fed up, her blue eyes flashing angry. 

Before Steve could intervene in what looked like it would become the worst scenario, he felt a strong hand shove him hard from behind. He stumbled forward, almost losing his balance, and turned to see Eddie standing there, eyes blazing with anger. From all the people, of course it was Eddie. 

"The fuck, Harrington?" He growled. "Can't take no for an answer?" 

Steve’s anger flared up, partly from the shove, but mostly from seeing Eddie there. "What the hell are you doing here, Munson? This has nothing to do with you." 

"It does when you're harassing my friend," Eddie shot back, stepping closer. "Back off." 

Steve squared his shoulders, the alcohol doing wonders to his bravado. "I wasn't harassing anyone, asshole. You back off!" 

"Didn't look like it," Eddie said, his tone dripping with contempt. 

“Hey! No one talking to you, faggot,” Tommy spat, pushing Eddie. 

For a moment, Steve could only stare. People around them seemed to hold their breath, eyes darting between Tommy and Eddie. Steve looked at Eddie too, expecting to see hurt or anger, but he found only that familiar, infuriating smirk plastered across Eddie’s face. 

“Don’t worry, Hagan. I’m not trying to take your boyfriend away from you,” he said and then looked at Steve. “He’s all yours to fuck.” 

Steve just stared in silent shock.  

Then Tommy lunged at Eddie, throwing a punch that caught him off guard. Eddie stumbled back, clutching his jaw, and then all hell broke loose. Eddie recovered quickly, his eyes blazing with fury, and tackled Tommy, sending them both crashing into a nearby table. Drinks and glasses shattered, and the crowd around them scattered, shouting and trying to avoid the fight. For a moment, Steve just stood frozen, his mind reeling by the words. Then, his instincts kicked in. He jumped in, grabbing Eddie by the shoulders and trying to pull him off Tommy.

"Stop it! Both of you, stop!" 

Eddie struggled against him, his face flushed. His anger seemed to make him impossibly strong, making it nearly impossible for Steve to hold him back. Tommy, now on his feet again, with blood dripping from his nose, lunged at Eddie once more. Steve had to use all his strength to hold Eddie back while another friend restrained Tommy. 

"You're a dead man, Munson!" Tommy yelled, struggling against his friend’s grip. 

"Bring it on, Hagan!" Eddie shouted back.

Steve's head was spinning, the noise and chaos around him making it hard to think. "Enough!" he yelled, his voice hoarse. 

"Get off me, Harrington!" Eddie yelled, pushing Steve away with surprising force. "This piece of shit deserves it!" 

Steve stumbled back against the wall and tried to regain his balance. He noticed a group of guys at the edge of the chaos, watching intently. Based on the way they dressed – wearing the same ugly t-shirt –, they were probably Eddie's friends, ready to jump in if things got worse. One of them, a big, muscular black man, looked like he could easily take down Tommy and then some. 

"Tommy, stop!" Steve shouted when Tommy broke free and advanced again. 

Tommy, ass so drunk he was barely able to stand, swung again at Eddie. The punch hit him right in his jaw, the force of it making him crash into another table. Eddie's friends finally stepped in, but instead of joining the fight as Steve expected, they held Eddie back. The shortest among them, who looked more like a high school student than anything, with a childish face and messy hair, stood in front of Eddie as if he could stop Tommy if he attacked again.  

"Fuck you, Munson!" Tommy spat, his face a mess of blood and anger. 

"You wish, Hagan," Eddie sneered, wiping some blood from his split lip. "You fucking wish." 

Steve rushed over to Tommy.

"We need to get out of here," he said urgently, looking over his shoulder at Eddie and his friends. The big guy was moving towards them now, a determined look on his face. 

"Come on, man," Steve insisted, practically dragging Tommy towards the door. Their friends followed, looking both worried and excited, but doing nothing to help. 

As they pushed their way out of the bar, Steve glanced back one last time. Eddie was standing there, breathing hard, still glaring at them. His friends had formed a protective circle around him, the short guy standing closest. They looked ready to step in if necessary. 

Outside, the cool night air hit Steve like a slap in the face. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "What the hell was that, man?" he asked, angry.

"Fucking Munson," Tommy growled, still struggling against Steve's grip. "He's gonna pay for this." 

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Let's just get out of here." 

He was angry with Tommy and Eddie, but mostly himself. He couldn’t believe how easily he was dragged into things he would regret later. He thought it was a fucking mistake, going there that night. And in the next hours, he was going to find out that he wasn’t exactly wrong. Maybe he would regret it later, but it damn well wouldn’t feel like a mistake. He would just enjoy it.

Chapter Text

An hour or so after the bar fight, Steve trudged back to the apartment he shared with Eddie. He expected the place to be empty, thinking Eddie would still be out blowing off steam or licking his wounds somewhere else. But, as he pushed open the door, he saw Eddie sitting on his bed, a cigarette in between his lips and the guitar in his hands. It was like a fucking Deja-vu. 

Eddie looked like hell. A pale bruise was already forming on his cheek, and his lip was still bleeding, a small, dark trickle painting the corner of his lips. Despite his appearance, he strummed his guitar with a calm expression, as if playing the instrument was keeping him grounded. When Eddie noticed Steve, he didn't stop playing. Instead, he looked up with a sneer, the kind that sent Steve's blood boiling. 

"Look who finally made it home," Eddie drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Steve felt a surge of anger rise in his chest. "You had no right to get involved there, asshole," he snapped, slamming the door behind him. "I wasn't harassing that girl. Tommy was being a jerk, sure, but you ... you just made everything worse." 

Eddie smirked, his fingers still moving over the strings. "Yeah, well, I saw what I saw. You and your buddy were acting like dicks, and I stepped in. Deal with it." 

Steve's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to hit Eddie, to punch him just like Tommy did. Fucking asshole and his ridiculous smug smile.

"You're such a dick," Steve spat, stepping closer to Eddie’s bed. "You think you're so righteous, so much better than everyone else. But you're just a—" 

"A what, Harrington?" Eddie interrupted, his eyes flashing with anger. "Go on. What am I?" 

Steve's mind raced, his thoughts a chaotic jumble. He could feel the tension between them, the anger and the heat mixing together in a way that left him dizzy. "You act like you're fighting for something noble," he finally said, his voice low, "but you're just as much of a jerk as anyone else." 

Eddie stood up, the guitar falling silent. He took a step towards Steve, his face inches away. "Maybe, but I’m not some hypocrite asshole," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. "You think saying shit about me will make you feel better? You're the one with the problem, Harrington. I always knew what you are, but thanks for confirming you are nothing more than a fucking disappointment." 

Steve felt his heart pound in his chest, a mix of fear, anger, and shame. He wanted to deny whatever Eddie was implying, to push him away and run from all of it, but he couldn't move. The air between them was electric, charged with all the things they weren't saying. 

"Shut the hell up," Steve said, but his voice lacked conviction. He could feel his resolve crumbling, the walls he had built around himself starting to crack. 

Eddie leaned in closer, his breath warm on Steve's face. "What? Will you make me?" he challenged, his eyes daring. 

And looking into those dark eyes, Steve was sure Eddie knew. He knew that Steve's brain was in battle with itself over the challenge Eddie had proposed. He could hit Eddie just like Tommy did, or he could pull Eddie close and kiss him until he couldn't say anything else. Both were tempting. But if he was honest with himself, he would admit how much he wanted to give in to the desire, how much he wanted to touch and feel. But he couldn't do it. He was too scared, too confused. Instead, he shoved Eddie away, hard enough to make him stumble. 

"Just stay away from me," Steve said, his voice shaking.   

Steve had never been through this before, this situation. Of course, he had received male attention before. Between shared showers at school and college; parties and suspicious bars, he could never ignore the way some men looked at him from time to time. It was a strange sensation, not really comfortable but not uncomfortable either, that would make something inside him stir restlessly. But he always had control, ignoring or showing in some way the lack of interest. The feeling inside him, the thing , had never been an issue until that moment.  

But now the thing was complaining, making a complete destruction. It was screaming, pounding, gaining strength, and tearing his insides.  

He just wanted to get over all these weird feelings he was experiencing. Eddie was just a guy, after all. They didn’t like each other, so what would happen if they just fucked? It wasn’t like he was going to fall in love with him. Steve wasn’t gay, he just... liked sex. That would be just experimenting, trying new things that could feel good. If they would just fuck and then forget it, then maybe Steve could just get him out of his system.  

“You’re not even worth it,” Eddie said, after a moment. 

“What?” Steve said, taken aback. 

Eddie shrugged, not even bothering to look at Steve, and turned his back to him. He carefully took his guitar from the bed and put it in her place of honor, on the wall. Steve looked at it, fantasizing about breaking it like those rock stars and then burning the pieces right in front of Eddie.  

“If you want to be fucked, you get on your knees and beg for it. Because that's the only way it's gonna happen now,” Eddie said in a bored tone. 

“What the fuck?! Shut the fuck up, man!” 

“Oh, so you are still pretending you’re not desperate for a good dick.” 

“Fuck off,” Steve snapped, his hands curling into fists.  

He didn’t want to hit Eddie, not really. And he wasn’t desperate for a good dick, but the idea of fucking Eddie really did float on his head the whole fucking day. And he still hated to admit how a part of him didn’t want to escape. The part of him that was drawn to Eddie, to the challenge, to the chaos. He wanted to fuck him, fuck him so hard and dirty that he would never have to think about it again. He was sick of feeling like that. He was sick of looking at Eddie and wondering what he would feel like if he touched him.  

The thing inside him pounded harder against his chest. And he wanted and wanted, but instead he said: “I already told you I’m not a fucking fag.” 

There was it, the damn word again. Apparently, Steve really was the asshole people believe him to be. The word still felt wrong in his mouth, all sharp and bitter.  Eddie's head snapped up, his entire body turning towards him. He swayed lightly on the balls of his feet as if his brain couldn't decide whether Eddie should stay where he was or go to Steve and maybe punch him – Steve wouldn’t even complain. 

“No, you’re not.” Eddie’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and even though he was smiling, it didn’t reach his eyes. “You just like to watch fags do it, right? You just like to get off to them like a pathetic needy slut. Very heterosexual of you, by the way” 

Steve felt like he had been slapped.  

“It wasn’t like that,” Steve muttered under his breath, avoiding Eddie's gaze. "You don't know shit." 

“Oh, don’t I?” Eddie laughed, that same, cold laugh he had when he wanted to be mean. “I know you like cock. I know you like it big and hard , because you were jerking off to mine just the other night, weren’t you? You watched me do it, all needy and desperate. You got off on it, Harrington!” 

Eddie was right, of course. Steve had watched him, and Steve had come to that too. But this was not the main problem for Steve, he had already made peace with his actions from the night before. The problem that troubled his mind now had much more to do with why he had watched Eddie so closely; why he liked what he saw to the point of feeling so horny he came all over himself.  

“You’re going to deny it?” Eddie said, voice rising. “You’re going to say you didn’t?” 

“I didn’t,” Steve muttered, completely beaten. Oh, he was pathetic. Eddie was right about it too. 

“Bullshit, Harrington.” 

“Look, shut up, man,” Steve as much as begged. He was sobering now and all he wanted was to get drunk all over again. And he seriously wanted Eddie to shut the fuck up. 

Eddie's gaze was fixed on Steve, a steady, predatory intensity in his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, an almost imperceptible gesture that immediately made Steve’s eyes focus on it. It was as if Eddie was figuring Steve up, a smug satisfaction already creeping into his expression. He sat on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his hands, legs apart. The position was casual and exposed, but somehow it looked like a trap. Steve made sure to keep his eyes on Eddie’s face. 

“Or...” Eddie tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. The gesture was both challenging and mocking. Steve was starting to feel like a particularly stupid mouse caught by the meanest cat in the world. "Maybe you wanna do more than just watch, but are too proud to ask? It’s ok, Stevie, you don’t need to use words." 

Steve's breath caught in his throat. He looked at Eddie, and for a moment he considered it. He really did. But it was wrong and disgusting, and he was not desperate.  

He just glared at Eddie and said, "No way." 

Eddie shrugged. "Suit yourself. If you're not interested, I'll just go take care of myself," Eddie goaded, “And it’s not like you’re going to stop me. Are you, Harrington?” 

Steve shook his head, feeling defeated. If Eddie wanted to go through with this ridiculous little show, Steve wasn’t going to give a fuck about it. And to show his complete resignation, he sat in the chair at his desk, ran his hand through his already messy hair, rested his chin in his hand, and looked at Eddie, tired. 

“Of course not,” Eddie said. “You’re going to watch again. And maybe you can even get off to it again, since you like watching so much.” 

“I won’t,” Steve said, his voice sounding small to his ears. 

“’course you won’t,” Eddie said. “Because you’re a straight guy, after all.” 

And with that, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Eddie started to unbuckle his belt. Steve’s eyes went wide, and honestly, it was his fault—he should’ve known Eddie was going to pull this kind of bullshit. He swallowed hard, watching while Eddie unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. He was already half-hard, and he didn't seem to need much stimulation to get fully erect. As Steve watched, mesmerized, Eddie's cock grew thicker, the skin pulling tight around the head. Eddie’s thumb rubbed over the tip, spreading a few drops of precum down the length.  

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie said, his voice low. “Look at that.” 

Steve swallowed again. His heart was beating too fast, and his hands were shaking. The thing inside him purred at Eddie’s words. 

He didn’t reply. 

“My cock is big and hard, isn’t it?” Eddie asked. “It’s exactly how you like it.” 

Steve's face heated up, and he felt his own cock twitch.   

Yes, Steve was looking alright. The bright light showed him stuff he hadn't seen before. It was so different from last night, when Eddie was a figure in the dark, being illuminated only by the soft moonlight. Before all he could see were his pale hand, moving along the shape of his cock. It was only shadows and shapes and pale skin. But now, Steve could see it all.  

His hands, calloused and scarred from guitar strings and God knows what else, were surprisingly pretty. Long, with slender fingers that moved with that slow, slow pace. And his cock, God ... Steve was always a jock, his whole school life was more about locker rooms than classrooms, and guys in locker rooms like to compare.  Steve has seen lots of cocks before—hell, he has seen Eddie’s many times before when he was undressing around without any shame—but this was different. It was really different seeing something when it was being sexualized just for him. Cocks in locker rooms? Ugly, flaccid things between the legs of his bros. That cock, right in front of his eyes? So hard and long and so damn wet? Steve couldn’t remember when he ever felt so turned on in his life. He wanted to touch, to kiss, to lick and suck... It was like a switch flipped in his brain to light the thing inside, so Steve could see it and welcome it, instead of fighting with it in the dark of his mind. 

"You liked watching it, didn’t you?" Eddie asked, eyes on Steve. “Were you fantasizing about how good it would be inside your mouth? Did you want a taste?” 

Steve shook his head, his face burning. He licked his lips. 

“I didn't,” he said, voice flat. 

“But you did. You do.” 

“Dude, shut the hell up!” Steve snapped, his voice rising. He felt a slow burn creeping up his neck, way more intense than just embarrassment. He should’ve left. Could’ve. But he was still there and for what? He wanted to leave. His body itched to stand up, to walk the fuck away. But his eyes were locked on Eddie, and that stupid part of him, the stubborn, annoying part, seemed to want to hear Eddie's bullshit. Seemed to crave whatever dirty thing Eddie had to say.   

“You love it, don’t you? You love my cock.” 

“Fuck’s sake!” Steve said, holding his head in his hands. 

“Bet you want to suck it! Want to feel it deep in your throat!” 

Steve gritted his teeth and tried to ignore him. He didn’t want to let Eddie get to him, but Eddie sounded deliberately mean. Like he knew exactly what those words were doing to Steve – how they made Steve hate himself for liking it. He also couldn’t ignore the sounds of Eddie's hand moving on his dick, and soon Steve was listening to the wet slapping noises with fascination. It sounded hot, so fucking hot.  

And he wanted it. He wanted it so much it hurt.  

Steve's eyes darted back to Eddie, watching his hand moving up and down his shaft in slow strokes. His thumb was still rubbing over the tip, the head already red and shiny with precum. Steve felt his own cock twitch again, and he bit his lip in frustration.  

Eddie noticed his gaze and smirked. "Like what you see?" he smirked. "Want to watch? Or you want to come here?"  

Steve wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he couldn't even do that. After all, he wanted it . All of it. He wanted to watch Eddie jerk off until he came, until he spurted cum all over his stomach and thighs. And he wanted to go there and maybe beg Eddie to fuck him. He'd go on his knees and beg for it, he'd promise Eddie anything just as long as he could feel that thick cock inside him, making him feel dirty and raw and used . 

Oh, Jesus fuck! He really hit rock bottom!  

Eddie's hand moved faster. Steve could see the pleasure on his face, the raw lust. And he wanted to be the one making Eddie feel like that. He wanted to be the one touching him, stroking him, sucking him. He wanted to be the one making him come. His eyes dropped to Eddie's cock again, watching it pulse in his fist. It was so hot! Steve wanted it, really wanted it. 

He got up then, his movements jerky. He walked towards Eddie, his feet moving in a rush. And then, with his heart pounding and his face burning and his hands shaking, Steve dropped to his knees right in front of Eddie's spread thighs.  

Eddie's laugh was low and rough. "Yeah, I figured. You're such a little slut, Steve. Look at you, so desperate for my cock." 

"I fucking hate you.”  

"Yeah, right," he replied, moving his hand away and leaning back on his hands again. His dick stood hard, all wet and pink, right in front of Steve’s face. 

He hated Eddie's condescending tone, hated the fact that he was treating him like fucking dirt. But he couldn't deny that he was also turned on by it. By how he was being mean and dirty and rough. Steve liked it. He liked it. And that made him even more angry and ashamed and aroused . He just looked up at his cock. From up close, it looked long and thick and pinkish, the skin flushed, big veins underneath. 

"Can I-?" he asked, his voice a low growl. He swallowed and looked up at Eddie’s face. "Can I touch you?" 

“Oh,” Eddie said, his voice cold. “But you aren’t a fag, Stevie. Why would a straight guy ask to touch a cock?” 

"Because I really want to," he replied even when he felt a surge of anger at Eddie's mocking tone. 

Eddie laughed again and Steve felt his stomach turning again. His hands were shaking, and his face was burning, and he knew he couldn’t stay like this for much longer. 

Eddie smirked. "Why should I allow it?"  

"I asked, didn’t I?" 

Eddie pretended to consider him. "Yeah, right," he said. "And that's a good reason?"  

Steve felt his anger boiling over again. He licked his lips, his throat dry. It was ridiculous, ridiculous how that tone was making his body all hot, burning. He could feel sweat creeping down the back of his neck, his lugs desperate for air, his cock aching so good inside his pants. He felt humiliated and he wanted more.   

"Please."  

Eddie smiled at him, tilted his head. "Say 'please, Eddie, let me touch you'." 

"Please, Eddie, let me touch you," he said, swallowing his pride for what felt like the hundredth time that night. 

“Look at you. You would do anything for my cock, wouldn’t you?" Eddie's grin got bigger then, his hand coming up to cup Steve’s face. “Such a good slut for me.” 

Honest to God, Steve almost came at that. His cock throbbed and he almost couldn’t keep himself from moaning like a real slut. Eddie smiled then, that nasty, condescending smile.  

“Well, then, if you want it that much,” he said. 

“Yes,” Steve breathed. “I want it that much.” 

“Then, you can,” Eddie said.  

Reaching out a trembling hand, Steve touched Eddie's thigh, running his fingers over the ripped denim of his jeans. The fabric was soft under his fingertips, warm against his skin. Steve bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything too stupid like ‘ please let me suck you’ . He hesitated for a moment before closing his hand around the length of Eddie's cock. It felt hot and wet, silky under his palm. It was hard and warm, the tip slick with precum. Steve bit his lip, and rubbed his hand over the head, his thumb swiping over the slit. 

Steve’s hand moved slowly up and down, stroking it with the languid pace Eddie seemed to like. He licked his lips, his fingers tightening around the base, rubbing his palm over the tip, swiping over the slit. Eddie groaned at that, his hand dropping to Steve’s shoulders. Steve could hear his breathing getting heavier, could see his chest heaving and his eyes so dark they looked black. Steve’s cock throbbed again.  

"You look so desperate to be fucked," Eddie said, ignoring when Steve glared. "I bet if I could shove my finger in your ass right now, you'd come in your pants."  

Steve felt heat pool between his legs at those words. Yeah, Steve would probably come in a heartbeat. 

He looked away again. "You're disgusting." 

"Yeah," Eddie agreed. "But you love it anyway, don’t you?" 

Steve didn't reply. Instead, he started stroking Eddie's cock faster, moving his hand up and down its length. The skin felt hot against his palm, smooth and soft under his fingers. Precum dripped from the tip, and Steve licked his lips. Fuck, he actually wanted to taste it. 

Eddie groaned above him.  

"Fuck, Harrington," he whispered.  

Steve’s other hand dropped to his own dick at that, palming it over the thick fabric of his jeans. His cock was aching for release, his balls tight and heavy. He needed to cum so bad he thought he would die if he didn’t do it. He wanted to reach down and rub his cock, to press against it and relieve the ache inside his balls. He fumbled a little with his belt, trying to unbuckle it, and then he felt Eddie’s grip on his hair, tight and painful. He stopped, being forced to look up.  

Eddie loomed over him. 

“No can do, Stevie,” he murmured, his grip on Steve’s hair forcing his head in an uncomfortable position. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself.” 

Steve licked his lips, his chest heaving. “But... but I’m about to... I'm so close.” 

Eddie snorted. “You want to come while touching me?” he drawled. 

“Yes,” Steve muttered, voice small. 

“Of course you do,” Eddie said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re so turned on, it’s ridiculous.” 

Steve whimpered, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He wanted to beg, he wanted to plead for it. A sob choked in his throat. Was it so bad if he did? But what was one more humiliation? What was one more step into ruin, right? He’d crossed so many lines already. He was too damn far gone. He didn’t have any pride left to save, so what the hell. Fuck it!  

“Please, Eddie,” he muttered. Eddie chuckled at that, his hand tightening. He leaned in closer. 

“Please what?”  

“Please, let me come.” 

"You wanna touch your dick?" He asked, voice low, his lips brushing Steve's ear now. “Or do you wanna touch mine? Choose.”  

Steve hated him so much, God.  

He looked away, unable to reply. Jesus fucking Christ, what was he still doing there, really? Why was he submitting to Eddie like that, like some paid whore? Why the hell was he just accepting the humiliation, the shame? And why was he unable to hate it? The way Eddie toyed with him, made him feel small and powerless—he should be disgusted with himself. Instead, he could feel his blood burning, his body craving for more.   

Eddie smirked at him. "You can always suck me off if you want to use your hand to do something else, you know?"  

Steve shivered. Suck him off, huh? Suck him off to be able to touch himself? Was it a fair trade? Well, it sounded like one. Because he wasn’t thinking with his brain anymore, not when his dick was hurting and ready to explode. Steve mentally slapped himself when he felt his mouth water at the thought of Eddie’s dick inside his mouth. But his new philosophy was fuck it . Fuck! It! He didn’t care much at this point. He needed what he needed and wanted what he wanted. And he needed to touch himself. He wanted to feel his cock in his hand, he wanted to feel it throb and pulse. And what the hell, he wanted to suck Eddie’s dick. Who was he kidding? He wanted it so fucking bad. He wanted it all and more. 

"What?" Eddie asked when Steve just kept looking at him while trying not to die with the sudden wave of want he was feeling. He was almost sure it wasn’t normal or healthy feeling so horny. "You don't want to do it?" 

"I do," Steve said immediately.  

Eddie smirked. "Come on, then."  

Steve leaned in, his heart pounding and mouth opening, and then he felt Eddie’s cock brush against his lips, soft and hot. He opened his mouth wider, tongue coming out to lick the tip. He could feel the precum dripping over his lips, and he licked it up, swallowing his saliva thick with it down his throat. It didn’t taste bad at all—it was salty and hot and strong. He wanted more, more of it, all of it. So he sucked harder, his tongue licking over the tip again with renewed confidence.  

Eddie groaned, his hand tightening on Steve's hair. “Fuck!” He gasped. “Fuck, Steve, that's good.” 

He licked Eddie's tip again, tongue swirling around the head before taking it inside his mouth. And God if it wasn’t perfect for Steve’s mouth, perfect for his lips to wrap around it, perfect for him to suck and swallow against. Eddie wasn't cut, so he could feel foreskin sliding back as he licked over the head. The skin was silky and smooth under his tongue, and the texture made Steve shiver. 

Eddie pulled Steve’s even more. His grip was tight, his hand pushing Steve down until his nose was buried against his groin. He could smell him, all musky and dirty, and he loved it. He loved everything about it, the feeling of Eddie’s hand on his hair, of Eddie’s cock in his mouth, of Eddie’s eyes looking at him like he was something interesting. He loved the sounds of Eddie’s breaths hitching, of him gasping, of him saying filthy things. So he kept sucking, kept licking and moaning and whining. 

"Fuck," Eddie groaned above him. "That's a good boy." He ran his other hand through Steve's hair, gripping another handful of locks and forcing his head down on his cock. "Take it deeper," he ordered. “Choke on my cock.” 

Steve obeyed eagerly, taking the whole length of it inside his mouth, swallowing the tip. It was big and thick, stretching his mouth open uncomfortably wide. But God, Steve didn't care. He wanted to take all of it, wanted to swallow it down until it filled him completely. And Eddie seemed to want the same thing. He held Steve's head there for a few seconds, making sure he choked on the head of his dick, and panic surged through Steve, his lungs burning for oxygen. Eddie pulled out then, his dick falling heavy and wet on Steve's face. He leaned forward, grabbing Steve's face roughly, his fingers curling around Steve’s chin, forcing his head up until their eyes met. 

Steve panted, his chest heaving when he struggled to breathe again. His eyes were watery with tears, his face burning up with pleasure and shame. And even after all that, his dick was still hard in his pants, desperate for attention. He grabbed it, squeezing it hard, but made no move to pull it out. It was hurting so damn good. So damn good ! 

"You like that, Harrington?" He asked, a sneer curling his lips. "A straight guy like you getting off on a fag's cock is such a good view. What a good cocksucker you are.” 

Steve was well aware he should hate what Eddie just said, his brain cringing with the sound of that word again. But he didn’t. If he was fully conscious, he would realize it wasn’t normal at all. But he wasn’t. His mind was all foggy, like he was high in all the feelings he was experiencing. He didn’t even feel drunk of alcohol anymore. He was drunk of only Eddie. 

"Answer, Harrington! You love choking on my cock or not?" Eddie asked, jerking Steve's chin upward even more.  

Steve nodded, Eddie’s cock heavy on his lips when he said: “Yes.” 

"That's a good slut," Eddie purred. The hand on Steve’s chin came to rest on his face, the thumb tracing Steve’s abused lips gently. Eddie was looking at Steve like he was some toy, one good enough to entertain him for a while. Steve liked the feeling. 

"Yeah," Steve agreed and then closed his lips around Eddie’s thumb, licking and sucking on it. He dropped his gaze to Eddie's cock.  

"You wanna do it again?" 

Steve nodded eagerly.  

"If you want to feel my cock in your mouth, you need to ask for it.” 

"Please!" Steve gasped. 

“Want me to fuck your mouth, Harrington?" He asked. 

Steve nodded again, this time letting a small, needy moan escape his lips. He was so turned on, he physically felt like dying or living all his lives at once or whatever.  

Eddie smirked at him. "That’s not enough."  

"Please, fuck my mouth."  

"That's a good boy," Eddie said, grinning. And then he pushed Steve’s head down on his dick again. 

Steve took the whole thing in, deepthroating Eddie until the tip hit the back of his throat, pushing down. Steve felt his throat close up around Eddie’s cock, and he swallowed convulsively. It was almost too much, his lips stretched wide and his jaw aching. His throat was burning, hurting, bulging, but he kept sucking and swallowing and choking and loving it.  

Eddie's grip on Steve's hair got tighter, and he held his head down for what felt like an eternity. And then he started fucking Steve’s mouth in earnest, pushing his hips forward until his cock went down Steve's throat again. And then again. And again. He went on and on, his hips moving in and out, fucking Steve’s throat in a relentless pace. Steve tried to match it eagerly, but he couldn't. His mouth was full, and he couldn’t breathe. So he just stayed still and let Eddie do whatever he wanted. He was there on his knees, body pliant while Eddie fucked his face for all his was worth. He was unable to move, unable to do anything other than just accept it. And he hated it, and he loved it. He loved it a fucking lot .  

“You’re getting me so close,” Eddie growled, his voice low and husky. "Take it all the way in, Steve." 

Steve took it in eagerly, swallowing whenever he could. Eddie thrusts became deeper and deeper, holding his cock down Steve’s throat longer and longer, until Steve couldn't breathe anymore. His vision was blurring, and his lungs burning for air. He could hear Eddie’s breathing, heavy and shallow. He could feel his cock twitching in his mouth, could feel Eddie’s fingers tightening on his hair impossibly painful. 

"You're such a whore," Eddie growled above him. "You like getting your mouth fucked, Harrington?"  

Steve nodded desperately. Or tried, at least. 

"I'm gonna come soon," Eddie purred. "Are you ready for that?" 

Steve nodded again, his eyes fixed on Eddie's face. 

Eddie held his head down one more time, for so long Steve really thought he was going to pass out this time, but then he pulled out. Steve gasped for air, fighting against Eddie’s grip on his hair – that was still keeping him in place, pulling his face up. He felt the hot cum over his face and hair. He felt it dripping down his nose and over his lips. Inside his mouth while he was still trying so desperately to breathe. He licked it up, swallowing his saliva thick with it, feeling his throat burn with the effort. 

"You look so good like this, Harrington," Eddie said, his thumb forcing even more cum inside Steve’s open mouth.  

Steve’s breath was still coming out in quick gasps. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his whole body shivering with lust. He liked it, too. Being covered in Eddie's cum, that’s it. It felt like he was being marked, claimed. He leaned in again, sucking Eddie’s cock dry, licking it clean and pulling his underwear up again. He even tried to zip Eddie’s jeans up, but his hands were pushed away. Eddie watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He sighed deeply, leaning behind him to find his jacket and pulled a pack of cigarettes. 

"Well," he said. "If you want to come tonight, Harrington, you better touch your cock now." 

Steve was honestly confused for a second, until realize he didn’t cum yet. That he was still painfully hard and that his body was this close to ignite itself. 

“Stand up,” Eddie said. 

“What?” Steve stuttered, his mind blank. “What?” 

Eddie’s eyebrow arched. “I said, stand up, Harrington.”  

Steve obeyed, his body trembling while standing up. His knees felt weak and wobbly, and he almost fell on his own bed when he stepped back to put on some space. His cock hurt so much he was surprised he hadn't cum in his pants yet. He faced Eddie, trying his best not to show how eager he was. Eddie stared back, his eyes dark and intense. They held a strange look—hunger disguised as boredom. Steve knew that look—it was a mask he used many times before too. Eddie’s lips curved into a thin smile as he took his cigarette between them. He lit it and inhaled deeply, his eyes scanning Steve's face, then slowly moving down his body. 

“Drop your jeans and underwear, all the way down to your ankles.” 

Steve’s hands moved on autopilot, pulling his clothes. Eddie’s eyes dropped to his cock, his grin growing wider.  

“You’re leaking all over yourself, Harrington,” he said, looking satisfied. He considered Steve for a moment again. “Pull your shirt up. Bite it in place.” 

Steve obeyed. Eddie took another drag. 

 “Play with your nipples,” Eddie ordered, lips curled in a smile. “Make them hurt.” 

Steve’s fingers moved again without much thought, pinching and pulling at his nipples until they were hard and aching, until they burned and it was almost too painful. He groaned with the sensation. His body was tense with the pain, but his cock sure as hell was leaking. Eddie leaned back on the mattress, his legs spreading wide, thick smoke leaving his lips. He was sitting in front of him like a fucking king on his throne and somehow it made Steve feel hotter. He really was a fucking goner. 

“So obedient for me, Steve. Such a good boy.” 

Steve moaned and pinched his nipples harder.   

“Touch yourself now,” he said. “Touch yourself for me.” 

Steve didn’t need to be told twice; his hand went to his cock in an instant, stroking himself until he was gasping for breath, his other hand still pulling on his nipple so hard he was sure it would bruise. His body was burning with desire. He couldn’t believe how hot this was, how much he loved the feeling of his own hand on himself, how much he loved seeing Eddie watching him with hungry eyes.  

“Slower,” Eddie said, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. 

“Can’t,” Steve said, teeth still holding his shirt in place. His hand didn’t stop stroking, he couldn’t. He was getting closer, so close. He vaguely wondered if Eddie would punish him for that. 

“You can,” Eddie said. “You can do better than that.”  

Steve looked down at his hand. Fuck, he was so close. He knew Eddie wanted him to take longer, to last and endure. But hell if he would be capable of doing that. But fuck! He wanted to be good. The hand that was pulling his nipple went to cup his balls instead, and he tried to slow down his strokes. He knew it wouldn’t take much for him to cum anyways, but he tried to hold back, focusing on breathing instead. 

“I already knew you were a slut, Harrington,” Eddie said, his dark eyes watching Steve closely. “But, Jesus, look at you.” 

Steve moaned with the words. He felt ashamed, felt like Eddie knew things nobody should know about him. He felt exposed, dirty. He also felt good, pleasure pooling on his very core. Eddie’s voice was enough to drive Steve mad—everything about Eddie was driving Steve mad. 

“You look so good like this, Harrington. Just like the whore you are.” 

Steve moaned louder. His body shivered and his balls tightened. And fuck it with the take slow bullshit. The hand on his cock tightened its grip and pulled harder. The other hand left his balls and found his nipple again, twisting it harder when he felt the orgasm start, making it hurt so good it made him whine languid and loud. He didn’t care what Eddie thought, if he would get angry or not—all he could think about was his release.  

“Fuck,” he moaned, “fuck!” 

His body tensed up and he thought he would pass out with the force of his orgasm. But it only lasted a minute before it began to ebb away and Steve slumped forward, panting. Eddie took another drag from his cigarette, blowing out smoke between his teeth. 

“Come here,” he said. 

Steve walked the step to where Eddie was sitting and stood right in front of him, ready to get on his knees again if asked. Eddie smiled at him, his tongue sneaking out between his lips to lick them slowly. It made Steve’s knees feel even weaker. Eddie was gorgeous, really. Why had he never realized that? Why had he never paid attention to that face? To that mouth? To those dark, dark eyes? 

Eddie stood up, impossibly close, and blew smoke right into Steve's face. He stared for a moment and got even closer – and Steve wondered if he was going to be kissed. Did he want that? Did he want to be kissed by Eddie? Would Eddie want to kiss him? He just sucked cock, but kissing was suddenly scary territory. But then Eddie laughed, cold and humorless, breaking the tension. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Steve’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Now that you’ve had your fun, you can fuck off. Let’s not do it again,” he said. 

With that, Eddie turned and walked away, leaving Steve standing there, stunned and alone, his mind foggy and his body exhausted. Completely brutal—not that Steve was expecting a cuddle or something, but still. The high was wearing off and he could feel his knees hurting and his throat burning, a bad taste in his mouth and the sticky texture on his face. He felt like a small insect caught in a spider web, helpless and trapped. And he felt like it was his own fault, because he stopped fighting against it at some point there and just surrendered to be devoured whole. Because that was how Steve was seeing Eddie now – alluring, inescapable, deadly. And Steve wanted to get caught even if it destroyed him. 

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

Steve spent the next two weeks doing everything in his power to avoid Eddie. In the mornings, Steve would slip out of bed before Eddie, tiptoeing around the room while grabbing his stuff. He’d arrive at swimming practice an hour before anyone else; he’d linger in the common area, pretending to read textbooks or scroll through TV channels; he’d spend his evening in the library, studying something he hated—anything to avoid words and eye contact or just any form of Eddie. 

Nights were the worst. Steve would lie awake, listening to Eddie’s soft breathing in the darkness, the sound both comforting and torturous. Comforting because it meant Eddie was there, still reachable. Torturous because it meant Steve was still trapped in the web, bound by his own actions. 

He’d tried to convince himself that it was just accumulated lust—he was young and always horny, after all. He’d say to himself that everything that happened had been a momentary lapse in judgment. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Eddie’s face, felt the warmth of his skin, the weight of his cock inside his mouth and the taste on his tongue. It wasn’t just desire; it was something deeper – a crave, a hunger that clawed at Steve’s insides and refused to let go. 

And then there was the shame. Shame of his actions, of his begging, of his hypocrisy. A nagging guilt that ate away at him. He’d called Eddie names, spewed hatred like that didn’t hurt him too. Homophobic slurs that had no place inside him; that belonged only to some of his well-designed masks. Growing up in a small town where everyone knew everyone else’s business, he’d learned how to use different masks. He was comfortable in them, it used to work. It worked and he was safe . But Eddie had shattered that whole concept, leaving Steve exposed and vulnerable. Steve didn't know how to behave next to Eddie, couldn’t create a persona to deal with him like he did to everyone else. Next to Eddie he just didn't know how to be.  

So he avoided Eddie. He stayed out late, wandering the campus like a lost soul. Anything to keep from facing whatever the truth was. Yes, Steve knew he couldn’t keep avoiding Eddie forever. Eventually, they’d have to talk, to confront the mess he had made. But for now, he would hide in the dark and rehearse apologies that would never leave his lips. 

And so, Steve spent those two weeks in a silent battle with himself—a battle between desire and shame, between the need to touch, the fear and the desperation. A battle between the need to feel normal and the need to be free. Because he was a prisoner by choice, locked inside his own mind, and freedom would only come at a price. One that Steve wasn’t sure he was willing to pay. Not when it meant facing the truth about who he really was and what he truly wanted. So he remained in the shadows, waiting. For what, he didn’t know. Maybe for the day when he would no longer hide from Eddie. Or from himself. 

One evening, after another long day of studying for the finals of the worst subject in existence, Steve found himself leaving the library, his mind a foggy mess. He stepped out into the cool night air and immediately spotted a familiar face. He recognized her instantly—the same freckled face, the same defiant spark in her blue eyes. Robin, the girl from the bar, was walking in the same direction, her arms loaded with books. 

“Hey,” he called out, jogging to catch up with her. She turned to look at him, her expression wary. 

"You're that guy," she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. "The one with the asshole friend." 

Steve winced. "Tommy, yeah. He's some piece of work." 

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.  

"Understatement of the century,” she said, her tone sharp. “What do you want?”  

“I just wanted to apologize,” Steve said, running a hand through his hair. “Tommy's always an asshole, but the alcohol made it worse.” 

She looked at him. If she could cross her arms, she would, but instead she just raised her eyebrows even higher. Steve winced and tried to smile, feeling awkward. 

“And I know it sounds like an excuse,” he said, “but he’s not usually that bad. Like, he’s ninety percent an asshole, but that ten percent? Definitely the alcohol.” 

She stared at him, clearly a hundred percent done with his bullshit.  

“Whatever,” she said, starting to walk again. Steve went after her. 

“Look, I’m not trying to be a dick here, I just want to say sorry.” 

“Already said, you can leave now.” 

He jogged a little to walk in front of her, backwards. She stopped and Steve wondered when she would start throwing books at him. 

“I’m not hitting on you, okay?” He said and she raised that skeptical eyebrow again. “I mean, you are really pretty and if there was a chance-” 

“There is not,” she cut him off. 

“Okay,” he said, embarrassed. “I know how to take a no, okay? Me? A total gentleman. I really just want to apologize. Nothing more, I swear.” 

Robin studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Fine. There’s a cafe around the corner. Buy me a coffee and we are even. But if you turn out to be an asshole, I’m leaving.” 

“Fair enough,” Steve said, relieved, and was immediately put in charge of carrying her books.  

Robin led the way to a nearby coffee shop, a small thing that Steve didn’t even know existed despite aimless wandering around for weeks. The bell above the door tinkled when they stepped inside, the air smelling of freshly ground beans and pastries. However, the resemblance to the shops Steve was used to ended there. 

The dark blue walls were adorned with posters of rock bands and musicians, weird paintings, and lots of posters for different kinds of activism. One wall was a big mess of book pages and pieces of paper that looked like they were glued there without any decor plan. There were shelves lined with vintage vinyl records in such a disorganized state that Steve almost walked over there to start organizing them. The lighting was dim and intimate, casting a warm glow over the room, but the place was anything but calm. 

“This place is nice,” he lied, not even caring to pretend. Robin looked at him amused and snorted loudly. 

They made their way to the counter and ordered—a cup of coffee for Steve and some sweet monstrosity for Robin. The barista was a tall, muscular old man with long, flowing hair and a goatee. He greeted Robin like they knew each other well and laughed when Robin introduced Steve as “just a dude.” The barista smiled at Steve, and he nodded in greeting. 

They settled into a small table at the back, away from the chatter and the strong smell of cigarettes from a group from one of the tables. 

"So...?" Robin prompted, her expression a mask of false interest that was barely convincing. 

Steve wouldn’t be intimidated by it. 

“So,” Steve said, leaning casually on the table, “what’s your major?” 

Robin looked at him unimpressed. “You’re really going for the small talk, huh?” 

He chuckled. “Hey, I’m trying here, okay?” 

She sighed, relenting a little. “I start next term. Linguistics.” 

“Oh? What was a high school girl doing in a bar like that one?” 

“Same thing you were. I believe you aren’t twenty-one yet?” 

“That was a check.” 

“That was a checkmate, my friend.” 

Steve chuckled, leaning back on his chair.  

“You visiting here” he tried again, “or do you live in the city?” 

“Lived here most of my life. I mean, I thought about going away to somewhere else for the whole freedom experience," she said, her hands starting to fly. Steve considered that a small victory. "But here is the center of everything, you know? Everything happens here. It's the perfect place to start making a change." 

Steve felt a little lost. 

“Cool,” he replied, trying to sound like he knew what she was talking about. "So, what kind of change you want to make?" 

For the next hour or so, Robin mostly talked, and Steve mostly listened. It was strangely easy to talk to her, even if he didn’t always understand what she was going on about. He found himself nodding along, occasionally interjecting with a "cool" or "that's interesting," while trying desperately to keep up. But even though the subjects of the conversation were a little hard to grasp, she had a way of making everything sound casual, as if reshaping the world was something everyone discussed over coffee.  

Steve found out that she was interested in absolutely everything: art, music, history, politics. He made a mental note that if they ever became friends, he could never introduce her to his parents. Her political views were the total opposite of Steve's father, and he was certain they would despise each other—possibly ending up in murder, if the way she talked was anything to go by. She also talked about projects she had at school and the numerous volunteer jobs she was a part of, even trying to recruit Steve when he let slip that he had experience taking care of children—and he couldn't help but notice the expression of sheer surprise she made at that. 

"What’s your deal with Eddie?" She asked abruptly at some point. Steve, lost in a paint next to them that definitely looked like a dick, blinked, his focus snapping back to her. 

“What?” 

"Eddie," she pressed, her tone sharp. "What's your deal with him?" Her gaze locked onto his, challenging. 

“We are roommates,” Steve said, watching her expression closely. She frowned. 

“Oh, so you are the roommate?”  

“What? Why?” Steve demanded, nervous. “Did he say something?” 

“No, nothing,” she said, attention going to her cup that was already empty. “Just that you are a two-faced asshole. And for your information I’m being totally kind here.”  

Okay, that wasn’t exactly a surprise, but hearing it still made him angry. 

“I’m the asshole? He’s the asshole!” Robin chuckled and said something about his creativity that he ignored. “And he’s annoying. He listens to that shitty music in the room all the time even though he has a perfectly good Walkman, but no , he has to torture me with that garbage. You know why he does that? Because he’s an asshole.” 

“And he’s dirty, too,” Steve continued, his voice growing louder, jabbing a finger in the air for emphasis. “The room is always a mess and smells bad and I swear I saw cockroaches. And so you know, I hate cockroaches! And don't let me start with the drugs! Because people come there all the time, and I know it’s not just marijuana, okay? He should be grateful I never snitched on him, because I could. I could, but I’m too much of a good person to do that. And he thinks he’s so smart and better than me because he reads those freakish thick books.”  

Steve paused, taking a deep breath. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was a nervous tick at that point. He hated talking about Eddie, but once he started, it was like opening a damn floodgate. Robin was just staring at him, a shocked smile on her lips. 

“And he’s ridiculous,” Steve kept on going, his voice dripping with disdain. “He starts to scream sometimes out of fucking nowhere like a damn psycho. You know what? I bet he is. He’s definitely the type that would kill someone to offer to some demon or something. He’s got that crazy look in his eyes, you know?” 

“You are so wrong about him, it’s actually funny.” Robin said, watching him amused. “And that was the longest you talked today.” 

“Well, I have a lot to say,” Steve defended himself. “He’s a real pain in the ass.” 

Robin studied him for a moment, then her expression softened slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Eddie, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s been through a lot, and he doesn’t let many people get close. And he’s not as tough as he pretends to be.” 

Steve thought of Eddie’s sharp tongue, his unwavering gaze and the brush of lips against his ear when he told Steve to fuck off. “He seems pretty tough to me.” 

“Trust me,” Robin said, dismissive, “he’s as dangerous as a wet kitty.” 

Steve didn’t want to say she was obviously blind, so he let it be. 

“Are you two a thing or something?” He asked instead. 

“Yeah, no! ” Steve was taken aback by the intensity of her response. Totally not suspicious. He stared at her, unconvinced. “Seriously! Oh my God, don’t say that ever again!” 

“You have a crush on him? That’s some horrible taste!” 

“ Ew! ”   

“So much for ‘his not so bad’,” Steve snickered, mimicking her voice. Robin looked truly disgusted. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Eddie is great ,” she said, “but not my type!”  

“Understandable, sister,” Steve said, laughing. Robin laughed too.  

After a moment, she reached for her books and stood up. 

“Well, since you decided to be an asshole, it’s time to go.” There was humor in her voice, so Steve knew she wasn’t really offended on Eddie's behalf. “It’s late, anyway.” 

“How do you get home?” Steve asked, when they left the cafe to the noisy street.  

“Subway,” Robin told him.  

“I will walk you to the station,” he said, taking the books from her again. 

“A gentleman, ladies and gentlemen,” she mocked, but in a light tone that made Steve smile. 

She seemed much more at ease with him now, without the suspicious air or the passive aggression. Steve felt pleased that he wasn't the only one who enjoyed their conversation. It was true what he said before—that he wasn't hitting on her—but she seemed like someone interesting as a possible future friendship. God knew Steve was in need of some new friends. The only people he spent time with were those he met during orientation and some of the members of the swim team.  

They walked together for a while and said their goodbyes. Steve felt happy. 

- 

Steve and Robin met again only two days later. She was with a small group of friends, talking excitedly, her hands gesturing wildly. She caught Steve’s eyes and waved him over, introducing him properly this time. Steve observed the groups and couldn’t help but feel a little out of place—those people were a lot different than the people he was used to hanging out with.  

There was Andy, a tall, lean guy with wild blonde hair. His eyes were bright blue, and he had an interesting quantity of piercings on his face. His hands moved in a pompous way when he talked. Steve couldn’t help but compare him to Eddie. Next to him stood Linda, petite and pretty with dark eyes that seemed to bore into whoever she was speaking to. She had a kind of quiet intensity, her words sharp and precise. Maybe he was wrong about that, but he noticed how she eyed him suspiciously. On the other side was Kofi, a lanky guy with large glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He had an earnest expression, nodding vigorously while listening to the others. Steve was surprised when he talked with a deep, calm tone. 

Honestly? Steve never felt so much like the Small Town Boy as at that moment. Funny thing was that those people looked cool. They really did. But back home they would be the bullied ones, the weirdos and freaks. The effeminate rocker. The weird, quiet girl. The twiggy nerd. Steve wouldn’t be with them, he would be on the other side.  

It wasn’t only their appearance that made Steve feel like an outsider. Steve listened to them, feeling a mix of admiration and a growing sense of embarrassment. He realized he didn’t know much about what they were discussing. The terms and names were unfamiliar, and he didn’t understand the big deal about whatever it was. He tried to follow along, nodding occasionally, but the rapid conversation left him feeling a bit lost. They spoke of marches, of fundraisers, of a growing sense of urgency. Steve felt a cold dread seep into him. He knew about AIDS, of course. It was on the news, something distant to Steve. But there, inside that small group, it was real, immediate. 

“What’s your opinion, Steve?” Andy asked. “You didn’t say anything.” 

Steve hesitated, searching for the right words. “I… I don’t know much about it,” he admitted, feeling a flush creep up his neck. 

“What? But it’s everywhere,” Linda insisted. “The first Wall Street act was just last month.” 

“It was in every news,” Kofi said, looking at Steve like he was the dumbest person on earth. 

Truth was, Steve knew something about it. Not much, but some. Steve could remember people talking about it during one of his classes, about how the police should’ve taken all those good-for-nothing; how it wasn’t the government’s fault that the gays were promiscuous and dirty; how tax money shouldn’t be wasted on them; how they all should just drop dead. Steve heard it all while feeling absolutely sick. At that time, he wasn’t experiencing that weird feeling about Eddie yet—the thing inside him still asleep—but he still couldn’t pretend to think the same. He couldn’t pretend to think so little about another human being’s life even if they were different from him. He ran away from the topic every time it came up after that. 

And now, standing there next to the people that were talking about activism and rebellion, about saving lives, he felt like a fraud. 

“I’m a little stupid about politics,” he laughed a little, self-deprecatingly. The whole group just stared at him. 

“It’s okay, Steve,” Robin said quickly. “I can teach you about this stuff. I’ll give you some pamphlets next time.” 

“Right,” Steve said, thankful.  

He stayed with them for ten minutes more, until he could come out with an excuse to bolt. He was already far when Robin came running towards him and gave him a piece of paper with her number on it. 

“Call me whatever,” she said. “If you have any questions or if you just want to hang out.” 

He gently slid the paper into the safety of his wallet. With a smile on his face, he left. 

- 

It happened on a Wednesday afternoon, the thing Steve avoided for almost three weeks. In those weeks, he’d time his return to the room meticulously to avoid Eddie at all costs. So he was convinced that he would be out attending his afternoon class—Steve had memorized Eddie's entire schedule. But when he opened the door, he stopped right on the doorway, heart pounding. 

The curtains were drawn, blocking out the sunlight and casting the room in shadow. Eddie was sprawled across his bed, motionless and silent like a fucking dead man. That wasn’t really a surprise; Steve was already used to Eddie getting wasted and then passing out wherever he fell, but then again, he wasn’t one to skip class to get high.  

He debated whether to leave and come back later, not wanting Eddie to wake up and find Steve creeping on him, but a faint, pained noise from Eddie's direction rooted him to the spot. He entered the room, discarded his bag on his bed and looked at Eddie from closer. He was pale, even more than usual, and covered in sweat—his bangs were plastered to his forehead and even in the semi-darkness he could see it all over his naked torso. Steve stepped closer to the bed, his movements careful and quiet. He looked actually sick. Eddie rarely got indisposed, and even when he didn’t look well it wasn't because he was sick, but because he was battling the aftermath of some bad trip.  

Another sound escaped Eddie, a low and painful growl. Concern flickered, then fear. Was it serious? Did he need a doctor or something? Did he have a fever? Steve reached out to check his temperature, acting without much thought. And then he was suddenly pressed against the mattress, Eddie looming over him, eyes wild. Steve’s breath caught. Eddie’s grip was desperate, bordering on manic. For a whole insane second, Steve really thought he was going to be killed. But then recognition dawned in Eddie’s eyes, and he let go of Steve. 

 “What the fuck, Harrington!” Eddie growled, his voice rough. He ran his trembling hands over his face, angry. 

“I’m sorry! I didn't mean to— I thought—” Eddie glared at him, and he couldn’t finish. He was, honest to God, a little scared. Maybe Eddie was a psycho after all.  

“Get out,” Eddie demanded, and Steve was immediately on his feet. No need to say that again, he wasn’t going to stay there for any more second anyway. 

He hesitated for a moment, staring at Eddie's angry figure. He looked like shit, and Steve was pretty sure Eddie's way of medicating himself was totally unconventional. So he went to his closet, rummaged through it for a moment, and returned to the side of Eddie's bed with a bottle of ibuprofen, throwing it next to him. 

“Use that instead of the crap you have,” he said. 

Eddie took the bottle without a word, his expression unreadable. As Steve turned to leave, Eddie's voice stopped him. 

"Wait." 

Steve turned back. "Yeah?" 

“I’m sorry for being a dick the other day,” he said, his voice softer. Steve’s stomach did a whole flip. “I said a lot of shit I shouldn’t have.” 

He rubbed his face again, but he looked more embarrassed than angry now. Steve was just confused. 

“I don’t understand,” he ended up saying.  

Eddie covered his mouth with his hand, seemed not only a little frustrated, but his whole expression calling Steve dumb. 

“Look, man,” he tried again and looked away from Steve, fiddling with the Ibuprofen bottle, “it’s okay, you know? I shouldn’t have made fun of you or done all... that just because I was pissed off.” 

Steve blinked. Yes, maybe he was really dumb. Eddie sighed. 

“You were freaking out and I was an asshole about that,” Eddie continued, still not looking at Steve. “Everyone deals with shit differently, right?” 

Eddie looked back at him as if waiting for Steve to confirm whatever he was saying. And Steve was starting to get what that was about, a growing dread settling in. He desperately hoped he was wrong.  

“Fuck’s sake, Harrington, I was baiting you to come out even when I saw you freaking out. It wasn’t cool.” Steve felt like the floor disappeared from under his feet. He panicked, and was about to say more words he would regret later when Eddie cut him off. “Look, it’s okay. It’s not my business what you are. I just want to say sorry for using it against you, man, it was killing me.” 

Faced with Eddie’s firm gaze, Steve felt exposed, vulnerable. He didn’t think he was even breathing anymore and his hands started to tremble a little. Steve wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. The feeling inside him, the thing , wasn’t something permanent. It wasn’t there to stay. It couldn’t. And he wanted to say that to Eddie just to make sure. 

“I don’t— I’m not —” 

In truth, when his heart pounded against his chest so painfully and his throat closed, not allowing him to breath or to say the fucking lies , he realized that Eddie—messy, ridiculous, a fucking freak—was the only person that got him. Because Steve chose that. He chose it the moment he sat on his bed that night and decided to surrender to his stupid desire. That was an awful thought, very, very far from comforting. 

“Harrington, it’s okay. I’m not saying that—” he stopped, looking frustrated. He played with his hands and then with his hair and then punched the mattress. Even in his state of mind, Steve wondered if Eddie was having his own nervous breakdown. “What I’m trying to say here is that you don’t need to think so hard, man. If you are straight and have some... appreciation for dicks sometimes, it’s okay, you know? Fuck the labels or whatever.” 

Steve nodded, but it was on autopilot. He felt like throwing up. 

“I’m sorry too,” Steve blurted out. It was eating his insides for the last three weeks anyway. “For using that word.” 

“You mean ‘fag’?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s okay, I have no problem with it. I actually like it, you know. Got used to it and everything.” 

Steve chuckled at that. “Freak.” 

“Yeah, that one too.” 

“So, you... Are you?” 

“A freak? Or a fag?” 

“Gay, man. What the hell. Stop calling yourself that!” 

Eddie actually laughed and maybe that was the first time Steve saw humor in it instead of mocking or disgust. 

“Yeah, I’m a gay man.” 

“Cool.” 

“Yeah.” 

They stared at each other for a second. 

“Now fuck off, I want to sleep,” Eddie said, lying down. 

Steve laughed a little, thinking about how reality was just a damn joke. 

“You’re always telling me to fuck off. Can’t you be nicer?” 

Eddie snorted. “Harrington,” he started, hands flourishing in the air. “I desire not thine company! Begone!” 

Steve chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. He grabbed his bag again, deciding to go to the library. He grabbed the doorknob and hesitated, looking back at Eddie’s figure on the bed. 

“I don’t know yet,” he said, feeling a little braver, but still so, so lost. “I don’t know what I’m. I don’t know much about that stuff.” 

“It’s okay, Harrington,” Eddie said, not looking at him. “Not knowing is okay too.” 

Steve looked at him for a moment, and when Eddie didn’t say anything else, he turned and left. A weight, heavy and oppressive, seemed to have lifted from his chest and he breathed freely for the first time in weeks. 

Chapter Text

Steve groaned, his eyes scanning the page in front of him. Another afternoon wasted in that hellhole of a room, absorbing a big total of nothing from his textbook. He’d been too lazy to make the trek to the library, a decision he was now regretting. He glanced at the clock. Two hours. He’d been trying to decipher this economics chapter for two hours, and his progress was literally no progress at all. He glanced at Eddie, curved over his desk, headphones on, oblivious to the world.  

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the throbbing in his temples. He’d thought that after their apology, things would be different. Maybe not friends, but at least civil. He was wrong. So, so wrong. That was still the same old Eddie, an inconsiderate asshole and a big pain in the ass. A part of him wanted to give up, to just pack his stuff and do something totally normal like physically assaulting someone for a place in the study hall—finals were around the corner and that’s how college students would behave, nothing wrong there. But the thought of leaving Eddie to reign supreme over the room was even less appealing (yes, he was starting to think he had some issues).

He’d tried to find a way to tune out the music that was reaching him, but it was completely impossible. Every beat was already like a hammer against his brain, but the piercing sound of the guitar solos and the random screams did it. Steve's patience snapped. He grabbed the nearest pen and hurled it at Eddie's head. The pen bounced off his temple with a satisfyingly loud thunk . Steve didn’t feel sorry at all. 

"What the fuck?!" Eddie roared, pulling his headphones off. 

“Can you turn that crap down?” 

“What’s your problem, Harrington?” he snapped. “You're the one who bitch me to wear these damn phones.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Yeah, so I wouldn't have to listen to your shitty music, Munson. But I can still hear. How are your ears not bleeding, man? Seriously, what the hell." 

Eddie shrugged. “I need it to concentrate,” he said and turned his whole body to Steve in a lazy way. And then Steve almost fell from his chair when Eddie threw a pencil at him out of nowhere. 

“Jesus Ch— What the hell?” he complained, surprised. Eddie just laughed a little.  

Steve considered throwing his economics book at his face. “How does that even make sense?” he asked instead. 

“It just does,” Eddie replied, his tone matter-of-fact. He paused the music and reached into his bag that was sitting next to his chair, pulling out a small bottle of pills. “My brain been weird my whole life, you know? They had me on these since I was a kid.” 

Steve stared in disbelief at the pills, then at Eddie. So he was seriously just getting high in the middle of the week? “What are those for?” 

“Helps me focus,” Eddie said casually. “But some noise is good too.” 

"You serious about this?" Steve asked, his voice filled with disbelief. He eyed the bottle with skepticism. "You're just popping pills to concentrate?" 

Eddie put the bottle on his desk and pulled a cigarette. He looked at Steve amused. 

“I’m used to shit stronger than this, Harrington,” he said casually, “but it works better when I have to study.” 

Steve shifted on his chair and turned to him, considering the bottle. 

“Does it really work?” he asked, leaning forward, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“You curious?” 

“You sell this stuff too?” 

Eddie snorted. “Why? You wanna buy?” 

“What if I do?” 

Eddie chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Pretty sure I heard you saying once you only do marijuana.” 

Steve’s face heated. Yes, he’d never been the type to mess with drugs. Back in high school, when his friends started experimenting with cocaine, he’d always stood his ground, resisting the pressure. Being an athlete meant staying clean—he couldn’t afford getting caught. But now, with the season over and the weight of his father’s expectations pressing down on him, he couldn’t shake the thought: What if this was the answer? The secret weapon he’d been missing all along. 

The thought of losing his sports scholarship distressed him constantly. His grades were slipping, and no amount of late-night cramming seemed to help. He was never good at this—at studying, at focusing on anything that didn’t involve a ball or a finish line. But that drug, It could literally save his ass. But what if it didn’t? He’d seen that shit happening on TV—the news of people becoming addicted, getting out of control, committing crimes and all that. It scared the crap out of him.  

But he was close to committing crimes even without it anyway, so fuck it. 

“You selling or not?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. 

Eddie stared at him. “Depends,” he said, tilting his head and smiling, “if you can pay for it.” 

Steve snorted, already reaching for his wallet. “Just tell me how much, man.” 

“Not talking about money, Steve ,” Eddie said, and Steve looked back at him. Eddie was looking at him with hungry eyes and a mischievous smile. “You have something better to offer.” 

Steve’s face flushed, the heat rising fast and strong. For a split second, he had the urge to cover his face with his hands, to hide from Eddie’s gaze like a teenage girl with a crush. Instead, Steve forced himself to look away, his eyes darting to the desk to see if he had another pen to chuck at Eddie’s head—he didn’t. 

“Forget it,” he muttered, trying to sound dismissive, but the crack in his voice betrayed him. 

“Fine,” Eddie replied, far too easily. 

Steve stared down at the book in front of him, the words blurring together and making less sense than before. The embarrassment lingered for a second, but was overtaken almost immediately for a sense of offense so strong that he snapped his head back to look at Eddie, that smug asshole. Eddie was still staring at him, looking far too pleased with himself, a smirk playing on his lips as if he knew exactly how much he was getting under Steve’s skin. Steve really, really hated him. 

“I can’t believe you think I would let you fuck me for drugs!” 

Eddie stubbed his cigarette on the desk.  

“Who said anything about fucking you?” Steve glared. Eddie just shrugged. “You have a good mouth.” 

“You go around making deals like this with junkies to get laid? That’s messed up, man.” 

It was Eddie’s turn to look offended.  

“Fuck off, Harrington, I don’t need help to get laid,” he snapped, rising abruptly to retrieve the pencil he'd hurled at Steve earlier. “It was a one-off because you seem to need an excuse.” Then he went back to his chair and put his headphones back on. 

Steve looked at him for a moment. Needed an excuse, huh? Wasn’t he the nicest ? But Steve could still remember Eddie telling him it was okay. “It’s okay, Harrinton”, “fuck the labels, Harrington”, “you can appreciate dick, Harrington”. Steve snorted, thinking about how convenient it was for Eddie to say that. But, yeah, he could, right? Outside that room a whole world existed, but inside, it was just the two of them. And Eddie wouldn’t beat the crap out of him for appreciating dick—Eddie was the one who wanted to put his dick inside Steve’s mouth, after all.  

Steve ripped a page out of his notebook with a sharp motion, crumpling it into a tight ball. He hurled it at Eddie’s head, his aim precise from years playing basketball. The paper ball bounced off Eddie's hair, and Eddie scowled, pulling his headphones off again. 

“I take the deal,” Steve said, forcing himself to sound casual. Eddie smiled that little gremlin smile of his—the one that always made Steve second-guess every decision he’d made.  

“That's a great choice, Harrington,” Eddie replied, his voice dripping with satisfaction. 

Steve almost rolled his eyes, regretting the deal already, but he wasn’t about to back down now. “I’m not getting on my knees again,” he said, trying his best not to blush, “you better come here.” 

Eddie looked absolutely satisfied with the outcome. With a look of pure contentment, he stood up and grabbed the bottle from the desk. He approached with lazy movements, his expression going from mischief to something much darker. Steve felt a strange mix of fear and excitement—the very same feeling he experienced just a few weeks ago. Steve swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry when Eddie came to stand directly in front of him, a silent command in his posture.  

“Here you go,” Eddie said, putting the bottle on Steve’s desk. Steve reached for it and Eddie stopped him with a light slap on his hand. "Payment first, Harrington."  

Without waiting, Eddie unbuckled his belt. The sound sent a shiver down Steve's spine, and he suddenly felt incredibly hot. Since when has the sight of a man unbuckling his belt become such a hot view? With nervous hands, Steve reached out and took hold of the waistband, pulling it down to reveal Eddie’s cock. It was still flaccid, but he could see it start to fill right in front of his eyes, Eddie’s ringed hand around it. 

“Open up,” Eddie commanded, and Steve obeyed without a word, parting his lips and curving down a little. 

The soft, velvety skin against his tongue was something Steve thought he wouldn’t feel again. He looked up at Eddie's face, meeting his stare, and he wondered if Eddie could see in his expression how much Steve liked the feeling inside his mouth. Eddie’s dark brown eyes stared back hungrily, with a look that made it hard to tell if he wanted to kill him or devour him—or both, in that sequence. He licked slowly against the slit of Eddie’s cock and watched him bite his lip, eyes impossibly dark now. 

“Fuck,” he groaned.  

Steve began to suck, slowly at first, his mouth enveloping the growing length. He was still a bit clumsy, not used to it yet. The first time had been a mess—he enjoyed, yes, but that was still a mess. Steve had choked, gagged and almost passed out on it, feeling drunk and turned on. But this time he was more careful, more patient. He sucked on the tip, then moved his head to take the whole thing inside his mouth. Eddie groaned, and Steve felt his cock twitch and grow. He then put a hand on Steve’s hair, pushing him down for more.  

Steve sucked a little harder, feeling it fill his mouth and press against the roof of his mouth every time Eddie pushed in slightly. He moved his head to try to make it less sloppy, but still taking as much as he could. The smell of him was overwhelming—a mix of sweat, the permanent scent of smoke, and something uniquely Eddie . It was a scent that used to make Steve's nose crinkle in distaste, but since that day it only served to make his own cock throb with need. The taste was bitter and strong. It tasted like sweat and sex and sin all at once. He liked it alright. 

With each bob of his head, Steve grew more confident, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip of Eddie' cock. He took him deeper, the heat and weight of it heavy on his tongue, growing hard, getting thicker and longer. Eddie' groans grew louder too, his hips thrusting gently to match the rhythm of Steve's sucking, hand clenching at Steve’s hair. Steve’s mouth stretched wide to accommodate Eddie' growing length, feeling drool dripping down his chin.  

“Fuck,” Eddie groaned. “You doing a good job, Harrington.”  

Steve kept sucking on it for a while longer until Eddie was fully hard and pulsing against his tongue. He took it out then, panting a little, Eddie’s cock standing straight up, glistening wet from Steve’s saliva. Steve licked his lips, trying to get the taste of it. He liked it a whole lot. He reached down and licked the length until reaching the head again. Eddie seemed to like it, if the little groans were anything to go by. Steve reached down again and looked up at Eddie. He then licked slowly, really, really slow his way to the top, feeling a thick vein pulsing against the flat of his tongue. Steve wrapped his lips around it and sucked on the head again, tongue dancing around foreskin, teasing the sensitive underside before pressing it against the slit. Eddie moaned louder now.  

"That's it," Eddie murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Take it all in now." 

Steve looked up at him with a smirk. “What if I bite?” he asked mischievously. Eddie groaned when Steve took his cock into his mouth again, scraping his teeth lightly against the skin.  

“I don’t give a fuck,” he said, thrusting into Steve’s mouth. He held Steve’s hair again. “You can bite all you want.”  

Steve chuckled around his dick. Eddie started to thrust into his mouth slowly, his hips rolling in and out, thrusting and then pulling back again. Steve let him have his way, letting Eddie use his mouth how he liked it. He looked so good like this—lost in pleasure—that Steve felt himself get hard at the sight alone. He sucked harder then. 

Eddie pushed his pants down a little more, hastily. Steve's hand, that was resting on his clothed hip, grabbed the flesh and squeezed it, absolutely aware that was the most of Eddie’s skin he ever touched—his cock obviously not counting. 

"Play with my balls," Eddie said, his voice hoarse. 

Steve didn't waste time. His hands moved down from Eddie's hips to the tightly drawn sack, getting a handful of it. Still sucking hard, he gently cupped Eddie's balls in his palm, feeling their weight and warmth. He began to roll them softly, applying just the right amount of pressure, his thumb tracing the sensitive ridge between them, teasing the spot where the base of his cock met the skin. Eddie thrust inside his mouth deeper.  

"That good?" Steve asked, satisfied, pulling from his cock and licking from the base again. 

Eddie’s reply was a light slap on Steve’s face with his dick, making a little smack sound and leaving a trail of wetness across Steve's cheek. He rubbed the head over Steve’s lips, soaking them with precum. “Good,” he said. Slapping Steve's lips now, his hips rocking slightly as he rubbed his cock over them. "You sure you aren't whoring this mouth around?" 

Steve felt that known shame creeping inside him—the good one, the one that made his body burn and his cock throb even more insistently against his zipper. He laughed a little, loving Eddie's words and the sensation it caused him. As reward he slid from the chair, his knees hitting the floor with a soft thud that sent a jolt of excitement through his body. He reached up and took Eddie' balls into his mouth, one at a time, rolling it around with his tongue. The sensation was foreign, but he found that he liked the way they filled his mouth, the way Eddie' hissed in surprise and pleasure. He could feel the muscles in Eddie' thighs tense the moment he began to suck, gently rolling the balls in his mouth. 

Steve was quickly finding out that he didn't mind being used like this. He felt so good, so full of pleasure, that he'd let Eddie use him however he wanted. He reached up with one hand to wrap his fingers around the thick, pulsing shaft that loomed above his face, slick with his spit. He began to jerk him off, his strokes firm and deliberate, and he could feel the tension building in Eddie's body, the way his thigh was tightening under Steve’s other hand. He jerked faster when he saw how much Eddie liked it. 

"Fuck, keep doing that," Eddie said. And Steve did. He arched his body even more between Eddie’s legs, head tilted up. His mouth stretched wide, accommodating the heavy balls, feeling they roll onto his tongue. He moaned around them, the sound muffled. And God, he couldn’t even picture how he looked—he didn’t even know if he wanted to. His mouth was full of Eddie's balls and his nose was filled with Eddie's smell. It shouldn't feel as good as it was. 

Eddie's hand tightened even more in Steve's hair, forcing his face back on his dick, the pain shooting through him sudden and strong. Steve moaned louder and opened his mouth wide, immediately starting to suck him again. 

"You like when I pull your hair?" Eddie asked, between amused and turned on. His fist tightened, and Steve felt his scalp hurt, sending waves of pleasure through him. It was a good kind of pain, the one that went straight to his cock. He moaned around Eddie's dick and nodded, unable to form words with his mouth full. Eddie took that as all the answer he needed. He yanked harder, thrusting his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper into Steve' throat. Steve gagged, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

"Yeah?" he asked again, holding his cock down Steve’s throat for a moment and then pulling out all the way. "Tell me, Harrington." 

Steve nodded his head again and pulled from Eddie’s cock. "Yes," he said, watching Eddie face contort as if he was struggling to keep calm. Steve wondered what kind of beast was hiding behind that mask of composure. It made him want more, somehow craving the degradation that Eddie so freely dished out. He somehow wanted to see Eddie losing all his composure, so he said: "Make it hurt, please."   

The words seemed to break something within Eddie. Steve saw when he let out a breath and swallowed, his dick twitching right in front of Steve’s face. "You like when I make it hurt too?" he asked, pulling Steve's head back with a ferocity that made him gasp. The hand in his hair was now a fist, and he used it to slam Steve's face back down onto his cock, the force making Steve's eyes water and his throat ache.  

Steve nodded again, his lips stretched around the thickness in his mouth. 

"Shit, Harrington. I'll fuck you up if you aren't careful with what you say,” Eddie said, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.  

"Yes," Steve replied between breaths. "Fuck me up." Eddie chuckled at that one, looking a little incredulous but also satisfied.  

"You like getting roughed up?" he asked.  

Steve didn't answer because it wasn't necessary, was it? His face was red, flushed by the blood that was running wild in his veins and making him feel alive. Steve, who believed he was so experienced in sex, was still discovering what gave him pleasure, it seemed. It was like he had a whole new world to explore—or maybe it was the same world, just he decided to destroy the walls around him. In those few weeks he discovered, explored and revisited things that he didn’t think he would if it was with anyone else. But Eddie was a freak, too, he couldn’t judge Steve for the weird shit he seemed to like.

And Eddie definitely liked the same thing, making them both a perfect match of kinky freaks—who would know? 

So he just looked deep inside Eddie's expecting eyes and said: "I know that I like it." Eddie smiled then, a smile so beautiful and so dirty that Steve moaned at the sight alone, his cock twitching against his pants. 

Eddie looked down at him and pulled from him. “Open your mouth, Harrington," he said, his voice full of lust. "Gonna come"  

Obediently, Steve opened his mouth, his tongue sliding out. Then Eddie let go of Steve altogether, eyes glimmering with a dark excitement and began to stroke himself, the head of his cock hovering just above Steve's mouth. He slapped his cock against Steve’s tongue a few times and Steve felt saliva in the corners of his mouth.  

"Stay still," he warned, and with that he started coming in hot spurts. It landed on Steve’s tongue, bitter and warm, but he didn't move, not even when Eddie rubbed his cock against his lips, smearing it across his cheeks and chin. Steve could feel the cum pooling inside his mouth. "Hold it." And so Steve did. Tongue still out, cum in his mouth, trying not to breathe. He wondered how he looked. 

Eddie reached to the bottle on the desk, opened it and took a pill. He looked at Steve, showing it to him. Then he put it right on Steve's tongue. 

"You can swallow now, Stevie," Eddie said with a smile, putting his cock back inside his pants. 

Steve looked at him, feeling incredibly horny. He swallowed it all in one gulp.  

"Good boy," Eddie praised, caressing his face—and Steve found himself wanting to please him again and again. "Now you have to tell me if you want me to help you or not. It's not part of the deal, but I'm feeling altruistic."   

Steve shook his head. "No need," he said.  

"Edging too, huh?" Eddie laughed amused, going back to his chair. "You really are something, Harrington." 

Steve's face burned. It wasn't really edging, he just liked the feel of his dick tight inside his jeans. But he wasn't going to tell that to Eddie. He didn't have to tell Eddie anything now that the sex was over. 

"I'm feeling generous today," Eddie said. "If you change your mind, you just need to ask."  

Steve shook his head again, turning around to face his book again. He licked his lips, the taste strong inside his mouth. He swallowed one, two times, feeling a little drunk. Then he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, using the fabric to wipe his face. "Maybe next time," he said.  

"Suit yourself," Eddie said.  

Steve went back to try to focus on his work. A few hours later, when his dick was long soft again and Steve could hardly feel the strong taste inside his mouth, he realized that he read the whole chapter, notes on his notebook and all to prove. He also realized Eddie didn’t turn the music on again.   

   - 

Steve leaned against the sticky bar counter, his eyes tracking Eddie's every move through the haze of cigarette smoke and neon lights. It was a typical Saturday night, and Steve had come to the bar with his friends to unwind. But there was Eddie again, like a damn eyesore. Steve told himself he was only keeping an eye on Eddie because he didn’t want another fight to break out between him and Tommy, and that it had nothing to do with the fact that Eddie seemed really into the guy he was talking to, laughing and leaning in close. Steve was just being cautious, that’s all. 

When Eddie finally stood up, it was to be followed by the stranger who walked close to him. Steve's curiosity piqued. He watched as the two of them wove their way through the crowded place, the new guy's boring appearance a stark contrast to Eddie's usual flamboyant image. They slid together through the exit and Steve gave his friends some quick excuse before following them. 

He stepped outside, looking around. He peeked in the alley besides the bar, finding it empty. He darted into it, anyway, trying to peek beyond that. And well if he wasn’t lucky. Eddie was sitting on a stack of plastic boxes in the space behind the bar, his hands grasping the guy’s waist and his mouth devouring his neck. Steve shifted and Eddie’s eyes landed on him. He didn’t seem to care, though, quite the opposite: he moved his head slightly and licked the guy’s neck long and slow, just to show off. The sight of it sent a shiver down Steve's spine.  

Eddie just watched Steve’s approach. He kissed the man, then, strong and hungry, eyes never leaving Steve’s. The guy, oblivious to what was happening, responded eagerly, his hands gripping Eddie's neck and moaning softly. Steve raised an eyebrow and looked around, finding a can of beer right next to his foot. He kicked it and the metallic clang echoed through the alley. The stranger jumped back, his eyes wide with surprise. He looked around frantically and his eyes settled on Steve.  

"Sorry about that," Steve called out nonchalantly, the flick of his lighter filling the silence that followed when he lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, and shrugged as if he hadn't meant to interrupt. The guy pulled away from Eddie so quickly he almost fell on his ass, and just left in a hurry, looking at the ground the whole time. He didn’t look back or waited for Eddie. 

"You're always ruining my fun, aren’t you?" Eddie murmured, his voice thick with annoyance. 

Steve took a step closer, studying Eddie, whose legs were still spread wide on the makeshift throne of boxes. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, the smoke burning its way inside his lungs. Eddie beckoned with a finger, a mischievous glint in his eye. Steve got closer, stopping right in front of his open legs. 

"Got one for me?" Eddie asked, pointing at his cigarette. “The least you could do, right?” 

Steve stepped a little closer, took a deep drag, and then exhaled slowly and deliberately on Eddie’s face. Eddie just snorted a little, smirking. 

"Sure," Steve murmured, grabbing the pack from his pocket. With a flick of his thumb, he forced one slightly out, and extended it  next to Eddie’s face. Eddie leaned in and took it with his lips, eyes on Steve’s the whole time. 

He reached out, grabbing Steve’s jaw. Steve couldn’t help but step closer in between his legs, feeling his thigh against his hip. With a deliberate slowness Eddie brought his cigarette to Steve's mouth, the tip glowing when it touched Steve's. Eddie's hand lingered at Steve's jaw, his thumb tracing the line of Steve's cheekbone while they shared the flame.  

Steve stepped aside, then, feeling his body getting too hot. 

"What are you doing out here?" Eddie asked, casual. An obvious rhetorical question because he obviously knew what Steve was doing out there. 

"Just needed a smoke," Steve replied, his voice casual despite the hammering of his heart. He took another drag and sat on the boxes beside Eddie. 

Eddie's eyes narrowed, a hint of skepticism playing across his features. "Everyone's smoking inside," he pointed out. Then he smiled—the creepy, gremlin one, not the pretty one. "Did you follow me, Harrington?" 

"Needed some fresh air," Steve lied and shrugged. 

Eddie just laughed, low and throaty. "Fine," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "But you're not going to get any action out here unless you start something yourself." 

Steve snorted. 

"Who says I need you for action?" he retorted in a light tone. "I've got a hot girl waiting for me tonight." 

Eddie's eyes lit up with amusement, his smirk deepening and his whole body turning to Steve. He leaned in closer, his breath warm and smoky. "It's a shame," he mused, "I was hoping I'd get lucky with your mouth again." His thumb traced the fullness of Steve's lower lip and Steve felt his body responding to the touch with an undeniable craving. He had the strongest urge to suck on his finger like a total little slut. Fucking God. 

He managed to resist, though, his smirk mirroring Eddie's. "Not happening again. Sorry," he said. 

"Only if I give you another excuse, right?" he quipped, leaning even closer. Steve's stomach flipped.  

"I'm not that easy, you know?" Steve murmured, pushing Eddie from his personal space. 

"Could’ve fooled me," Eddie replied, laughing. Steve wanted to punch him—he took a drag of his smoke instead. "Your mouth is really good," Eddie continued. "I really don't believe you are new at sucking dick, you know? And sure as hell I don't believe I was the first." 

Steve rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips despite the heat pooling in his stomach. "Fuck off," he said, but the edge of amusement in his voice betrayed the fact that he was anything but angry. “I never told you were the first. Maybe I sucked lots of dicks.” And he said that as if he didn’t completely freak out the first time and Eddie didn’t know that. 

Eddie laughed, playing along. "Please, you don’t have the skills," he said, "just a good hole.” 

Steve felt his face burn at that and he took another nervous drag, looking away. Eddie’s hand came to his face again, making Steve look at him. 

 "With some practice, you'd be the best cocksucker on campus." He winked, his thumb tracing the line of Steve's bottom lip. "And I won’t complain if you feel like practicing on me." 

Steve couldn't help but chuckle, the sound rich and deep in his chest. He pushed Eddie away gently. "In your dreams," he said, his voice a blend of amusement and desire that he couldn't really hide. 

With a dramatic sigh, Eddie settled back on his own space.  

"Great," he grumbled, "so I'm really stuck with no action for the night thanks to you." 

Steve couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at his lips. "Looks like you're out of luck, sorry," he said.  

Eddie's eyes narrowed. "You are so fucking annoying," he said, dramatically. Steve snorted. "Finding a guy to fuck in this place is not easy, okay?" 

"Poor you," Steve said, making sure his face showed how much he didn’t give a damn. "But why are you always here, anyway? Why don't you just go to one of those gay bars? Heard there's a bunch of them around here." 

"I could," he said, "but this place is a gold mine. A bunch of spoiled rich kids here, all wanting some crap to feel good. And they don’t know shit. I can charge twice the street price and they just roll with it." 

"How noble of you, seriously," he teased, his voice a low rumble of sarcasm. 

Eddie shrugged, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "Why the fuck not?" he said. "And if I get laid in the process, well, that's just a bonus. Sometimes I find some really good boys here." His hand slid down Steve's thigh, his thumb rubbing slow circles that made Steve's skin prickle. 

“What? So you can get your dick sucked in exchange for drugs?”  

“I told you it was a deal made only for you, Harrington,” he said, retrieving his hand. 

He took a final drag of his cigarette, the ember burning brightly, before flicking it somewhere. He stood up and stepped closer to Steve.  

He leaned in, caging Steve with his arms, his breath hot and smoky. "Why don't you go back to your girl?" His hand slid around Steve's neck, his grip firm but not painful, his thumb stroking the pulse point. "But when you're done with your vanilla fuck and you're craving something more,” he tightened his grip a little, “come find me." 

Steve's mouth went dry. His heart hammered in his chest, the touch of Eddie's hand sending a jolt of pure electricity down his spine. He could feel Eddie's breath on his face, the press of Eddie's thigh between his legs, and even the memory of Eddie’s taste on his tongue. Eddie's eyes searched Steve's, dark and intense, and Steve's stomach clenched with need.  

"You know what you like," Eddie murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You know what I can give you." His grip tightened even more, the pressure on Steve's neck almost painful, but not really. If it was just a taste or a promise, Steve wouldn’t let it work.  

He stared into Eddie's eyes, swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against Eddie's firm grip. "Maybe I don't need you," he said, his voice hoarse and unconvincing. 

Eddie's smirk grew, his eyes gleaming with a knowing look that made Steve's cheeks heat. "We'll see," he murmured right on Steve’s lips, "how long you’ll last before you come crawling." 

With a final squeeze of his neck, Eddie stepped back, leaving Steve whole a trembling mess. He watched Eddie saunter away, his body swaying in such a Eddie way. Steve took a deep, shaky breath, his hand coming up to touch his neck. His body was on fire, his mind racing. He took one last drag of his cigarette, the taste bitter on his tongue, and crushed the butt under his heel. He stepped out of the alley, heading back to the bar.  

- 

Steve followed the girl from the bar back to her sorority house, his thoughts still on that alley. They stumbled into her room, the door barely clicking shut before she was on her knees, her soft mouth eagerly wrapping around his cock. She sucked him off with a grace that seemed practiced, her eyes never leaving his, her hair falling in soft waves around her face. She was pretty, and she was giving head in a pretty way, too. 

He kissed her, tasting himself on her lips. His hands roamed over her body, the fabric of her dress under his fingertips. She giggled when he touched her breasts, and promptly allowed to get undressed under his hands. Her skin was soft.

He fucked her with a gentle touch, his hands exploring every inch of her while she had her legs wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his back. She was a moaner, her voice filling the small room. When he grew tired of the missionary position, he rolled her over, his hands guiding her to straddle him. She took over with a laugh, calling him a pervy but riding his cock anyway. Her tits bounced in his face, and he watched her touching them.  

Her moans grew louder, her breath hitching while riding him in a nice rhythm, and Steve felt his orgasm building. He came with a grunt, his hips bucking up to meet hers, feeling the wet tightness around him. She collapsed onto him, her body warm and sweaty. She smelled faintly of red fruits and alcohol. 

He lay there, his cock still inside her. The orgasm had been good, sure, but it wasn't what he craved. It wasn't the raw, animalistic passion that Eddie had promised. The girl — Aubrey? — snuggled closer, her hand playing with his chest hair. Steve found himself wishing for rough, demanding hands; for a bite of teeth on his neck; for a burn of a cigarette on his skin. 

He pulled out, his cock already going soft, and rolled over, taking the condom off. Steve couldn't shake off the feeling of dissatisfaction as he got dressed, the girl's sweet whispers of "stay" doing little to soothe the ache in his core. When she finally realized he was serious about leaving, she pouted.

"You've got to be kidding me," she murmured, her voice a soft, breathy protest. "You just got here." 

"Yeah," Steve said. "I know. But I've got this project... It's a real bitch." 

Her laugh was light. "College is killing us all, right?"  

He took the piece of paper she offered when he finished putting on his shoes, her number scrawled in hasty digits. "Thanks," he murmured. 

 He eyed her for a moment. She was pretty, really pretty. His thumb brushed her cheek when he kissed her. She melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck, her tongue slipping into his mouth. He promised to call and closed the door softly behind him when he left. 

He paused outside the door to his dorm room, a few minutes later. He knew that if he opened that door, if he gave in, there would be no going back. The tension was a living thing, coiled in his chest, threatening to suffocate him with every breath he took. His hand hovered over the doorknob, his heart racing. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a shaky sigh, and then, with a twist of his wrist, he stepped into the room.

Chapter Text

The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, with the moon high in the sky. The light made Steve hesitate for a moment, his mind going back to somewhere almost a month ago. Unlike that day, Eddie was sitting not on his bed but perched on the windowsill, one leg hanging outside, looking lost in thought. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and that light made him look like this ethereal creature, all pale skin and dark hair.  

Steve closed the door behind him and Eddie looked up, a satisfied grin playing on his lips.  

“I didn't think you'd come this early, Harrington," he said, his voice all poorly contained amusement. The mocking tone, Steve realized a little irritated, really did something to him. He wished Eddie would use it more times. 

He took a tentative step towards Eddie, feeling his palms sweat a little. Yes, he was nervous, no shame in admitting that. Eddie's form, covered in moonlight and shadows, was an image that had haunted his dreams since that night. It was an image that he tried to escape from, that he tried to ignore like he always did to anything else that would cause him that kind of feeling—the want for something he shouldn’t want. 

Feeling completely aware of himself, he took another step, eyes locked on Eddie's. He wondered what Eddie was seeing. If it was some scared little thing with a secret craving that he could pity fuck, or if it was a hypocrite asshole he could have some fun with for a while then discard like trash. Steve didn’t care either way. He had been a hypocrite for all this life, and he had felt scared for all his life too. And he didn’t mind being used—hell, he was hoping for it. Whatever the outcome of that night was, Steve would take it. Whatever it was, it would still be a win.  

And, yes, the anticipation was killing him—maybe since the moment he felt Eddie’s hand on him in that alley. The thought of what was to come was like a delicious agony he’d been enduring since he left that sorority house, making his whole body ache in need. Because despite everything Steve thought about Eddie, he couldn't deny the appeal of his dominance, the way he could make Steve feel so alive and so debased at the same time. And thinking about that, craving it, made something grasp his insides, trying to hold on to him, and whispering that it was wrong, that Steve shouldn’t want that kind of perversion. But Steve ignored it. He was feeling drawn to Eddie, like a moth to a flame—despite knowing he might get burned, he couldn't stay away.  

Perhaps, in the end, being consumed by the fire was exactly what he needed to be reborn. 

He took another step closer, the gap between them shrinking. Eddie studied him, a knowing glint in his dark eyes that made Steve's cheeks burn. He shifted on the windowsill, pulling both legs to inside the room and spreading them slightly, inviting Steve closer. His posture was one of lazy confidence, and Steve wondered for a moment if he had always been like that and Steve was getting to know all his attractive traits now, or if that was exactly the reason Steve disliked him so much to begin with. 

Steve took the final step, stopping between Eddie's open legs, his heart thundering in his chest so loud, he could feel it against his eardrums. His eyes searched Eddie's face, and his whole expression seemed to say "I knew you'd come." If Steve weren’t already feeling so turned on, he would really punch that smile away.  

"Tell me what you want, Harrington." Eddie's voice was low and slow. 

What Steve wanted. 

What Steve wanted?  

Hell, if he knew. He wanted everything and maybe some more. He wanted to feel the bite of pain, the burn of Eddie's touch, to hear his voice whispering dirty things in his ear. He wanted to be used, to feel like nothing more than a toy. He wanted so much, but because he couldn’t manage those wishes out, he looked up at Eddie and said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I– Can I kiss you?" 

Eddie smirked wide, but Steve could see something that looked like surprise in his eyes. "You want to kiss me?" Eddie asked. Steve nodded, feeling his cheeks warm, because what if it was weird? Maybe Eddie was the type that didn’t like to kiss people like him. But then Eddie curved his body forward. "Go ahead, then."  

Steve leaned in, having to step even more closer and almost tiptoe to reach his lips. He pulled Eddie’s neck and Eddie let him, curving his body a little more. Steve never thought he would actually kiss a guy one day, and he never allowed himself to wonder how it would feel. But if he did, that would be it. The press against his lips were hard and didn’t taste like artificial fruit, but smoke and alcohol. He could feel stubble against his chin, and the softness and curiosity of a first kiss gave way to something demanding and controlling almost immediately.  

Eddie's hands shot up to cradle Steve's face, his thumbs tracing the line of his jaw gently, while his tongue was suddenly in Steve’s mouth, dominating and insistent. It was a possessive kiss, and Steve felt claimed in a way he had never experienced before.  

He felt the weight of Eddie's body shift, felt the heat of his cock against his stomach. Steve moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled by Eddie's mouth. His hands, tentatively at first, moved to Eddie's naked shoulders and chest, his fingers tasting the skin for the first time. Eddie didn’t have as much chest hair as Steve did, it being sparse and thin. And even though his skin was soft and his muscles weren’t hard like Steve’s, that was definitely a man’s chest. The realization—if one could call it that—sent shockwaves of arousal through him, making him dig his fingers in deeper. Steve liked it a lot. He really did. 

Eddie was the one to break the kiss, his breath hot against Steve's lips. "Is that all you want?" he asked, his voice just a whisper that was caught by Steve’s open mouth. "Just a kiss?" 

Steve's eyes fluttered open, meeting Eddie's dark gaze. "No," he murmured, his voice shaking. "I want...everything."  

"You will have to tell what everything is, Harrington," Eddie said, his lips moving warm and wet to Steve’s ear, " and I'll give it to you."  

A million dark, forbidden thoughts filled Steve's head. Things he never dared to acknowledge, let alone say out loud. Dirty things. Depraved things that he shouldn’t even think about because he was a man, and a man shouldn’t desire such things. But Steve did desire them. He desired to be dominated, to feel pain mixing with pleasure until they would become only one thing. He desired to be held down and put in place. His cheeks flushed, shame and arousal making his body hot. He swallowed hard, struggling to form the words that would unlock the darkest corners of his mind.  

"I want to feel good," he finally managed to say, his voice a shaky whisper, barely audible. "I want to feel used." His eyes searched Eddie's face, looking for any sign of judgment, but all he found was approval. 

And that was enough for Steve. 

The words tumbled out of him, a secret he'd held so tightly and for so long that it had grown claws and was now desperate to be free. "I want you to call me names, to make me feel like a cheap whore," he continued, feeling confident. "I want to become a fucktoy, something worthless. I want you to hurt me so good. Please, I want it so bad." The last words left his mouth with a gasp, a small whine that made him feel a strange sense of relief. 

Eddie's smirk grew into a full-blown smile, his eyes shining with excitement. If Steve didn’t know better, he would say Eddie looked proud. "You're going to get exactly what you want, Steve," he murmured.  

The moment Eddie's lips met Steve's again, Steve's mind almost went blank with the force of his need—there was a roughness to it, some kind of raw hunger that sent all his senses straight to hell. He could feel his whole body burning, but at the same time he couldn’t feel anything other than Eddie's stubble scraping against his skin, the taste of smoke on his tongue and Eddie’s ringed fingers holding his face.  

Eddie came down from the windowsill, pulling Steve closer. Steve’s hands, still tentative, began to explore more of Eddie's skin. There was something addictive about the way his body felt, the way his heart pounded against Steve's palm, and how their bodies aligned. It was like one little piece of a puzzle in the middle of many other pieces that still needed to be put in place. Eddie wasn’t the first piece, and sure as hell wasn’t the last, but right now it was one he needed, the one he was looking for. 

Eddie's hand slid down to cup his ass, and Steve's mind went all blank again, his focus narrowing to the strength of Eddie's hold. The pressure was firm, almost painful, sending a bolt of pleasure through him. He moaned inside Eddie’s mouth and felt him smile against his lips.   

Eddie's mouth moved down to his neck, his teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh. The pain was sharp, and Steve moaned again, louder. Eddie's tongue traced the line of his throat, licking the sweat that had formed there, his hands growing more insistent, one still on his ass and the other pulling Steve’s waist to himself, forcing him to arch his back.  

He felt his jacket being forced out and he helped, eager, his shirt being peeled away next. Eddie's mouth moved lower, his teeth nipping at the soft skin of his collarbone, his tongue tracing the path of a particularly sensitive mole. Steve moaned, his body jerking in response, his cock pressing back into Eddie's crotch. Eddie's mouth moved to his chest, his lips nibbling on Steve's dark hair, his tongue darting out to taste the flesh beneath. The hand that was on Steve’s ass came to touch his nipple, playing and pinching slightly.   

Steve's thoughts froze when Eddie's hand closed around his throat, the suddenness of the grip making his eyes widen with shock. He felt himself being pushed easily and thrown onto Eddie’s bed with a force that was both intimidating and a total turn on—if Steve weren’t already hard in his pants, he would be leaking and pulsing in a heartbeat after that. The bed groaned under his weight, the mattress sinking when Eddie loomed over him, holding Steve’s wrists and slamming them down, caging him in. Steve could just lay there, panting, his cock throbbing against the fabric of his pants.  

The feeling of being pinned down, of being completely at Eddie's mercy, was scary and at the same time made him stupidly horny, making his skin tingle and his heart race. Eddie's weight settled on top of him, the heat of his body searing into Steve's, and his mouth found Steve's again, the kiss bruising and demanding. Steve's eyes fluttered closed, his legs spreading wider, his hips bucking slightly.  

Eddie’s mouth found his neck again, sucking hard and sinking his teeth without a care in the world. The sensation was so perfect that it had Steve's toes curling, and he could feel a new hickey forming. He gasped, his eyes watering, and Eddie pulled back with a satisfied grin. 

"How much of this have you ever done?" Eddie asked, leaning in again to mouth on Steve’s neck softly.  

"What do you mean?"  

"You know what I mean," Eddie said, leaning back to look him in the eye, his grip on Steve's wrists tightening slightly. “Did you do that before?” 

Steve's cheeks flushed, a small, nervous laugh escaping his lips. "What? You think I'm a virgin?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood. Honestly, he was hoping for more action and less talk. Doing stuff was always easier than talking about them, but Eddie seemed to want to push his buttons here. 

Eddie grinned, tilting his head in that little annoying way he always does. "No, I know you're not," he said. "There's no way a slut like you would be."  

Steve couldn’t help but moan at that, his hips bulking up in a pathetic attempt of friction. Eddie laughed, leaning in to steal the moan from his lips. They kissed for a long time again—Eddie’s kisses were good, Steve gave him that.  

“What I mean,” Eddie said after breaking the kiss, "is how much pain have you felt in bed before." 

Jesus. 

"Senior year," Steve murmured, his eyes locked with Eddie's and trying really, really hard not to look as embarrassed as he felt. "There was this girl. She liked to slap me when she came." 

The first time that happened, it was a surprise. He came immediately, and that felt absolutely humiliating. Steve loved and hated it all at the same time, and for the next few days he really thought something was absolutely wrong with him. But then they met again and she did it again, lost on her own climax, and Steve allowed himself to do the same. They hooked up for a long time after that, until she started dating some asshole. Steve never found anyone like her again. Well, not until now. 

Eddie leaned in closer, his breath hot against Steve's ear. "How much can you take, then?" he whispered. "Did you test it?"  

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice shaking with need. "But I want to. God, I want to."  

Eddie's grip on his wrists tightened. "Good," he said, lips on Steve’s skin once again. 

Steve's breath hitched, feeling Eddie's tongue tracing a path down his chest, circling one of his nipples, whimpering when he felt Eddie's teeth sinking in slightly, the pain shooting straight to his cock.  

"From the things I did to you," Eddie asked. "What did you like the most?"  

He thought about the way Eddie had made him kneel, his cock in Steve's mouth, and the feeling of being used. The taste of cum on his tongue, the smell of sweat, Eddie’s cock deep inside his throat, and Steve taking every inch. He thought about the feeling of choking on it, the sensation of his throat closing around the thick shaft, the panic and delight that came from not being able to breathe. He thought about the first time Eddie had used him, face-fucked him, and treated him like a worthless piece of trash while doing it all.   

But then Steve's thoughts drifted back to their talk in the alley, to the memory of Eddie's hand around his neck. To the way Eddie had looked at him, the promise of pain and pleasure in his dark eyes. To how he wanted to feel the pressure grow, cutting off his air, making him feel alive.  

He swallowed hard, the weight of Eddie's body pressing down on him. "I liked it all," he managed to say, his voice hoarse. "But I really like your hands."  

Eddie's grip on his wrists tightened like a silent acknowledgment of his words. But still, he wondered if Eddie’s response was solely due to what he had said, or if his words were like small keys unlocking many locks within him, setting him free. Eddie seemed to want to test how much Steve could take, but Steve also wanted to see how much he could give. Because he knew, he could see how Eddie seemed to always hold back, even when he was angry—and Steve really wished he wouldn’t.  

"My hands, huh? Should I use them to make you beg?" His thumbs began to trace circles on the sensitive skin of Steve's inner wrists, the pressure increasing slightly. "Or to slap your pretty face?"  

Steve's breath caught, his body responding to the words, his cock growing even harder if that was even possible. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "To everything."  

Eddie's mouth reached his ear. "How do you want to feel them now?" he murmured. "Around your cock, or around your neck?"  

Steve knew what he craved more. So, he just said, "Neck." 

Eddie leaned in closer, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below Steve's ear. "Such good boy, Stevie," he purred.  

The grip on Steve’s wrist loosened slightly, and then, with a sudden, fluid movement, Eddie's hand was around his throat, the other still pinning his other arm. The hold was firm, but not really painful. Steve groaned, his body arching upwards, silently begging for more.  

Eddie's hand tightened, the pressure increasing. He leaned down to kiss Steve again, his tongue demanding entry. Steve responded eagerly, his now free hand wrapping around Eddie’s wrist. The kiss grew more intense, their teeth clashing, and Eddie's hand squeezing tighter. But even though his grip was firm, it was still gentle somehow—the pressure was not enough to cut off his air.  

“Good?” Eddie asked on his lips. “Want some more?” 

Steve nodded eagerly, the motion causing his throat to constrict around Eddie's fingers. "Yes, please," he replied.  

"Good," Eddie murmured, smiling down at him. "If it gets too much, just tap my arm like you jocks do." Steve chuckled. If anything, Eddie’s knowledgement of sports was just about to zero—and wasn’t that a little bit cute? 

"No tapping," Steve said. "If I want to stop, I'll snap my fingers." He snapped two times, the movement and sound apparently being enough to Eddie. If Steve was being honest, he didn’t want to tap against his arm because he was hoping he could fight back a little, and he didn’t want Eddie to stop if he did.  

"Fine," Eddie said, his grip tightening slightly. "But I'm not kidding here, Harrington, you better do it."  

The air grew heavier when Eddie's hand began to squeeze, the pressure increasing in such a way, he could feel his own pulse pounding against Eddie's fingertips, and a prickling sensation on his lips. The fear was real, suddenly, but so was the pleasure.  

"Still good?" Eddie asked, his eyes searching Steve's face.  

"Yes," Steve managed to get out, the word barely audible. "More."  

Eddie's hand tightened, and Steve’s body arched off the bed, his eyes wide with the sudden rush of panic. He could feel his airway closing, the need to breathe growing more urgent with every passing second. His free hand found Eddie’s wrist again, and the one in Eddie's grasp tried to break free. His body started fighting for air, but there was also a strange sense of euphoria, a high that came from the very real danger he was in.  

Eddie's grip tightened even more, and Steve's body convulsed a little, his cock throbbing with a painful need. And then, just as Steve felt his orgasm building up and his vision started to dark, Eddie's grip loosened. He gasped, the room coming back into focus.  

Eddie's face hovered above his, an expression of pure anger. "Didn’t we agree on something, Harrington?" he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper.  

Steve swallowed hard, choking a little, still riding the high he just felt. "I haven't reached my limit yet." 

"Limit isn't fucking dying," Eddie said, his voice low and dangerous. 

"I know," he murmured. “I’m sorry.” 

Eddie's gaze softened slightly, his thumb tracing the redness on Steve's neck. "If you pass out, we're done," he said, his voice firm. "Not just for tonight. Ever. I don't like breaking my things. Do you understand?"  

"I won't pass out," he said, and Eddie pretty much growled right at his face. He looked scary and if that made Steve hornier, well, who could blame him. "Okay, I promise. I'll be careful, Jesus."  

“You better.”  

Eddie leaned in, claiming Steve's mouth once again in an angry and wet kiss. Then his mouth found its way to Steve’s neck, kissing and nibbling the sensitive flesh before sinking his teeth in hard. Steve's body jolted with the sudden pain, a sharp cry escaping his lips, and his free hand flying to grab a handful of Eddie’s hair. That fucking hurt for real! And it felt good, so good . His whole mind focused on it, but he was still well aware of the way his cock was pulsing—a desperate, pathetic thing, strained against the fabric of his pants, begging for release. 

"That was for disobeying me," Eddie murmured, his teeth grazing the fresh bite. Steve wondered if it was bleeding. God, he really wished it was. "You wanna try again?"  

"Disobeying you? Hell, yes," he said immediately, a wide grin on his face. 

Eddie wasn’t amused. "Don’t try to be cute, Harrington," he said, eyes hard. "This is your last chance. If you don't fucking snap when you need, we're done."  

"I'll snap," he murmured.  

Eddie's grip tightened again, the pressure on Steve's throat increasing. His breath grew shallow, his chest heaving. He could feel the panic rising, the desperate need to breathe, and he struggled to draw in air. His cock throbbed with every beat of his heart. He was so close again, it was torture. And then, just as the world began to fade, Eddie's teeth sank into the soft flesh of his shoulder, the pain sharp. Steve's body responded with a jolt, his cock spurting hot cum inside his underwear.  

The orgasm was powerful and seemed to go on for fucking ever. Steve's eyes rolled back in his head, stars exploding behind his eyelids. His hand shot up by reflex, snapping his fingers three times in quick motion. Eddie's grip loosened, allowing him a precious gulp of air, and his body convulsed a little, muscles tensing. He could feel the warmth of his cum soaking his underwear and, in all honesty, he could feel more than he ever could before. He was feeling everything, every little nerve of his body. 

If those few seconds weren't Nirvana, he really didn't know what was.

Eddie leaned in, his breath hot against Steve's face. "That was close, Harrington. You almost lost your last chance," he murmured, letting go of Steve’s neck and arm.   

Eddie's lips found their way to his chest, kissing and licking. Steve's body was a sensitive mess, but it still responded to every touch, and he moaned when he felt fingers playing with his nipples. Eddie's mouth moved lower and lower, until it hovered just above Steve's navel. His tongue darted out, licking a slow, torturous circle around the sensitive indent before dipping inside, tasting him. Steve's abs clenched. That was the first time someone licked there like that. Was it really supposed to feel so good?

Eddie's hands kept playing with his nipples, rolling and pinching them until they were red and super sensitive, while his mouth moved lower. Steve could feel his teeth graze the skin just above his waistband, his tongue flicking out to trace the waistline of his pants. His hand moved down to hold Steve’s hips and his mouth found the wet spot on his jeans. Steve pushed himself on his elbows, eagerly watching the way Eddie licked and kissed the fabric, tasting Steve's cum. He could feel Eddie's warm, wet tongue circling the head of his cock through the fabric of his jeans, and if he didn’t just cum, he would be hard in half a second. 

He watched, transfixed, as Eddie's mouth moved over the stain, his tongue flicking out. The sensation was maddening, the rough fabric of his jeans creating a delicious friction. He brought his hands up to his own chest, his fingers pinching his nipples, twisting them roughly. The sensation had him moaning, his hips bucking upwards into Eddie's mouth, his head falling back. Eddie's tongue traced the length of his cock through the denim, and then, without warning, he bit down, his teeth sinking just so slightly. Steve moaned louder, his body arching off the bed. His elbows gave up and fell back on the mattress.  

Eddie just laughed a little, kissing softly where he just bit. "You are such a freak, Harrington. So perfect," he said. "It's like you were made just for me."  

Eddie pulled Steve’s jeans off, and Steve watched, half in a daze. Eddie's tongue traced the outline of Steve's cock through the damp fabric of his underwear, taking his sweet time, his mouth moving ever so slowly. The fabric of Steve's briefs grew wetter with each pass of Eddie's tongue, and it stretched tight when he sucked Steve’s sensitive cock into his mouth.  

Steve's eyes rolled back in his head, his hands flying to his face in a desperate attempt to not scream. He could feel Eddie's teeth grazing his skin through the fabric, and Eddie's hands gripped his hips tighter, holding him in place when Steve’s body jerked up again. With a tug, Eddie pulled his underwear down, his mouth closing around his cock, the heat and wetness almost too much to handle. Eddie's mouth was pure fucking magic, okay? That’s what it was. Steve had never felt anything like it. The way Eddie's tongue swirled around the head of his cock, the way he took him in deep, the way he sucked so hard it was like his dick was being vacuumed—Steve never tried that, promise.  

His thoughts were a jumble of "oh fuck" and "oh god" and “fuckfuckfuck” and “I’m gonna die”. He felt like he was on the precipice of something so intense, he would go knocking straight on Heaven’s door after that. Eddie's tongue was actually ridiculously skilled, licking and sucking in a rhythm that was driving Steve absolutely mad. He didn’t even feel that his dick was hard enough to come again, but he was so close, so fucking close to spilling his fucking soul down Eddie's throat, he didn’t care to understand how biology worked. He just needed to come. 

But then the mouth abruptly disappeared. Steve's eyes shot open to see Eddie’s smug grin, his hand now wrapped around the base of Steve's cock, holding it firmly in place.  

"What the fuck?" Steve complained.  

"You don't get to cum in my mouth, Harrington," Eddie said, grinning down at him like a total asshole. "Not before you've earned it. And you have not earned it yet." He tightened his grip, stopping the flow of blood to Steve's cock.  

"Come on, Eddie, I'm so close," he protested, his voice a pathetic whine.  

"I really don’t care, Harrington," Eddie said, his smirk growing even more wicked. "You better not let any drop of cum out." He leaned in, his breath hot against Steve's ear. "Not until I've had my way with your fuckhole."  

Forget Eddie’s mouth sucking his cock, Eddie’s mouth saying those things in his ear almost made him come for real. He felt his cock jerking in Eddie's grip, desperate and pitiful. The thought of being used like that, being denied his own release until Eddie was satisfied, was so fucking hot he really had to bite his lip to stop all the noises that wanted to come out—a loud moan still escaped his lips anyway.   

"Now Stevie," Eddie murmured, his thumb flicking over Steve's swollen cockhead, making him squirt a bead of precum. "Get on all fours for me."   

Steve's body responded immediately. He scrambled to comply with the order, almost kicking Eddie in the face in the process. He bit his lip, his body shaking, feeling Eddie's hand slid away from his cock and then coming back to touch down his back when he finally settled on his hands and knees.

"Never been fucked by a man’s cock, huh?" Eddie said, his hand reaching Steve's tailbone. "But have you ever been fucked by anything else? A toy? Fingers?" 

Steve's cheeks burned. He managed to shake his head. "No."  

"So, you're a tight little virgin," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "An untouched hole for me to open." Eddie's hand slid down to cup Steve's ass, squeezing one cheek roughly and pulling on it. "You never played with this?" He poked a finger at Steve's hole, the tip pressing against the tight ring of muscle.  

Steve gasped with the sensation. "I— I thought about it," he murmured, his voice shaking with arousal. "Once or twice."  

"So you've thought about shoving something up here. Wanna be used like a filthy whore, huh?" His finger circled Steve's hole, the pressure increasing.  

Steve's breath hitched when he felt Eddie's finger begin to push inside him, causing a slightly burning sensation. "Yes," he managed to choke out.  

"Tonight, I'll show you what a man's cock feels like, Stevie." His finger pushed deeper until Steve could feel the metal ring on it, making him gasp. "You're going to take it all inside this little hole."  

Steve felt his ass clenching around Eddie's invading finger, his breath coming in short pants. The pressure was intense and it burned, and it was just one finger. One finger. Steve never felt so horny in all his life.   

Eddie withdrew his finger, leaving Steve's hole feeling empty. He stood up, rummaging through the little boxes on his headboard shelf. Steve’s mind went straight to the handcuffs, but Eddie pulled out a bottle of lube, a strip of condoms, and a small butt plug, tossing the items onto the bed and kneeling behind Steve again.  

"Spread those cheeks for me, Harrington. Show me that tight little hole you've been keeping all to yourself."  Eddie said, his voice a command that Steve's body obeyed almost before he could think. He fell down on his face, his hands reaching back to part his ass cheeks, parting his legs as much as he could, exposing himself in the most degrading way a man could do. 

"This hole will look so good when it’s all open," Eddie murmured, leaning forward to lick over Steve’s lower back.

And then Steve’s breath caught in his throat when Eddie's tongue came to touch his hole. He moaned loudly, pushing back on instinct. "Please." His voice came out broken. Eddie chuckled against his skin, licking a new path from the perineum up to his hole, making him shiver in need. "Oh fuck," he moaned, his fingers digging in his own skin, trying so desperately to feel more of Eddie’s tongue. 

Eddie's tongue flicked over Steve’s rim, pressing harder,  and the feeling went easily to his top ten most favorite feelings in the world. If anyone told him a few months ago he would be opening his own ass for Eddie to eat him out, he would laugh in their face—probably punch them, too. But here he was, losing his fucking mind to it. 

"You’re so sensitive," Eddie muttered against his skin, his voice full of amusement. His tongue flicked at Steve’s rim once, twice, making him gasp each time it happened. And then Eddie did something that made every single cell in Steve’s brain short circuit: he started sucking.

Steve yelped, his eyes rolling back in his head, and his cheeks burning with the humiliation. Eddie's mouth on him was so good he just wanted to die. He could feel the muscles in his ass tightening and releasing while Eddie sucked, making all those disgusting, and absolutely hot, noises. God, it was going to be his fucking— delicious —death. 

Eddie bit at his asscheek, right next to where he was just sucking. The pain was not strong, but it was thin like a needle puncturing his skin. It made Steve whimper. “You really look like a little bitch right now, Harrington,” His voice was muffled against Steve's skin, but Steve still could hear the laugh in his tone. He bit him again, and then licked over the abused area before pushing away from him.

The sound of a bottle cap popping open made Steve's heart race, and his body writhe a little when Eddie's fingers slid back to his ass, one digit pressing inside him, stretching. 

"Relax for me, baby," Eddie said. He twisted his finger, the sensation making Steve's toes curl. "You're so fucking tight." He pressed another finger into him, stretching and twisting both of them until they were buried past the second knuckle. 

Steve felt like he was on fire—he could feel sweat dripping down his forehead, his neck, pooling at his lower back, down his thighs. He panted hard as Eddie's fingers fucked him deeper, curling inside him, and oh fuck, he loved it! His cock jerked, leaking precum onto the mattress. His whole body felt loose and tense all at once like he was being pulled apart from the inside out. 

"You're going to take my cock so nicely, Stevie. Feels so good inside you." His fingers withdrew, the absence of the pressure leaving him feeling empty and exposed.  

Eddie reached for the plug, then. Steve felt it touching him, the small, tapered end pressing against his opening with insistence. He couldn't help but let out a low, languid moan. The plug slid in, inch by torturous inch, until the widest part was nestled inside him. The pain burning him from the inside out. Steve's body spasmed a little around the intrusion, his knees feeling like jelly and his cock throbbing with need. 

Eddie's hand tightened on Steve's hip. "Look at yourself. You're such a good boy, taking it like that." Steve's face flushed, embarrassed. He moaned as a reply. 

"Please," he whimpered, the word barely audible. He was so, so turned on. “It’s enough.”

“Not yet, Harrington,” Eddie replied, pulling the plug out to the widest part, then slammed it back in. “Your ass isn't ready for the real fun.”

"Just fuck me already, I don’t want a toy."  

Eddie's hand shot out, gripping the back of Steve's nape and forcing his face against the mattress, his body curved over Steve’s. "Shut the fuck up, Harrington. Stop begging for it like a fucking bitch in heat," he growled, his voice low. "You think you can handle my cock? You want it to hurt?" Steve's body responded to the harshness in Eddie's tone, his asshole clenching around the plug in a silent plea for more.   

He let out a yelp of surprise when he felt Eddie's hand slapped against his ass with a resounding crack. The sound echoed through the room, mixing with Steve's muffled moan. It was as if every nerve ending in his body was standing at attention, eager to feel more.  

"You want pain?" Eddie's voice was dark, and Steve felt that almost familiar feeling of fear that he felt sometimes around Eddie. "You're going to get it, all right, you fucking bitch," he hissed.  

Another slap came, harder this time, the sound of skin meeting skin making Steve's eyes roll back in his head. His body jolted, his ass lifting some more, begging. He let go of his cheeks, hands grabbing the sheets in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Eddie didn’t hold back at all in that slap—he could still feel the hot sting in his skin and tears in his eyes. And despite it all… Well, Steve sure was learning a lot about himself that day. 

"You like that?" Eddie leaned in close, his breath hot against Steve's ear. "Do you want some more?" He pushed back again, letting go of Steve’s neck.  

Steve felt both of Eddie’s hands part his ass cheeks again. Steve opened his legs so much and arching his back in such a way, that he could dry hump against the mattress with ease now. But instead, he almost fell forward when Eddie smacked right in between the cheeks, his hand touching not only skin but also the plug buried in his ass. 

“Is that what you wanted?” Eddie asked from behind him, and then smacked again, and again, and again, until all Steve could hear was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and all that existed for him was pain, and pleasure, and lust, and need, and hunger, and desire. 

"Please," Steve begged, his voice a broken whisper. He didn’t even know what he was begging for anymore. "Please, Eddie."  

"You think I'm going to rip your hole apart just because you're a pathetic pain whore?" Eddie asked and Steve whimpered. "I could, you know? But not today," he said, his tone dark and firm. "Tonight is a test, Harrington, to see if you are even worth my time." His hand slammed down on Steve's ass again, the force of it pushing the plug deeper, making Steve's body jerk. 

And then, Eddie stretched him for what felt like hours. He took the plug out at some time, and his fingers were inside him again, fucking deep and hard, pulling, twisting and turning until he was all loose and open. Steve's asshole was a fiery stretched-out mess now, and his brain was probably just goo because he wasn’t even able to think a nymore—only feeling and moaning and wanting more. 

Eddie put both his thumbs in Steve's ass, pulling and spreading it so open that Steve could feel the muscles clenching down hard on nothing. Maybe that was the most embarrassing thing he ever felt in his life. 

"Looking nice," Eddie muttered against Steve's skin. “Gonna fuck you soon, Harrington. Come here and make my dick nice for you."  

Steve's body moved and turned to Eddie, still kneeling behind him. He reached out, his trembling hands fumbling with the button and zipper, desperation etched into every line of his body. Finally, the denim parted, and Eddie's cock sprang free just the way Steve memorized—long, thick, veiny and looking just so delicious. 

He took it, feeling the head hit the roof of his mouth, the taste of precum making him lightheaded. Eddie's hand found the back of his head, his grip and his hips moving in a demanding rhythm. Steve eagerly opened his mouth wider, his jaw dropping to accommodate the thick shaft. He could feel the veins pulsing against his tongue, and the head hitting the back of his throat with each bob of his head. 

It was good, that feeling. The feeling of being nothing but a mouth being used like a living, breathing fleshlight. He took Eddie deeper, his tongue swirling around the shaft, and teasing the slit. His cheeks hollowed when he sucked harder, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin beneath the head. The sound of his own moans was muffled by the cock in his mouth, because obviously he was moaning while doing it—he really loved sucking cock, God.  

Eddie's grip on his hair tightened. He pulled back, forcing Steve to look up at him. "What's the signal?" he asked. 

Steve sighed. He didn't like the idea of a signal, honestly. He didn't want to admit there was a limit to what he could take. But those were the stupid rules, and he knew he had to play along. So he raised his hand and snapped his fingers two times. 

"Good boy," Eddie murmured, his free hand coming to pet Steve’s face. Steve wrapped his lips around his cock again, ready to please, but Eddie just thrusted his hips forward, pushing his entire length down Steve's throat.  

The reflex was instant, a violent spasm that had Steve's eyes bulging and his throat clenching around Eddie's cock. He struggled, his body fighting the intrusion even while his mind was absolutely enjoying the feeling. Eddie's hips rolled in a slow, deliberate motion, his cock sliding in and out of Steve's throat with a wet, sloppy sound.   

"Your mouth is so good. A perfect fuckhole," Eddie hissed. "Your ass better feel good too or I will fuck only your face from now on."  

He pushed his cock as far as he could inside Steve’s mouth, holding his head in place with such strength Steve felt impaled. He held Steve there for a long time, trying to bulk his hips even deeper. He held Steve until Steve’s body reacted by instinct, trying to pull out and fighting against him. But because Steve didn’t snap his fingers, he stayed there for a while more—Steve loved him a little bit for it. 

The moment Eddie's cock slipped from Steve's mouth, he gasped for air, his eyes watering and throat raw from the abuse. "Now, Harrington," Eddie said. He held out his cock, the head glistening with Steve's saliva, and tossed the condom at him. "Show me you're a good boy and get my dick ready to fuck your virgin hole, yeah?"  

Steve's trembling hands caught the condom. He sat back, ripping the packet open with his teeth. He rolled the condom down the length of Eddie's cock, feeling his own hole clenching in anticipation.  

"You look so eager to get fucked, Harrington," Eddie sneered. "That’s a good look on you." Steve's cheeks burned with a mix of mortification and arousal. Eddie laughed a little at his reaction, and then grabbed his arm and pushed him back on the mattress. "On your knees, bitch. Show me your hole," he ordered. Steve's body obeyed without thought, parting his ass cheeks to present himself to Eddie again. "Ready for your first taste of a man’s cock?"  

Eddie didn't wait for a response before he pushed forward with a force that made Steve's eyes water. His body tensed with the burning stretch of his back virginity being taken—and that was some thought, wasn’t it? Steve almost laughed—while Eddie's grip on his hips tightened, his nails digging in. Steve bit his lip, trying to hold back the scream that threatened to escape. 

"Fuck, so tight," Eddie groaned. "Breathe, Harrington," Steve took a deep breath, his body slowly giving way to Eddie's intrusion. 

He'd never felt so exposed, so utterly at the mercy of another person, and it was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The feeling of belonging to someone, even if for just a few minutes, was a kind of pure freedom. He could just let go of everything and just be and feel, and stop worrying about anything else in the world.

"How is it, Harrington? Loving it?" Eddie demanded with that fucking mocking tone. 

"Yes. I love it," Steve moaned, his voice a broken wreck. 

"You're such a pathetic whore," Eddie murmured, laughing a little. The word was filthy, wrong for any ear, but it only made Steve's cock throb harder against the bed. "Bet you've been dreaming of this since you first saw me."  

He wanted to deny it, to say all he wanted to do at that time was to punch Eddie right on the nose, but he couldn’t. Not when Eddie's cock was buried so deep inside him, making him feel so good. Not when Eddie's hands were leaving bruises on his hips that hopefully would last for days.  

"Every time you said shit about me," Eddie continued, his voice thick with amusement, "you were just begging to get fucked, weren't you?" Steve couldn't help but whimper at the words, his whole body feeling like it was on fire as Eddie's cock tore into him, relentless and unforgiving. "Bet you've imagined how good it would feel to have me destroying your tight little ass."  

The bedframe creaked in protest as Eddie's hips picked up speed, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the room. "What would Hagan say if he could see you now? Would you let him fuck you like this, huh? Would you spread your legs for that prick?" The thought was so wrong, so fucked up, that Steve couldn't help but moan. "Tell me, you fucking bitch. Would you do it?"  

"No," Steve gasped, the lie sticking to his tongue. "Never." 

"You don’t need to lie, Harrington" Eddie said with a laugh, his tone mocking. "I know you are just some cock-hungry slut. You can’t help it."  

Steve's breath hitched in his throat. He felt his face flush with embarrassment, his cock swelling in response to the degradation. It was wrong, it was twisted, but fuck, it felt so good to be talked to like this, to be used thoroughly. 

"Yeah, I am," Steve moaned, his voice a desperate whine. "Please, Eddie… harder..." 

Eddie did, and the room spun around Steve when he felt Eddie's cock hit some amazing spot inside him. The feeling was so intense, so overwhelming, that he could barely think straight. His thoughts were just about Eddie’s cock inside him, Eddie’s voice calling names and Eddie’s bruising fingers on his hips. He felt like nothing but a hole to be filled and used at will. 

"You're so fucking tight," Eddie grunted, his grip on Steve's hips tightening. "Made for my cock, aren't you?" He slapped Steve's ass, the sting making him arch his back, his asshole clenching around Eddie's cock.   

"Yeah," Steve panted. Eddie's hand squeezed one cheek before slapping it hard again.  

"You like that, don't you?" he taunted. "You like it when I treat you like the worthless meat you are."  

“Yes, I like it,” Steve replied. 

"Yeah? So how does it feel to be my little bitch?" Eddie demanded.  

"It feels— feels amazing," Steve managed to choke out between a hard slap on his ass. "Please, don't stop." 

Steve groaned when Eddie's hand fisted in his hair, pulling him back so he was only on his knees, their bodies flush. The hand on his hair then came to grip around his throat, keeping him in place. Steve felt his ass stretching and burning and so filled . Eddie fucked him with a ferocity that bordered on violence, and Steve became aware of how his legs had no strength anymore and he was being held up only by the hand on his neck.  

"What a pathetic little slut you are, Harrington. Should’ve fucked you earlier," Eddie murmured, his teeth sinking into Steve's earlobe. And the wet, sloppy sounds of his tongue invading the shell of his ear only added to the depravity of it all. It was so good ! His mind was racing with every slur that left Eddie's lips—he was a whore, a bitch, a worthless piece of meat, yes, and he'd never felt more alive. 

"Fuck yes," Steve moaned. His hand reached back to clutch at Eddie's neck, his nails digging into the pale flesh. The hand on his hip tightened, Eddie's nails biting into his skin as he pushed even deeper, the head of his cock brushing against Steve's prostate again and again, going so further inside. "Harder, Eddie. Please, please..." Eddie's response was a sharp bite to his neck, the pain sending a bolt of white-hot pleasure straight to his cock.  

 "I can’t... I can’t, fuck! Gonna come," Steve cried out, his body tightening. The hand on his neck tightened, pulling him back even further, Eddie's cock hammering into him. "Can I come? Please? Please?" he moaned, the words a desperate plea.   

"You can," Eddie allowed, his teeth grazing Steve's earlobe. His hand squeezed Steve's throat tight, and Steve's body convulsed, his cock spurting cum onto the bed in a desperate, humiliating display. "That's it," Eddie murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Show me how much you love being used." 

The force of Steve's orgasm was so intense it almost made him pass out. He hadn't even touched his dick, hadn't given himself the slightest bit of relief. But there he was, having the best orgasm of his fucking life, his ass clenching tight while he shot his load onto the bed, and feeling the humiliation of coming from nothing but being fucked. 

Eddie's grip on his neck didn't loosen, even as Steve's body went limp, his arms and legs giving out. He was nothing more than a ragdoll now, a lifeless heap of flesh and bone that was still being fucked into oblivion. "Cumming like a pathetic bitch without even touching yourself," Eddie laughed, licking Steve’s ear while he still convulsed a little around his cock. “You were really born to this, Stevie.”

The hand on Steve's neck released him, allowing his body to fall forward, his face pressing into the cum soaked mattress, the smell of sex and sweat filling his nostrils. All his limbs gave up on him, and his ass was only up because Eddie was still impaling him with his cock.  

Steve's body was a wreck, his mind a blank slate. All he could do was whimper, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Eddie's hands were grabbing on his ass cheeks again, spreading him wide while fucking him much harder now. Steve was making all kinds of noises he never thought he would ever make, so loud to his own ears he tried to muffle it by biting the sheets, feeling his own cum on lips.  

The slap on his ass came again, the sting of it mixing with the pain of his ass being split open. The pressure inside him was almost unbearable, his ass feeling like it was being ripped apart despite Eddie’s earlier words. Eddie's grunts grew louder, his strokes more erratic. Steve could feel his cock swelling, pulsing inside the tight confines of the condom, and he couldn't help but wish it was bare, filling him up with hot, thick cum. And with a final, brutal thrust, Eddie came. He rode his orgasm though, not caring much about how Steve's body became a trembling mess, his muscles seizing in small spasms. He pulled out, and Steve winced.  

"You wanted to feel my cum inside your ass, didn’t you?" Eddie's voice was a sneer. Steve's cheeks flamed with shame because he didn’t know if he just thought about it or if he actually said that aloud.  

So, he could only nod. "Yes," he murmured.  

With a brutal yank, Eddie hauled Steve up into a sitting position, and Steve couldn’t do anything but be manhandled, his whole body wobbly and heavy. Eddie peeled the used condom and then spilled all the cum inside onto his cock. "Clean the mess you made, Harrington," he ordered, tossing the condom at Steve's face.  

Steve leaned in and opened his mouth, his tongue darting out to catch the cum sliding the length of Eddie’s cock. He licked and sucked in a lazy way, his mind blank and his body so tired he didn’t know how he didn’t pass out yet. "Good boy," Eddie murmured, caressing his hair.  

When Eddie was finally clean, Steve looked up. Eddie was looking at him with a satisfied smile and soft eyes—the softest expression Steve ever saw on his face. For a moment, they just looked at each other. And then Eddie leaned in, capturing Steve's mouth in a soft kiss, warm hands touching Steve’s face.  

It was almost gentle. Eddie's tongue slid into Steve's mouth, tasting inside. His lips sucked on Steve’s abused ones with tenderness, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw. Steve's eyes fluttered closed, his body melting into the kiss. It wasn’t something he was expecting from Eddie—and definitely wasn’t something he thought he would get when he opened the door that night—but it wasn’t bad. Not at all. 

"You were perfect," Eddie said against his mouth, and something inside Steve swelled with pride. He felt himself smiling, knowing for the first who he was. And knowing that he was exactly where he was meant to be. 

Chapter Text

Steve groaned, slowly opening his eyes and being immediately attacked by the harsh light of the day. He squinted and shut them again for a moment, feeling incredibly sorry for himself before trying again. His throat felt raw, making him question if he could ever swallow without feeling pain again. And he was sore all over, which seemed absurd since he had been an athlete his whole life and had never woken up feeling so wrecked.  

But, yeah, he could remember well why he was feeling like that. He could remember the feeling of Eddie’s hands around his neck, Eddie’s cock thrusting deep inside his ass, Eddie’s weight on top of him, pressing him down. He could remember the way his body had been used and enjoyed, but also the softness of Eddie’s kiss that still lingered on his lips like a bittersweet aftertaste.  

He glanced down at his naked form, surprised to find himself clean of any weird fluid. He shifted his gaze to the empty bed beside him, to the sheets rumpled, but definitely clean. The thought of Eddie cleaning everything after Steve passed out—wiping him down, moving him to his bed, and then changing his own sheets that were all covered in Steve’s fluids—was both endearing and absolutely embarrassing. Steve felt a flush of heat creep up his neck, his cheeks burning at the images his brain supplied. He knew it was a sign of respect, but it was too much to process in any day, let alone in his current condition. 

He rolled over to face the wall, pulling the covers over his head in a futile attempt to block out the light. He’d deal with whatever he had to deal with later, after he felt like a human being again. Because honestly? Steve was a little embarrassed. He’d let Eddie fuck him senseless, and then he’d passed out. He did things and had things done to him—dirty, absolutely filthy things—and then what? He’d passed out while being kissed? Softly kissed? Not even kissed while being strangled, but just kissed? Yes, it was a disgusting kiss full of cum involved, but still! 

 “Rough night?” Eddie’s voice cut through the silence, not bothering to hide the amusement. Steve flinched.  

He managed to turn his head, peering over at Eddie’s desk. He was sitting there like nothing had happened, not even one trace of tiredness on his face. Actually, he looked great. His hair was tied back in a bun, a few sweat-dampened strands had escaped and were stuck on his neck. And he was shirtless again, by the way, what was just great! Because that was Steve’s life now—instead of looking at Eddie’s naked body and thinking he needed to hit the gym, he found himself thinking “ holy shit, he’s hot!” And of all the thoughts he’d had in the last month, that was probably the most annoying.  

Steve grunted a response, his throat too sore to form actual words. He coughed slightly and tried again. “You could say that,” he managed to croak out, his voice a whisper. “Some asshole jumped on me.” 

Eddie laughed. “Did you fight or fuck? I can’t tell.”   

Steve narrowed his eyes. “You know what? I can’t tell either,” he replied with a grunt and coughed again, wincing with the pain. 

“I brought you some water,” Eddie said, gesturing to a bottle on Steve’s desk.  

Steve stared at his desk, his jaw dropping. It wasn’t just a bottle of water sitting there. Beside it was a neat little spread of food. A few sandwiches, carefully wrapped, were neatly arranged next to a green apple. Eddie’s ridiculously large coffee bottle was there too and next to it was a smaller one that Steve could only wonder what it had inside.  

Isn’t that Steve hated it, but seeing all that was both surprising and a little disturbing.  

“You brought me food?” he asked, his disbelief evident. 

“Yeah, I figured you’d need it,” Eddie replied with a light tone, but it was clear he was feeling just as awkward as Steve. “Some soup if you can’t handle solid food yet. Sandwich for when you can actually eat.” 

“Where did you get soup from?” Steve asked, even more surprised. Because what in hell ? 

“The Chinese place next to the station,” Eddie said, and Steve couldn’t help the small smile that ghosted across his lips. The station was relatively close to their dorm, yes, but it was still a bit of a walk, especially when Eddie could have easily grabbed something from the canteen. 

With a groan, Steve forced himself to sit up, his body protesting every inch of the way. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his abused ass and made something there throb—Steve didn’t want to know what or why—and he couldn’t help but wince. The dull ache in his neck and the tender spots on his shoulders only added to his discomfort, making him completely aware of just how messed up he was. 

Eddie’s eyes flickered over his naked body, a smirk playing on his lips. “That guy did a number on you,” he quipped, his tone amused despite Steve’s killing glare. 

“Yeah, he’s a sadistic asshole,” Steve grunted in response, almost falling back on his bed when his knees threatened to give up. Eddie laughed again.  

A sadistic asshole, for fucking sure . 

Steve looked down at himself, seeing the impressive quantity of bruises and hickeys scattered across his wrists, abdomen, and hips. He could only imagine what his ass looked like, but the pain was all the confirmation he needed. Feeling a little embarrassed by Eddie’s gaze, he quickly grabbed his sheet and wrapped it around his waist. He could recognize that horny look anywhere, and yes, those bruises looked weirdly hot, but Steve wasn’t crazy to let it lead anywhere. 

He shuffled over to the desk, his steps uneven and awkward, and took a tentative sip of water. He knew he needed to eat something, but the thought of food was still a step too far for him right now, so he reached for the small bottle. The smell of rich broth immediately made his stomach rumble, so he sat down on his chair, suddenly much more awakened. 

“Thanks, man,” he murmured, pouring some soup into the cap of the bottle. 

“Don’t get too used to it,” Eddie said, flipping a page from his book. “I just don’t want you dying on me before you can say I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had.” 

Steve snorted. “I can just drop dead later, then?” 

“Sure can,” Eddie said, looking at him and offering his annoying grin. 

“You are such a dick,” Steve said, but without any actual anger. 

After a brief silence, Eddie leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head, casually exposing his bare torso. Steve was looking, but not wanting to be obvious, he busied himself with unwrapping a sandwich. He took a tentative bite and chewed slowly, taking another sip of soup to help it down. 

“How do you even study after that?” he finally asked between bites, his voice a little stronger now. 

Eddie chuckled. “Glad to know you think so highly of me, Harrington,” he replied. When Steve looked at him with confused eyes, he shrugged. “Not studying, just wrapping up my campaign for tonight’s D&D session. I’m gonna destroy some more asses tonight.”  

Steve rolled his eyes. Right, he forgot that the mean and confident person from last night was actually a nerd who still played a child’s game. That was the guy who fucked Steve so good he passed out right after. Well, what to say? Steve wasn’t proud .  

He studied Eddie for a moment, letting his eyes linger on the line of his jaw and his weirdly pretty nose. His fingers were never still, always moving, either tapping rhythmically against the edge of the desk or just wriggling with no purpose. Steve sipped on his water again when he noticed the way some sweat traced a path down Eddie’s pale neck, disappearing into the hollow of his collarbone. He looked weird, and behaved weird, and his tattoos were still creepy, but Steve couldn’t deny that there was something mesmerizing about him. He was a beautiful mess of contradictions: a cool nerd, a nice meany, a gentle sadist. 

Maybe Robin was right about him, after all.  

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asked, catching Steve’s gaze when Steve snorted to his own thoughts. 

“Nothing,” he replied, his cheeks flushing a little. He took another bite of the sandwich. “Just thinking about how fucked up you are.” 

Eddie’s smirk grew. “You love it,” he said, his voice low and teasing. 

“Keep dreaming,” Steve retorted with an eye-roll. 

It was weird that Steve didn’t feel completely embarrassed. Sure, there was a hint of awkwardness, but it wasn’t the crushing, soul-eating embarrassment he’d felt before. The kind that made him want to crawl under the bed and never come out. The kind that made him lash out and say things he didn’t mean.  

It was weird sitting there eating a cold sandwich that was pretty much a breakfast in bed, brought to him by the guy he supposedly disliked the most in the planet after said guy fucked the hell out of him. It was weird because he was sitting there with his ass sore and his throat raw, and he knew he couldn’t go back to pretending, but strangely enough, it wasn’t killing him. 

Sure, he wasn’t ready to go out and march in a pride parade, not by a long shot. But the thought of being with a man, of enjoying it, didn’t make him want to throw up anymore. He wasn’t about to go tell his friends—fuck, he wasn’t crazy to tell Tommy—but it was nice to have at least one person who would look at him, see all the ugly, and not only accept it, but enjoy it . 

“Do you think it’s weird,” Steve mumbled, eying Eddie while trying his best to sound casual, “that I get off on stuff like this? Being called names and all that?” 

Eddie’s eyes flicked up from his book, locking onto Steve’s. He closed the book and shifted on his chair, positioning himself directly in front of Steve, his arms casually folded behind his head. He paused for a moment, as if considering his words before replying. “Everyone’s got their kinks, Harrington. There’s no shame in that. It’s not about being weird, it’s about what makes you feel good.” 

Steve smiled. Yeah, it was ridiculous how he knew Eddie wouldn’t disappoint him. Eddie made him feel understood in a way no one was ever capable of. He wasn’t just tolerating Steve’s desires; he was embracing them, feeding into them. It was a nice feeling, to be seen so clearly and not be rejected for it.  

“You can try a bunch of things,” Eddie continued, “and if you like something, you like it. It’s not for anyone else to decide if it’s weird or not.” 

Steve put the rest of the sandwich aside, but grabbed the water bottle just so he would have something to hold. “It’s just... I’ve never really talked about this stuff before.” He laughed a little, feeling a little embarrassed. “I didn’t even want to think about it, you know? Getting a boner for being called a slut it’s a little...” 

He didn’t even know how to put it in words. Weird? Yes, it was. Wrong? Most definitely . Disgusting? Some people would have a lot to say about that, yeah. He liked what he liked, he could admit it to himself now, but it didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t normal .  

“I get it,” Eddie said, his tone gentle. “People who have a foot fetish would say what you and I like is weird because that’s not for them. Particularly, feet don’t do it for me.” He leaned in, elbows on knees, and made a total show in checking Steve’s bare feet. He smirked. “I mean...” 

Steve laughed and tried to kick him. “Fuck off.” 

Eddie’s smirk softened into a smile. “What I’m saying, Harrington, is that you can enjoy whatever messed up stuff you do and that’s no one’s fucking business.” He pointed a finger at Steve. “As long as you keep it legal.” Funny words for a drug dealer to say, but Steve got it. 

“What if I want to do something you find weird? Or too much?” Steve asked, genuinely curious. He didn’t believe two people could enjoy the same exact things, not a hundred percent. So, what if he liked something and could never find someone to match it? 

“Cannibalism may sound sexy, but I draw a line in dismemberment,” Eddie said, his big annoying grin all over his face again. Steve tried to kick him again. “But seriously, you don’t need to worry, Harrington,” he continued. “ Your ass should be scared.” 

Steve stared at Eddie, awkwardness giving space to curiosity. “You’re into a lot of stuff?” he asked, his mind going straight to the damn handcuffs. Eddie really had to show those to him one day. 

“You have no idea how fucked up I can be,” he said, leaning in again, his voice low. It sent a shiver down Steve’s spine, and he was not proud to say it had an effect on another part of his anatomy, too.  

“Like what?” Steve pressed, unable to resist the urge to know more. His mind was running through all the porn he ever saw and, somehow, he thought those were way too soft for what Eddie had in mind. 

Eddie’s chair scraped against the floor when he stood up, the sudden movement snapping Steve out of his mind porn collection. He watched Eddie approaching, the smirk on his face growing more predatory with each step. “I’m into many things, Stevie,” Eddie said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He loomed over Steve, their faces close. “If you let me, I will really ruin you.” 

“Fuck, I think I would like that,” Steve said, because what else could he say? His body immediately started burning and he almost reached out to grab Eddie’s face and pull him for a kiss. He really hit rock bottom, didn’t he?

But Eddie took a step back, all teeth and arrogance. The sight of it made Steve’s hand tighten around the water bottle, and he had to resist the urge to throw it at his face. “Thought you would,” Eddie said, his voice full of amusement. “You look like the type that would let me do anything.” 

“Don’t get too cocky, Munson,” he snapped. “I know how to say no, too.” 

“Oh, I know. But the question is, will you?” He sat on Steve’s desk, grabbing the apple and taking a bite. “One thing, Harrington. Tell me one thing you never want me to do, and I won’t.”  

Steve didn’t know what to say, because if he was being honest with himself, he would let Eddie do whatever he wanted. That was the point of being used, wasn’t it? It was what he craved—the raw power over him. But he knew that Eddie needed to hear Steve set a boundary of any kind. Eddie’s angry face looking down at him was still vivid in his memory and Steve was sure Eddie wasn’t the type to do anything if he hadn’t the control of it. He seemed to want a limit to respect it—and if it was for Steve or for himself, Steve couldn’t know. 

And also, there was no way he would prove Eddie right so easily. 

“Well,” Steve started, a million scenarios going on in his mind, each one more depraved than the last—and they all looked so fucking good. God help him. “Well... I... Uhm... I’m... Not into gross shit. Like shit. Real shit,” he finally said. 

Eddie threw his head back and laughed, really laughed. Steve felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, and he lowered his face. He was never the shy type, but to be fair, he never thought he would have this kind of conversation or that his mind really would go all over there. He laughed a little too, actually not believing himself. 

“I’m not shoving my dick in no toilet, Harrington,” Eddie said, still laughing. “You don’t need to worry about that.” 

“Good,” Steve said, his cheeks still warm. He tried his best to avoid Eddie’s gaze.  

“Good,” Eddie repeated, leaning from his place on the table to look at Steve’s face. “For me... I really like fucking face, you know that.” Steve just sighed. Eddie was too close for him to even try to hide the reactions of his body, anyway. “Telling you that now, you puke on my cock, we are done.” 

Well, ew. “Gross.”  

Eddie shrugged, his expression unbothered. “Found out in the worst way not everyone can take cock like you.” He leaned back on the desk, his dark eyes boring into Steve’s. “That’s some good talent.” 

“Thank you, Munson,” Steve said, sarcastic. “I feel really appreciated.” Eddie gave him a ridiculous half bow. 

With a sigh, Steve pushed himself up from the chair, the stiffness in his body protesting the movement. He shuffled over to the wardrobe, his legs feeling like jelly, and his ass was definitely not happy with the decision to move, but he needed to get dressed. He pulled open the door, revealing the long mirror attached to it, and took in the state of his body. The sight of his reflection made him pause.  

The bruises were everywhere. His eyes traveled down to his chest, where his nipples were dark and bruised, standing out against his skin. The sight sent a warm throb of arousal through him at the memory of Eddie’s teeth and tongue. He touched them gently, surprised by the tenderness. He turned slightly, inspecting the bites on his shoulders. He expected to see flesh torn and bloodied, but to his surprise, they were just a little red, the skin unbroken. Steve had thought the pain was intense enough to leave deep marks, but apparently not. It made him feel a strange sense of disappointment.  

He removed the sheet that covered his lower body and turned to the side to inspect his ass, and the sight was even more shocking. The cheeks of his ass were a mess of dark reds and almost purples. He winced at the sight, but the pain was distant, overshadowed by the arousal that surged through him. He liked it. The marks made him feel claimed, and it was hot as hell, too. His cock twitched with interest despite the soreness, and he couldn’t help but reach back to touch the tender skin—he couldn’t decide if he wanted to soothe the pain or make it worse. 

But it was his neck that drew his attention the most. There were long marks from Eddie’s fingers—soft, but still visible—and over it a ridiculous quantity of hickeys in much darker tones. He reached up to touch one, his fingertips brushing over the tender flesh. Those were his favorite bruises, he realized. The visual representation of violence and kiss marks was intoxicating. It was a brand, a claim on him. He couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of pride at the sight of his well-used body. 

“You like it?” Eddie’s voice was gentle, like he was genuinely curious about it. Steve looked at him over his shoulder, just to make sure Eddie wasn’t making fun of him. But Eddie was still sitting at Steve’s table, just watching him with soft eyes.  

Steve looked at the mirror again, hand still touching his neck. “They’re... nice,” he said, a bit breathless.  

“I can give you more anytime,” Eddie offered casually, his tone changing to amusement.  

Steve snorted. “You wish,” Steve shot back, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He looked at Eddie again. “What makes you think I’d even want that?” 

Eddie just stared at him, smiling in disbelief. “You must be joking.” 

Steve’s cheeks flushed a little. So he was an open book now, was he? “Fine, whatever,” he said, his voice a little too loud. He started going through his clothes, looking for something comfortable. “You better bring me food next time, too.” 

“Deal,” Eddie said. “I will make sure you swallow everything.” Steve had no reply for that, so he just flipped his middle finger over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around. 

Steve pulled on a pair of sweatpants, his movements slow and deliberate. “Do you think anyone heard us last night?” he asked, tugging the waistband to make sure it was loose enough to accommodate his bruised skin. 

“Checked it out first thing,” Eddie replied casually.  

“You checked?” Steve repeated, turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” Eddie said, hopping off the desk and going back to his own, gathering his stuff. “Some of them were out, and Dawson had his girlfriend over. They were pretty busy making their own noise.” 

“What if they heard?” 

“Relax,” Eddie said, turning to look back at him. “If anyone asks, just tell them you had a wild night with a girl.” 

“A girl?” Steve scoffed. “You think anyone’s going to believe that?” 

“They will if you sell it right.” Eddie looked around and grabbed a shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head. Steve wrinkled his nose in disgust. “One year here and no one knows I fuck only men. Trust me, they can’t tell.” 

Steve nodded, pulling on a t-shirt and wincing when the fabric brushed against his sensitive nipples. He took it off and threw it inside the wardrobe again, a little pissed—how was he supposed to go out wearing a shirt if it would immediately give him a hard on?  

He watched Eddie pushing his books and notebooks inside his bag without any care, swearing when the zipper got stuck. And once again, Steve couldn’t believe that was the same guy who fucked him. Eddie picked up his guitar case from the floor and slung the strap over his shoulder.  

He looked at Steve with a smirk. “Band practice in thirty, so I gotta get going,” he said. Steve was going to say he didn’t care, but before he could, Eddie closed the distance in two quick steps, getting right in his face. “Don’t wait up for me, darling,” he added with the most annoying grin. Then he reached behind Steve and just slapped his ass.  

“Fuck you, Munson,” Steve said, his reaction too slow so his punch didn’t reach Eddie in time. 

“You already did,” Eddie said from the door, “but I’m down for round two any time.” He winked at Steve and left. 

- 

Steve had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, trying to will himself to sleep, but it was useless. He thought about getting up, maybe taking a shower, but even the idea of moving made his muscles protest. The only thing keeping him from full-on despair was the hope that, eventually, his body would just give in and let him sleep. 

The sudden knock on the door startled him out of his pity party. Wincing, he scanned the room, grabbing the nearest shirt—definitely Eddie’s—and yanked it over his head. He took a deep breath and called out, “Coming!” 

When he opened the door, there was Kevin, the Chinese-American guy from next door, looking as bored as ever. “You’ve got a call,” he said, his tone flat. “Someone named Dustin.” 

Steve nodded, slipped on his shoes, and stepped out. “Thanks, man.” 

“Got lucky last night?” Kevin asked, eyeing his neck. 

“That’s a way to say it,” Steve said, immediately getting anxious. He checked Kevin’s expression for any sign of malice. Last thing he needed was immediately getting caught and becoming the dorm joke. But Kevin didn’t look like he knew anything—he was too busy looking like he was fucking dying. He looked like he’d been hit by a truck and left to rot for a few days.  

“You okay, man?” Steve asked, trying to sound concerned despite his own misery.  

“I’ve got a headache from hell,” Kevin groaned, his hand pressed to his forehead as if trying to keep his brain from escaping. “Is studying for these exams really worth it?” 

Steve nodded sympathetically. “Studying too hard?” 

“Yeah,” Kevin said, rubbing his temples. “Or not hard enough, according to my parents. They’d disown me if I didn't graduate with honors. ” 

Steve snorted. “Tell me about it. My old man’s the king of ‘you’re not living up to your potential.’” He said, and both of them continued down the stairs. Both groaning like old men. “He always acted like a B was the first step to becoming an unemployed alcoholic with no future.” 

Kevin managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, well, at least you’ve got the looks to get by,” he said, a hint of envy in his voice. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Like that’s gonna pay the bills.” 

When they reached the hall, Kevin leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Hey, do you know if Eddie’s around?” 

Steve could tell right away what Kevin was really after. “Unless you’re into Tylenol, you’re out of luck,” he said. “Eddie’s probably not coming back until morning.” 

Kevin’s face fell, and he let out a long, disappointed sigh. He dragged himself over to the couch and flopped down, his movements heavy, like all the life had just drained out of him. He stared blankly at the flickering TV, not really watching, just kind of zoning out. Steve felt a little bad for him, but there wasn’t much he could do. With a quick glance at Kevin, Steve headed toward the phone. 

“Steve!” Dustin’s cheerful greeting echoed through the receiver when he picked. Steve couldn’t help but smile. “How’s finals?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Steve sighed, and Dustin laughed. He leaned against the faded wallpaper, the plastic phone cord stretching taut. “But it’s good to hear from you, Dusty.” 

“So...” Dustin said, his excitement palpable, “you are coming back for the summer right away, right?” 

“Yeah,” he replied, “I’ll be back for sure. But I’ve got the week of hell before I can even think about paradise.” 

Dustin’s sigh was theatrical, filled with his dramatics. God, Steve really missed this kid. “I’ve already got the entire summer planned out,” Dustin said, tone condescending. “Lazy days, BBQs, epic pool parties at your house....” 

“How are your finals looking?” Steve inquired, shifting the conversation back to school to stop himself from promising the kid whatever he was going to ask. 

“Zero worries,” Dustin replied with a confidence that Steve couldn’t help but envy. 

“Of course,” Steve said with a hint of playful resignation. “You’re a genius, but you’re also an asshole for making it sound so easy.” 

Dustin’s laughter was infectious, echoing in Steve’s ear. “What can I say?” he quipped. “Some of us are just born with the brains and the looks.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, smiling. “Just remember, when you’re running the world someday, to hire your less gifted older brother for a cushy job.” 

“Sure, but you better at least get a degree,” he said. “I’m not hiring undereducated people.” 

“Wow, you are such an elitist asshole,” Steve replied, mimicking what his mother said once to his father when she was defending Steve’s lack of capacity to get into college one day. He was a freshman at that time and they were already sure he wouldn’t be accepted anywhere. Ha! 

“What about the other nerds?” Steve asked, eager to know some gossip.  

Dustin’s voice grew animated. “You won’t believe the drama with Lucas and Max,” he began. “She totally ditched him for a new guy who moved in down the street, and now it’s like a soap opera around here.” 

“Sounds like she’s keeping things interesting,” he said with a laugh. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Dustin continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And get this, Mom’s been planning some kind of neighborhood talent show. She’s been driving everyone nuts with it, asking who’s going to perform what. She even tried to get Mrs. Wheeler into it. Joyce is already down, says she can play the guitar.” 

Steve’s laughter echoed through the room, the absurdity of the image brightening his mood. “Classic Mrs. Byers,” he said, shaking his head. “But seriously, a talent show? What’s the deal with that?” 

“She told me she’s trying to bring everyone together, you know, build some community spirit or something, but I know she’s just bored,” Dustin replied, his tone a blend of amusement and exasperation. “And guess? I’m this close to convince Mike to sing something.” 

“Mike sings?” Steve asked, surprised. 

“Are you serious, Steve? Of course not,” Dustin says, a serious tone. Then Steve could feel the shift to a smile. “That’s why it will be awesome.” 

Their laughter mingled through the line. The conversation turned to the inevitable awkwardness of Dustin asking Steve to perform something at the show—which wasn’t going to happen, not even if they killed Steve and made a puppet out of him.  

“I’ll think about it,” he ended up saying because the kid wouldn’t drop it. “I’ll see you in two weeks, Dusty-bun.” 

“Sure,” Dustin said. “And don’t let that roommate of yours wear you down too much.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve replied, his face warm and his mind in the gutter. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”  

- 

It was 7 p.m., and the park was alive with a mix of families, joggers, and musicians, all sharing the last moments of mental health before the finals week began. He spotted Robin right away. She was a flurry of energy, even from a distance, her hands animated as she talked to the group gathered around her. Steve couldn’t help but smirk at the way she commanded attention, her blonde hair all wild because of the wind. The moment their gazes met, she froze, her hands mid-gesture, and a wide smile spread across her face. 

He drew closer, and Robin waved him over. “Here, Dingus!” she exclaimed, her voice a little too loud, and completely unnecessary, since they were looking at each other.  

The group was the same one Steve was already getting used to. There was Linda, Kofi, Melissa, and Andy. They were all sitting on the grass, chatting and laughing. Steve couldn’t help but think about the past few weeks he’d been spending with Robin and her friends. They were a group he would never expect to hang out with, really. First of all, he’d never had a friend who was openly gay before, and at first, he’d been a bit thrown by Andy’s flamboyant nature. The guy was like a walking, talking pride parade—everything about him was loud and unapologetic, his every gesture so over the top that it was hard to take him seriously sometimes. But as time went on, Steve had started to really like him. From the group, apart from Robin, he was the closest to Steve. 

Robin was a bit more subdued, but still a complete weirdo. She had a way of looking at him that made him feel like she could see right through him, like she knew all his secrets—or maybe she was just nosy enough to try to extract all his thoughts with her bare hands. She was younger than him, but she had taken him under her wing, showing him around the big city and explaining things with brutal bluntness. 

The group parted to make room for him, and Steve took a seat, feeling the cool grass against the back of his legs. A joint immediately found its way to him, and he took a deep drag, the smoke filling his lungs and helping to ease the tension in his body. He passed it to Andy, who took it with a wink and looked Steve up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. “Rough night, darling?” he asked.  

Steve rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t know half of it,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” Robin said, nudging him with her elbow. 

“What’s the plan for tonight?” Steve asked, hoping to change the subject. 

“Just the usual,” Robin said, her eyes flicking over to him. Steve knew she wanted to make fun of him and ask a thousand questions, but was controlling herself. 

“I might have to sit out on some of it,” Steve told her. It was Sunday and there was no way he would get too drunk. He had a seminar to present tomorrow. One that he just remembered. Great. 

Andy raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?” he asked, his tone playful. “Got a boyfriend you’re hiding from us?” 

Steve felt his heart drop into his stomach. He couldn’t tell if Andy was just messing with him as he always did, or if he actually knew something, even though it was nearly impossible. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. “Nah, just a hangover,” he said, hoping it sounded convincing. Then he forced himself to smile despite the awful feeling inside him. “You know you are the only one for me.” 

The conversation continued around him, but Steve started to slowly suffocate in anxiety. It was ridiculous. He was in a group that didn’t care about stuff like sexuality. Andy was there, out and proud. Most of them were part of activism groups, and Steve knew they actually went to the streets to demand treatment and to fight for the rights of people living with AIDS. Those people right there were the last ones that would say anything bad about Steve not being exactly straight. He knew—he really, really did—that he didn’t need to pretend to be something he wasn’t with them. That he could just be Steve, with all his kinks and bruises, and they would still accept him. 

But did his brain understand it? Fuck, no. The little stubborn mass of shit was sending all the wrong signals to his body.  

So he took a hit of a new joint. And another one. The world was spinning a little faster now, and he liked it. He liked the way his thoughts swirled together, mixing with the music around and the laughter of the group. He liked the way the last rays of sun felt on his face, the way the breeze ruffled his hair. And he liked the way his body felt—sore and used and alive. 

But his tranquil bubble of smoke was abruptly popped by the all-too-familiar sound of Tommy’s laughter echoing through the park. He cringed inwardly, watching his friend saunter over with Carol on his arm, flanked by two of his basketball buddies. Steve was stupid enough to look up, catching his gaze, what made Tommy immediately come in his direction. 

“Hey, man,” Tommy said, slapping him on the back a little too hard. Steve saw the way his eyes scanned the group and landed on Robin. He grinned down at Steve, his eyes on Steve’s neck. Steve saw the moment he put two and two together to find five. “You finally hit that, huh?” he whispered, leaning over Steve. 

Steve flinched, his eyes darting to Robin, who was watching him with a wary expression. “Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled, trying to play it cool. “Not the one you are talking about, though.”  

Carol giggled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oooh, details, Steve!” she said, leaning in closer, but her voice was way louder than Tommy’s. The others in the group looked at them, interested. 

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. “It’s just between me and the lady,” he said, hoping that would be enough to satisfy them. 

He thought he had done enough damage control, hoping that Tommy would leave now, but his heart sank when his eyes caught on something. Andy had turned to look at Tommy with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Steve sighed, knowing exactly what was going to happen. 

“Oh, hello,” Andy said, his voice dripping with fake sweetness. It was painfully obvious that Robin had already told him about Steve’s douchebag friend. “Steve, who’s this delightful specimen of jock culture?”  

Tommy looked over at Andy, his eyes narrowing slightly and his smile tightening into a sneer. “This is Tommy,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice steady. “He’s a friend.”  

Tommy’s gaze flicked from Steve to Andy and back again. He took a step back, as if he wanted to put the most space between him and the group sitting on the grass. “You’re hanging out with queers now?” he asked harshly. “What the fuck, man?” 

Steve felt his stomach drop, and he tried to figure out what to do. He knew he should defend Andy, tell Tommy to shut his fucking mouth and leave, but the same old anxiety held him back. He didn’t want to deal with the questions, the judgment and the disgust. So instead, he did what apparently he always did when he was scared—he took the easy way out. 

 “Come on, dude, don’t be like that,” he said, trying to sound casual. But it came out too high, too fake. 

Andy’s smile didn’t waver, but Steve could see the ice form in his eyes. “It’s okay, Steve,” he said, his voice cool. “We’re all just friends here. All the queers and closeted jocks.” 

Tommy’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in his gaze. “The fuck did you say, faggot?” 

Steve got to his feet immediately. He put a hand on Tommy’s chest, forcing him back. He really didn’t want a repeat of last time. “Stop it, man. Come on, let’s go,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve got shit to do, anyway,” he lied, looking back at Robin. “We will catch up later.”  

Tommy’s gaze lingered on the group for a moment longer before he nodded, allowing Steve to push him back. They walked away from the group, Steve’s shoulders tight. He could feel the weight of their stares on his back, but he didn’t dare look back. Yes, he knew he was letting them down, knew he should stand up for them, but he just couldn’t. He physically couldn’t .  

Once they were far enough away from the group, Steve took a deep breath and turned to face Tommy, trying to compose himself. “Look, man, that’s just Robin’s friend,” he said, keeping his voice as nonchalant as possible. “He’s cool, I guess. But let’s be real, I’m just being nice to him to get closer to her.” 

Tommy’s eyes lit up with understanding, his sneer morphing back into a grin. “Oh, I see,” he said, slapping Steve on the back. “You’re playing nice with the fag to get some pussy.” 

Tommy’s friends exchanged glances, their laughter growing. “She’s got a nice set of tits,” one of them said. “I’d deal with the faggot too, if it meant I could tap that.” 

“Be ready to let him suck you off, man,” the other jeered, and the rest of them laughed. 

Steve felt his cheeks flush, his mind supplying images from the night before, but he just swallowed the bile rising in his throat and played along. “Don’t be gross,” he said, trying to ignore the way the words tasted like acid. 

“Just don’t go getting any funny ideas just because you’re hanging around with queers,” Tommy said, slapping Steve’s back again. 

Steve forced a chuckle, his skin crawling. “I’m not into that shit,” he said, trying to sound as if he truly agreed. Tommy’s arm slung over his shoulder, and Steve felt like he was drowning. “It’s not like I’d ever—” 

“Don’t worry, Steve-boy, we understand,” Tommy interrupted, his eyes gleaming with a knowing look. “Sacrifices have to be made sometimes, right?” 

Steve laughed, the sound hollow and forced. He hated himself. At the moment, Steve really hated himself more than ever before. He needed to get away from there and go somewhere, anywhere. What he needed was to escape the stench of his own cowardice, and go hide in the dark where he belonged. 

“Look, I’ve gotta go,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ve got a presentation first thing tomorrow. Can’t go too hard tonight.” 

“Shit, I forgot about that,” Tommy said, letting go of his shoulders. 

They exchanged a few more words before Steve extricated himself from the group. The laughter and teasing calls followed him, echoing in his ears. He kept walking, hoping that if he didn’t look back, he could pretend the whole thing had never happened. But it did and he felt sick, his stomach burning with guilt.  

He knew he needed to make it right later. Go to Andy and apologize, explain everything. He would understand. But how could he do that without exposing himself? He couldn’t just say, “Hey, sorry for letting those assholes talk about you like that. By the way, I totally love getting fucked by guys, too.” Yeah, that would work so fucking fine, right? 

Steve felt dirty, like he’d just sold a piece of his soul to keep his secret safe—the thought of being outed making him sick. Being outed. What a fucking joke. He knew he couldn’t keep this up, living a lie with one group while finding some kind of family in another. But damn, he was still human, and the fear of rejection was real, too fucking real. And right now, he had no idea how he would ever face Robin and Andy again. Or even himself.

Chapter Text

Pre-finals week hit the campus like a tidal wave of stress, and Steve was drowning himself in it. Add textbooks and way too much coffee to the mix, and he was barely keeping it together. He wasn’t up for any distractions—especially not Eddie. The guilt from how he’d behaved like a total jerk at the park sat like a rock in his gut, and every time he glanced at Eddie’s side of the room, it came rushing back. Eddie hadn’t even been there, for fuck’s sake, but he was like the personification of everything Steve couldn’t be—and he was always there, always present. Steve hated him a little bit more every time he looked at him.  

Three days into his self-imposed exile, Robin called him. His heart jumped like crazy, and he almost fell down the stairs in his hurry. It’s true that he had hesitated for a whole minute before picking up, but who could blame him? All he could think about was that he had just lost the best friendship that didn’t even really happen.  

But when he answered, she sounded normal. Teasing, like always. Talkative as hell. They talked about finals; some gossip inside her group of friends and all the usual stuff. Steve danced around the real topic until, finally, he asked about Andy. “You know he’s got a soft spot for you. Just don’t make him regret it, okay?” she had said. Apparently, Andy just laughed it off, blaming Steve’s behavior on Tommy’s “toxic masculinity.” That little win was enough to relax Steve—well, just a tiny little bit. The guilt was still there, but at least Robin and Andy weren’t mad. Small victories. 

For the rest of the week, Steve threw himself back into his studies. He hoped focusing on school would push that awful feeling of anxiety to the back of his mind. It didn’t really work. Every time he tried to focus on the numbers in front of him, he’d start replaying the conversation with Tommy in his head, cringing at every word. He knew he had to fix things—not just for Andy, but for himself. He couldn’t keep living a lie, especially now that he’d had a taste of what it felt like to be accepted for who he really was. 

And, to make his anxiety worse, there were the bruises. He could handle the hickeys on his neck—pass those off as a wild make-out session. No big deal. But the rest of his body was a different story. The ones on his wrists, stomach, hips pretty much already disappeared. But the ones on his ass— his ass —screamed “fucked by a dude” . Every single one was like a slap in the face, reminding him of what he was trying to hide. Funny how they would also make him feel proud—and so very horny. And thank God he didn’t have swim practice anymore, because the thought of his body all fucked—literally—wearing only his briefs in a place full of jocks was like a hell he wasn’t prepared to face. 

He’d escaped that locker room, but he still had a problem in hand: he couldn’t avoid the showers forever. The dorm’s communal showers meant anyone could walk in at any time. So he started going before the sun was even up, exhausted and barely awake, but thankful for the privacy. 

Honestly, he didn’t want to live like this, hiding like he was doing something wrong. But what was the alternative? Coming out to Tommy and the rest of his friends? Watching their faces twist in disgust? Having to explain to his parents that their perfect son was into the very same things they hated? No, he couldn’t do that. 

So he’d shower quickly, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to ignore the fucked-up feeling twisting his insides. But during the day his mind would still wander to Eddie’s smirk, the way he’d whispered dirty things into his ear, the feel of his cock pushing into him, filling him up. It was like he was addicted to the very thing that made him feel so dirty. 

That day Steve was up before the sun, as usual. He'd gotten used to the stillness of the early mornings, with the dorm building still asleep. The communal showers were always cold, and the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, giving the place that weird greenish tint that made everything look kind of sickly. And of course, the biggest problem was that privacy was almost nonexistent. There were no stalls or partitions between the showers. Instead, there were long rows of shower heads along the walls.  

Steve quickly turned the faucet of one of them and stepped under the stream of water, letting it warm his skin. It was good, the feeling of being alone in an asleep world. It was just him, the water, the weird hum of the pipes—and of course, the damn messed-up thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.

Except today wasn’t like every other morning. Today, he heard the distinctive sound of one of the locks being closed. His heart stopped for a second, a lump forming in his throat. He wasn’t alone. His mind raced, spinning through all the worst-case scenarios it could come up with. Was it someone he knew? Would they see the purplish marks on his skin? Would they know what that meant? Would they say something? His heart pounded in his chest, and he tried to keep his breathing steady, hoping that whoever it was would just do their thing and leave without noticing him. 

But then Eddie showed up, strolling out from behind the wall of lockers like he owned the place, a towel slung over his shoulder. And the sadistic fucking bastard looked absolutely amused by Steve’s panic. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Steve blurted, annoyed but still sighing in relief.  

Eddie smirked. “Showering, obviously,” he said, eyes sweeping over Steve's body. “You know, the thing people do to start the day clean and nice.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh, so the thing you don’t do often.” 

Eddie didn’t even retort, just gave him a look.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Eddie said, tossing his towel aside and stepping into the shower next to Steve—way too close for comfort. 

“What the hell are you on about?”  

Eddie shrugged. “You’ve been avoiding me like I’ve got rabies or something. Is it because I fucked you so good you can’t handle looking at me?” 

Steve’s face burned, feeling both pissed and a little amused. It wasn't a good mix. “You’re such an asshole,” he muttered, and Eddie grinned widely, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. 

“So, what happened other than my amazing bed skills?” 

“Nothing happened, you dick.” 

“So nothing happened at the park last Sunday?” Eddie asked, a little more serious. Steve stared at him and he shrugged. “Robin told me about the little drama with Hagan.” 

Steve’s heart sank. Of course, Robin had to open her big mouth. He wasn’t sure if she’d spilled because Eddie was his roommate or because she underestimated how much of a sadistic asshole he could be. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve tried, though he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. 

“Oh, it’s a big deal,” Eddie corrected him. “It’s a huge deal. You’re hiding from your friends because you’re afraid of what they’ll think of you. And what’s even better,” he added with a smirk, “you’re hiding from me, too.”  

“I’m not hiding,” Steve snapped, jaw tight. “I’ve just been busy.” 

“Sure,” Eddie drawled, clearly not buying it. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve got a theory.” 

“Oh, please, enlighten me,” Steve groaned, dripping sarcasm into his words. 

“I think you feel dirty for hanging out with Tommy when you’re into taking it up the ass,” he said, spot on. Steve tried to not let it show in his face. “But it’s not the sex that makes you feel like this. It’s because you were too coward to tell him to fuck off.” 

The words hit Steve like a punch to the gut. He almost flinched, but he clenched his jaw instead, forcing himself not to react. Eddie had said it so casually, so matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was. But hearing it out loud? That was something else.

And fucking hell, when did Eddie become a specialist in reading Steve?

“You know what, Munson? I won’t accept a psychoanalysis coming from a weirdo like you,” he snapped, because fuck Eddie and his spot-on analysis.  

“Why not?” Eddie pressed. Then he smiled, all smug and annoying. “I’m pretty good at reading people.”  

Steve sighed and leaned his forehead against the cold tile, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He couldn’t argue with Eddie, not when he saw right through him. 

“Please, drop it,” he asked, and hated how voice came out soft, almost pleading. 

“It’s okay, Steve. It happens to almost everyone,” Eddie said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “No one’s going to judge you.”  

Steve really, really needed Eddie to stop talking. So he did the only thing that he thought would work—he tried to seduce him. Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that. He turned, locking eyes with Eddie, turning up the Steve Harrington charm. 

“Can we stop talking and do something more fun?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound as seductive as possible. 

Eddie snorted, stepping closer, grabbing Steve’s jaw. “I know what you’re doing,” he murmured, voice low and amusement in his eyes. “But it’s not gonna work.” 

Steve pressed himself against Eddie. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s just forget about it for a while.”  

Eddie studied him for a moment, then, with a sigh, he leaned in and kissed him, hard and demanding. Steve melted into it, his hands sliding around Eddie’s lean waist, pulling him closer. Eddie's lips were firm and commanding, his tongue pushing past Steve's lips to tangle with his own. They broke apart and Steve could feel Eddie smiling.

“You’re so predictable,” Eddie muttered against Steve’s lips. “But I’ll give you what you want. Just this once.” 

They kissed again, and it hit Steve like a jolt of electricity, sending shivers down his spine. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed this, how much he missed the way Eddie’s lips felt against his—it was like a drug one gets addicted to after the first use. His hands slid down to grab Eddie’s ass, pulling him closer, while Eddie’s grip tightened on his jaw, his tongue pushing into Steve’s mouth. 

It was weird. Eddie’s hands roamed over his body, making him feel hot and needy and desperate. It was weird that it was Eddie’s hands that seemed to be cleaning him, washing away the guilt and the fear. The feeling inside—the dirty, disgusted one—seemed to mean nothing when he could feel Eddie’s body pressed against his, and the taste of him on his tongue. 

They stumbled back, the tiles cold against Steve’s bare skin. Eddie was all over him, and for a split second, Steve almost pulled back to call him out for being a hypocrite. Eddie could pretend that he was just playing along, but Steve knew he wanted it just as bad. So he grabbed Eddie's dick, jerking it slow and easy, feeling him gasp inside his mouth, and loving it. Everything else became unimportant at that moment. Now it was just the two of them, hot and wet, and lost in a bubble of pure want. Steve couldn’t give a single shit about anything else. 

Steve moaned loud, his head hitting the wall, when Eddie’s mouth found his neck. Steve's hands went to Eddie’s hair, tugging and urging him closer, to bite harder. Instead, Eddie pulled away from his neck and crushed their lips together again in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Steve leaned into it, letting Eddie take control, pressing him against the tiles, and letting him explore every inch of his body with his clever hands. 

When they broke apart again, Eddie reached over and turned the water off.  

“So we can hear if anyone’s coming,” he replied to Steve's silent question.  

Without the hot water, the chill of the room hit him, making his skin pebble with goosebumps. Steve was about to complain, but Eddie dropped to his knees, taking his cock into his mouth, and Steve’s mind went all blank. And fucking shit! A blowjob was not how Steve expected to start his day—not that he was complaining about that .

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his other hand playing with Steve’s balls, rolling them gently in his palm. Steve moaned, his hips bucking involuntarily while Eddie’s mouth worked on him. He could feel the cold tiles pressing into his back, but it was nothing compared to the heat that was building inside him.  

Eddie’s mouth was the filthiest heaven—he remembered it well. His tongue licked every inch, circling the sensitive head and tracing the veins. Then he took Steve's entire cock and began to suck hard. His cheeks hollowed out, bobbing his head up and down, using his hand to grip the base. Steve's fingers curled into his hair, holding on for dear life.  

Each time Eddie went deeper, Steve's cock throbbed, and the wet sounds filled the room, mixing with Steve's moans. The sight of Eddie, on his knees, servicing him like this, was so erotic that Steve could barely contain himself. He felt like he was going to explode at any moment, his entire being focused on the sensations pulsing through his cock, making his body crave for more, more, more.  

Steve’s toes curled, his body tightening, and he knew he was close. He tried to hold back, to make it last, but it was a losing battle—because apparently he was a teenager again experiencing sex for the first time. Yes, he was feeling like a loser, but the pleasure was too intense, too all-consuming. And it only increased when Eddie swallowed him down, taking him all the way to the back of his throat.  

“Fuck, Eddie,” he breathed out, eyes glued to Eddie’s mouth.  

Eddie pulled back, smiling up at him. “Turn back, I’m gonna eat you out,” he said.  

“We can’t fuck here,” Steve protested, his voice shaky, even though he wasn’t exactly putting up much of a fight.  

Eddie’s grin only got bigger. “Who said anything about fucking?” he teased. “I just want to make sure you’re all nice and relaxed.”  

Yeah, right. Steve didn’t buy that for a second, but his body was all in. His brain might’ve been screaming “ bad idea” , but the rest of him was begging for it, the desperation drowning out any sensible thoughts. He knew Eddie wouldn’t try to fuck him bareback, but there was no guarantee he wouldn’t drag Steve back to their room and destroy his poor ass there.  

But, yeah, who cared? Not Steve at the moment, no.  

So, he nodded, barely able to form coherent words. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured. 

Eddie chuckled, his breath hot against Steve’s skin. “Good boy,” he murmured, leaning in again and kissing the top of Steve’s dick softly like it was some cute pet—the fucking weirdo.  

And then Eddie's hands were flipping him around and his mouth was suddenly on Steve’s ass, kissing and licking, and sending shockwaves through his body. Eddie’s blowjob was intense, but this was a whole new level. Eddie’s tongue pushed against his hole, and he slurped and sucked, until it started to loosen up. Top two on Steve’s list easy —losing only to Eddie’s long dick fucking him hard and deep. 

“Oh, fuck,” Steve groaned, his body moving of its own accord, pushing back against Eddie’s face.  

Eddie’s tongue delved deeper, and Steve’s hole twitched around the tip of it. Steve was trying to keep silent—he really was—but he couldn’t hold back the sounds that were spilling from his lips. God, it was so good! It was intimate and dirty and right —like every nerve in his body was lighting up, starting from that very end and spreading everywhere. 

He felt himself opening up, his body begging for more, and he didn’t even care anymore that they could get caught. All that mattered right now was the feeling of Eddie’s mouth on him, and the way Eddie was worshiping his body.  

Eddie’s tongue pushed deep inside him — oh fuck! oh God! — and that felt amazing! Steve really let go of his sanity right at that moment. He reached down for his cock, wrapping his fingers around it tightly. He could feel Eddie's tongue inside him like it was burning all the walls there—he was so fucking sensitive now—and he didn't know how much more of that he could take before losing it. 

But oh fuck—if he thought that felt good, Eddie had another surprise in store for him: one hand slid between Steve's thigh to grab hold of his balls again while the other stayed holding open his ass cheek. Steve’s entire body tensed when Eddie began to tongue-fuck him while playing with his balls, his moans echoing off the tiles. It was too much, and too damn good, and Steve knew he wasn’t going to last.  

“I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice shaking, and Eddie just moaned in response. 

Eddie’s fingers started stroking his balls harder—massaging them roughly just like Steve liked—and that’s tipped Steve right over the edge. He came with a loud moan, his body convulsing and his cock spurting into the cold air.  And when Eddie pulled away, Steve was a puddle of goo, his legs wobbly and his mind a complete blank. He stared down at Eddie, who was smiling up at him, licking his lips.  

“You taste delicious,” Eddie said, grinning, and Steve couldn’t even find the words to respond.  

Eddie stood up; his arms wrapped around Steve’s waist. Steve leaned back into his embrace, feeling the heat of his chest against his back, his breath hot and ragged against his neck. And there, pressed firmly against Steve’s ass, was Eddie’s cock, hard and insistent. Steve couldn’t help but rock back slightly.  

“Was it good?” Eddie asked, his breath tickling Steve’s ear. 

“More than good,” Steve admitted. “We have to do that more times.”  

Eddie laughed and kissed Steve’s neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His hands held Steve firmly by the waist, his own erection sliding between the cheeks of Steve’s ass. Steve’s mind was a haze, but he still found the strength to protest again, “We can’t fuck here, Eddie.”  

“I know,” he said. But his hands continued to roam, one sliding down to cup Steve’s ass, the other moving up to wrap around Steve’s chest, his thumb brushing over a nipple, making it peak.  

Eddie’s lips moved down Steve’s neck, soft kisses turning into light nibbles. Steve let himself relax into it, feeling the warmth of Eddie’s breath on his skin while he kissed the back of his neck. Then, out of nowhere, Eddie’s teeth sank into his shoulder, catching him off guard. His body instinctively arched into the bite, craving more. And holy fucking shit, Eddie was really tempting him there. 

Eddie’s teeth released Steve’s shoulder, and he moved his mouth to Steve’s ear, whispering, “You’re so fucking hot.” 

He ground his hips into Steve’s, his breath hot against Steve’s neck. Steve could almost feel the need pulsing through him—the desperate need to claim what he wanted. And he was this close to getting it because Steve’s mind was still fuzzy with the aftermath of his orgasm, and he couldn’t find the strength to protest. So instead, he tightened his thighs and arched his back a little, offering himself up.  

Eddie’s hand pulled his ass cheek open roughly. He ground into him again with a moan. "Fuck!" 

Steve gasped when Eddie's cock slipped down right over his hole to between his thighs, feeling incredibly thick and hot. And then Eddie started fucking him there in earnest, thrusting fast and rough until the head of his cock was bumping against Steve’s balls. And, yes, that felt good too. At this point, he was starting to think there might not be anything Eddie did that he wouldn’t enjoy.

"Shit!" he groaned under the sensation—it was like getting fucked but not quite—and he was enjoying it too much for his own good. 

The feeling of Eddie’s cock sliding along his thighs, the tip brushing against his balls with each thrust, was something Steve didn’t consider to be so good and that would tempt him so much. But there he was, his ass clenched, his hole begging to be filled, his cock growing hard again despite just having come. But he wasn’t going to be filled and he wasn’t going to cum so soon again. And he enjoyed that, too. 

He liked being used that way—as something for someone else’s pleasure alone, something to rub off on.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Eddie murmured into Steve’s ear before licking it again and nipping at it with his teeth. “I want to fuck you so bad.” 

“No way,” Steve replied between gasps—and that was literally his last brain cell talking. “I won’t take my last class of the semester with my ass hurting.” 

Eddie laughed against his ear, his hips still moving. “Then after,” he pleaded. His cock rubbed against Steve’s hole again, pushing against it hard enough to make it burn a little bit, and then sliding back down. He bit Steve’s ear and whispered, “Wanna use you.” 

Those words alone made Steve’s cock throb again, and he couldn’t help but nod, his voice barely above a whisper. “Later,” he agreed, his body already craving the feeling of Eddie inside him. Eddie growled at his words, his teeth biting down hard on Steve's neck—so hard Steve had to bite his own lip not to scream. 

It was a reward. 

For now, Eddie seemed content to keep things like that, his hips snapping forward, the head of his cock sliding along Steve’s wet thighs. Steve could feel the tension in Eddie’s body, the desperation in each thrust, and it was all he could do to keep from reaching back and taking Eddie’s cock in his hand, guiding it to where it so clearly wanted to go. But he held back, and let Eddie have his way—let him grind against him, let him whisper all those dirty promises in his ear.

And then Eddie's body stiffened, and Steve felt the hot splash of cum hitting his thigh. Eddie moaned loudly against his neck, grinding hard against him while he came—making Steve shudder all over. And then he collapsed against Steve’s back. 

He kissed Steve’s neck, his breath ragged. “Later,” he agreed, and Steve nodded. 

They stood there for a moment, bodies pressed and hearts racing. Steve was all over the place—and he was mentally slapping himself for being so easy. But at that moment, it didn’t really matter. He was feeling good. It was just him, Eddie and the nice feeling of Eddie’s arms still wrapped around him—no messed-up thoughts in his head for the first time in days.

-  

The last week of the semester was here and everyone looked dead or dying, some surviving only on burnt coffee and pure willpower. Steve was one of them, stuck at his desk, staring at his textbook like it was written in another language. One more exam stood between him and sweet freedom, and God he was ready for that.  

Just when he thought his brain was about to melt and he was ready to go to bed, the door burst open, and Eddie stumbled into their room looking like he’d just escaped a war zone. His hair was a wild mess, his clothes wrinkled, and his eyes had the glazed look of someone who hadn’t slept in days. Steve would’ve felt bad for him if he wasn’t already too busy feeling sorry for himself. 

“What are you even doing up at this hour, man?” Eddie asked, tired. He took a look at Steve’s book and groaned, walking away and flopping onto his bed. “Ugh, math. How can you look at this crap?” 

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s not so bad. It’s better than theory, at least. I hate reading,” he said, not looking up from his book.  

“Numbers are the devil’s language, but not in a metal way,” Eddie said, rolling over to face the wall. 

Steve stared at him. “How can you say that when you play that dumb game?” he asked. “I know you use math to play that.”  

Eddie sat up, throwing an arm dramatically in the air. “Ah, but alas, my fair Stephen, in the sacred realms of Dungeons and Dragons, we're just the pawns of fate!” He gestured wildly, his voice rising. “It is not math, but magic, dear fool! Magic that bends reality to my will!”  

“Are you high again?” Steve asked in disbelief. 

“No,” Eddie replied. He rolled his eyes when Steve raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”  

“Did you finish your exams?” 

“Yup. Today,” Eddie said, smirking at Steve’s sour expression. He stood up, only to dramatically drop to his knees in the middle of the room. “Now, I am free to descend into the fiery pits of Hell! Or, as the mortals call it... summer.” 

“You are such a dork,” Steve said and wanted to slap himself because he knew he was smiling all soft and fond. But that’s because he just now realized his little gangue of kids would love Eddie. They really would.  

Eddie flopped back onto his bed, and Steve couldn’t help but watch him, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“You going home for summer?” he asked. 

Eddie nodded, rolling onto his back with a sigh. “Yeah. I love the big city, but I miss home.” 

“Where are you from?” Steve asked, attempting to sound casual but definitely more interested than he wanted to admit.  

“Indiana,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. 

Steve’s eyes widened. “Indiana?” He leaned forward, suddenly excited. “No way!” 

Eddie frowned, clearly confused by Steve’s sudden interest. “Uh, yeah. Why’s that a big deal?” 

Steve grinned. “I’m from Indiana too. Hawkins.”  

Eddie sat up, eyes wide. “No shit! My uncle lives there! I stayed with him for a while when I was eight. Spent every summer there after.” 

“No way,” Steve said, his voice dropping to a whisper. For some reason he couldn’t stop smiling. It was ridiculous. “That’s just crazy.”  

Eddie’s eyes searched Steve’s face like he was looking for any sign of recognition. “Did you ever get your ass kicked by a kid with a buzz cut?“ he asked excitedly. “‘Cause I ruled the playground back then.”  

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, man, I probably didn’t meet you. I stuck to a small group of friends. We didn’t really hang with the other kids.” 

“You were probably some snobby little brat with your fancy toys, ignoring the rest of us peasants.” 

“Well, you know, we had our own games and shit to do,” he said, trying to defend his past self, his cheeks flushing.  

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie teased, leaning back on his elbows. “While I was out there, ruling the playground like a king, you were probably being a mama’s boy.”  

“Fuck you, man,” Steve said, smiling. 

He was suddenly feeling ridiculously happy. It was a weird feeling, like they’d known each other for years. Steve could almost picture it—him and Eddie as kids, running around the playground, getting into trouble, daring each other to do some dumb shit. It was easy to imagine it. But still, Steve didn’t let himself think too hard about how his life would’ve turned out if he’d met Eddie back then. He already knew what would happen. 

Eddie’s smirk widened. “I’d love to.” Steve gave him the middle finger. “So, how are you getting back to the promised land?”  

“My mom’s been bugging me about it since last month,” Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She already sent money for a plane ticket.” 

Eddie pondered this for a moment before his face split into a grin. “Why don’t you come with me?” he said, sitting up again with a sudden burst of energy. “It’ll be an adventure. Road trip, baby!”  

“Wait, you have a car?” Steve asked, surprised. That was New York and they lived in a dorm with no parking. “Where the hell did you stash that?” 

“It’s at Gareth’s place,” Eddie said, looking proud of himself. “He lives in a fancy neighborhood, had space, the end. So? What do you say?”  

Steve chuckled, shaking his head at Eddie’s excitement. “I don’t know, man. It’s a long drive.” 

“Exactly,” Eddie said, his eyes shining. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up, maybe do some... sightseeing.” He winked. Oh, Steve knew where it was going.  

“I’ll think about it,” Steve promised. He couldn’t deny that the idea was tempting, but he also knew it also could be a disaster waiting to happen.  

Eddie wasn’t backing down. He jumped to his feet. “Come on, Harrington. You’ve got nothing to lose. Let’s do this!” 

Steve laughed. “Okay, okay, fine. No need to cream your pants. Jesus.”  

Fine, whatever. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t excited about it too. The more he thought about it, the more the road trip idea seemed great. He’d been cooped up in this dorm for months, buried in books, and now he had the chance to get out there, to feel the wind in his hair, and maybe get his brains fucked out in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, that actually sounded fantastic. 

Getting stuck in a car with Eddie would be his biggest nightmare a couple of months ago, but now it wasn’t the worst thing. Honestly, it was both terrifying and exciting. Would they argue over music the whole time? Would they end up in a ditch somewhere, naked and satisfied? Or maybe they’d just have real, quiet moments—sharing stories about growing up in the same state but in two completely different worlds. And that sounded good too. 

- 

Freedom was knocking on Steve's door, and it was a sweet sound. Friday afternoon, the last exam down, and it felt like the entire campus was buzzing. Students were either bouncing off the walls or collapsing around, but all had the same “the war is over” face. Steve stepped out of the stuffy classroom, the sun hitting his face—and not to be dramatic or anything, but he thought he deserved the title of war hero too. He’d done it. Survived. And now, all people could talk about was the epic party happening that night, and Steve was ready to get drunk without a care.  

What Steve didn’t know was that this party would be a turning point. If he had any clue about the chaos waiting for him, he might’ve stayed in his room, enjoying his rare moment of peace. He had no idea that between the flashing lights and loud music, the night would hit him with truths he wasn’t ready to face, desires he couldn’t keep buried, and a future that was nothing like he planned. 

His carefully built world was about to fall apart. 

Chapter Text

The party was already a mess when Steve walked in. Loud as hell, people everywhere, lights too bright. The kind of thing that should’ve annoyed his poor tired brain, but honestly, it was exactly what he needed. Bad music, loads of alcohol and just chaos. He deserved it after studying so much.

It was also exactly the kind of over-the-top circus he expected. Marble floors, designer furniture and overpriced modern art hanging on the walls like anyone gave a crap. He rolled his eyes, but a smile played on his face. He’d grown up around places like this—big houses, bigger egos—but after months crammed into that shitty dorm, with everything being too small, too tight, this felt weirdly comfortable. It felt just like home. And yes, he wasn’t King Steve anymore, but “old habits” and all that shit. 

The crowd, too, was all the same he was used to—drunk, loud, and desperate for attention. Absolutely no different from high school. 

Which is exactly how he knew Eddie would be here. 

A place like that, full of clueless rich kids who wanted to have a good time? Yes, it was practically Eddie’s playground. Steve himself was a rich kid who was up for a good time. He wanted to black out—no thoughts, no responsibilities. The difference from Steve to the rest is that he knew how to make the best deal—and so, his good time wouldn’t stop on the drugs. Smirking to himself, he grabbed a drink and downed half of it in one go.  

Moving through the sea of bodies, he spotted a few familiar faces from his classes and the swimming team. All of them were already drunk, their laughter loud. But Steve wouldn't care as long as it wasn't Tommy. So he moved through them, stopping here and there to chat or to flirt with some girl—he couldn’t do anything if the ladies loved him, really. 

It was in one of those moments, when he was leaning against a wall while he half-listened to some guy from one of his classes rambling about god knows what, that his eyes landed on Andy. He was dancing with way too much enthusiasm, that was honestly both hilarious and impressive. His long hair was a total mess, and he was dressed in something so ridiculously bright it should’ve looked bad, but somehow, on Andy, it worked. Steve couldn’t help but smile. The guy didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought.

He decided to approach Andy, feeling a little awkward. They hadn’t spoken much since that stupid day at the park, and yes, Robin said Andy was cool about that, but who would be a hundred percent cool about your supposed friend being an ass to you and not stepping up to a fucking homophobe? Steve really wanted to make things right. 

“Hey, Andy,” he yelled over the music. 

Andy spun around, his eyes lighting up when he saw Steve. He leaned in close so Steve could hear him. “Hey, darling!" 

“I see you’re enjoying yourself," Steve said, his voice sounding a little too loud even to his own ears. He was really expecting the worst, wasn’t he? Maybe it would be awkward as hell now that they said hello. Andy would probably tell him to fuck off.

But Andy just smiled. “Are you kidding? This is the best night of my life!” He grabbed Steve’s arm and pulled him closer. “You’ve got to join me!!" 

And Steve let himself be pulled to the dance floor.  

The crowd of bodies moved in sync to the beat, and even though he wasn’t much of a dancer—actually, he really sucked at it—Steve found himself getting swept up in the moment. It was fun. Being lost, that’s it—lost in the middle of the noise, the colors and the mass of sweaty bodies. 

He couldn’t ignore the way his stomach did a little flip every time he got too close to Andy, nor could he shake the nervousness. Every time he saw someone looking their way, he wondered if it was Tommy or someone else he knew, and what the hell he would say if they caught Steve here, with a guy, laughing and dancing like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Andy, on the other hand, couldn’t care less. He moved with his usual weird mannerism, his hands sliding through the air with the same pompous way Steve had always found both annoying and oddly fascinating. The way he threw his head back and laughed without a care in the world was like watching someone live in a whole different reality. 

They danced for what felt like hours, Steve’s self-consciousness slowly giving way to pure joy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive, so free, while around so many people. 

Andy leaned in. “You’re laughing, darling. It’s a beautiful sight to see!" 

Steve felt the heat rush to his face. “Shut up!" 

Andy just grinned, his blue eyes sparkling—but again it could be just the glitter around them. “You’re adorable. Ever danced with a boy before?" 

“What? No, of course not!” he said, way too fast, taking a step back. 

Andy’s smile didn’t falter. He pulled Steve in again. “It’s okay. I promise I won’t bite.”  

Steve almost said he wouldn’t mind.  

Well, fuck, the alcohol was really starting to mess with him, and he didn’t even get drunk yet. 

They danced through a few more songs, laughing and bumping into each other, and when they stumbled away, breathless and in need of a break, Steve was hit with this strange mix of excitement and dread. He was feeling euphoric and happy, but at the same time he wanted to hide it in the safety of a big crowd forever—where he could share almost no space with a lot of people, but no one would see him.  

But they still weaved through the crowded living room and into the kitchen, where the air was cooler and there were just a few people. And there was Eddie. He had his back against the fridge, casually dealing out a few baggies of questionable content. Two guys Steve didn’t know were leaning in, whispering and handing over cash. It was all furtive in a way, like a scene from a bad movie, but still ridiculously obvious. 

Robin sat cross-legged on the counter, chatting with Jeff—the guy Steve had been so scared of at the last party because, well, the guy looked like he could snap him in half. She was rolling her eyes, gesturing wildly as she explained something apparently really important—Steve heard “jail” and “my cousin” and “stupid” and knew she was just complaining about Eddie’s little side gig. 

“Seriously, man?” Steve asked, making his way over. 

Eddie looked up, a smirk on his face. “Just funding my summer, Harrington. You know, keeping it classy.” He passed off another baggie, pocketed the cash, and the two guys left in a hurry, throwing Steve a suspicious glance on their way out. 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “Classy, huh? Didn’t you say something about making ‘easy money off rich kids’? Real smooth.” 

Eddy winked. “You know I love playing Robin Hood." 

“I hope you’re giving Robin a cut of the profits if you’re going to use the name,” Steve said. 

Robin spun around. “I don’t need a cut of that dirty money, thank you very much!” she said. “But I wouldn’t say no to a drink!" 

Eddie chuckled, grabbing a bottle of vodka and passing it to Steve. “Get your girl a drink and stop being nosy." 

Steve rolled his eyes but took the bottle from Eddie. He grabbed three plastic cups and started mixing vodka and cranberry juice. 

"Here," he handed her a cup, watching her taking a sip and smacking her lips.  

"Thanks, Steve," she said, and then she looked over his shoulder. "Oh, no. He's doing it again." 

Steve turned, catching Robin's eye roll, and followed her gaze. There was Eddie, still leaning against the fridge, a smirk playing on his lips, while Andy stood just a little too close, whispering something in his ear. Eddie turned to respond, whispering something back, their faces way too near for Steve’s liking—not that he cared! He obviously didn’t! 

The whole scene just felt weird. Not because it was two guys—how hypocritical he needed to be to care about that?—but because it was Eddie and Andy. To Steve, it was like watching two suns colliding. 

“That always happen?” Steve asked, trying to shake off the weird knot tightening in his gut. 

“Always!” She took a swig of her drink and then pointed at Steve with the plastic cup. “Be ready to always deal with Andy and his fat crush on Eddie.” 

Andy’s head snapped up. “Crush? Oh, please. I don’t do crushes, darling. I just appreciate good sex when it comes my way, and Eddie here was quite the delightful surprise." 

Robin’s eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, pretending to be scandalized. “Oh my God, you two? When? Did you hear that, Steve? They totally boned!" 

“What can I say? When a pretty blonde comes knocking, I don’t exactly turn them away," Eddie said, pretending to be all cool, passing his arm around Andy’s waist.  

Steve snorted. 

"I didn't know Eddie was such a slut," he said. What was actually a lie. He knew it already. 

“Oh, please. Like you are any better!” Eddie said.  

“Me?” Steve put on an innocent look. “I don't know what you are talking about!" 

“Yeah, right,” Robin said, rolling her eyes. “What about Melissa?" 

“That was different!" 

Andy leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oooh, what happened with Melissa?" 

“It’s not important,” Steve muttered, taking a gulp of his drink. The vodka burned his throat, but it was nothing compared to the embarrassment burning his cheeks. 

“Oh, it’s important, Harrington,” Eddie said, grinning. He came closer and leaned over the counter. “Robin introduced her to you, and then what? You fucked her in the bathroom half an hour later?" 

"How the hell do you even know that, asshole?" 

"I have my sources," Eddie smiled and then high-fived Robin.  

Assholes, both of them. 

Robin pretended to be disappointed with Steve, but her eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Classy, Steve. Real classy." 

Jeff chuckled. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you guys are both sluts. I mean, Eddie, you can’t even keep it in your pants for five minutes.”  

“Oh, Eddie, come be a slut in my room, then,” Andy said, leaning over the counter too at Eddie’s side. Steve knew it meant to be a joke, but hell if it didn't look too real. “We can play some more of that sexy Dungeons and Dragons we played last time.” 

Eddie laughed and touched Andy’s chin. Steve scoffed. 

“Now, now, darling, if you’re good, I might just show you my +9 magic sword again later." 

There was laughter and disgusted sounds from Robin’s part and “What kind of bullshit is that?” from Jeff. Steve, though, couldn’t help but laugh.  

“Your sword is so not +9,” Steve said. He knew shit about D&D, but this was a dick joke and there was no way he would let Eddie have it. “Maybe a +4 on a good day, and that’s pushing it!" 

It was a lie. Steve choked on that dick enough times to know it was definitely a 7. Maybe a 7-something, since he was feeling generous. 

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his smirk getting wider. "That's not what you said last night, Stevie."  

They didn't do anything the night before, but, yeah, that made Steve freak out a little.  

"Fuck off," he said, giving Eddie his middle finger. 

“You sound like you have seen his sword in action,” Robin said and Steve just wanted to die because that was dumb on his part, saying that kind of thing in front of so many assholes. Instead, he just redirected his middle finger to her.

Eddie must've realized the joke was going too far—for Steve, at least. He raised his hands, feigning surrender. “Okay, okay. But you know what they say, it's not about the number of enchantments. It’s all about how powerful the magic you can perform with it is!" 

That was all Robin and Jeff needed to completely lose it, laughing and pretending to puke into their drinks. Steve’s face felt like it was on fire because, hell, he already knew that the magic, or whatever, of that sword was powerful. A dragon slayer kind of powerful if Steve named his asshole “dragon”.  

“Easy there, Eddie,” Andy said. “You can’t go throwing around lines like that to my favorite straight token! He might bend." 

Eddie laughed and looked at Steve with that one big grin. Steve could totally read what that smile meant. It was something like Can you believe him? Is his gaydar totally busted or what? Steve couldn’t help but crack a smile too. That whole conversation was ridiculous. 

“Steve, you better watch your ass, my friend,” Robin warned. “Andy’s got a thing for straight guys. It’s like his favorite flavor of ass or something.” She winked at him over her drink, clearly enjoying the chaos. 

Steve shot a look at Andy, who just gave him the most innocent, wide-eyed expression imaginable. 

“What? I would never ! Steve is like my baby chicken. Pure and untouched!” He leaned in closer. “Don’t you believe her, darling. I've got enough ass to worry about without going after yours. I'd never do anything to mess up that sweet little—" 

“Alright, alright!” Steve cut him off, pushing him back with a laugh that was probably louder than it needed to be. “Let’s not go there, okay?” 

“Fine, fine. But if you should be worried about anyone, it’s Eddie. He’s a twisted man,” Andy said, shooting Eddie a teasing look. 

Eddie rolled his eyes, taking a casual swig of his drink. “Please. Like I’d ever go for a jock. I have standards.” 

Steve was tipsy enough to almost say something he was going to regret later, but he bit his tongue in time, sending a look at Eddie. A very really? look. Eddie just winked back.  

“You say that now,” Robin teased, giving Eddie a knowing look. “But we all know how you get when you’re desperate enough. And Steve’s got a nice... I mean, he’s a good guy.” She giggled into her drink. 

“Alright, alright, let’s drop it,” Steve said quickly. He should probably have been uncomfortable, maybe even a little horrified, but instead, he found himself grinning along with them. 

Steve felt like he was caught in the middle of a tornado of inappropriate jokes—crude in a way that was so similar to the locker room’s talk but so completely different at the same time. Steve was used to sex jokes and guys saying shit, but somehow that was a whole different level. 

It was like stepping into an alien world, where everything was upside down, but at the same time he felt strangely at home. Like maybe, for the first time, he was a hundred percent part of something. And he liked it. He really did. 

 He liked the way Robin’s eyes lit up when she talked about the literal scandal that was Andy's life. And he liked the way Jeff’s deep laugh rumbled through the room. He liked that Andy was loud and shameless, not giving a single fuck to how some people would look at him. And, maybe most of all, he liked the way Eddie kept glancing his way, they both sharing a secret only they knew. 

After a few more drinks, Andy threw his arms up in the air dramatically. "Alright, enough of this standing around like we're at a funeral! Who's coming to dance with me?"  

Steve took a step back, shaking his head. "I think I'll sit this one out," he said. 

"Nah, my feet are killing me," Robin complained. 

"Not a dancer," Jeff said with a shrug. 

Andy pouted, but the expression quickly melted into a smile. "Suit yourself," he said, and then, with a wink at Steve, "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me." With that, he left the kitchen, opening his way through people like a true king. 

Eddie was called away by someone who obviously wanted to buy some drugs, and he slipped out of the kitchen—not looking shady at all. Steve watched him go, actually surprised about how Eddie hadn't gotten caught yet. And that's when Jenny, a pretty girl from some of his classes caught his eye. 

“Steve, you are here! Oh my God, come play with us!” she shouted over the music.  

Steve had a personal rule about going for it when a pretty girl asked him to do something, so he nodded and started to follow her, his feet moving almost on autopilot.  

“Hey, Robin, I'll be right back,” he called over his shoulder. 

Robin waved him off with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah! Go do your thing, Romeo!" 

Steve followed Jenny through the house, the music pounding louder with every step. They ended up in a room where someone had set up a beer pong table, and just like that, his smile froze. There, through the crowd, was Tommy. Of all fucking people. 

He was surrounded by his usual group, and even from distance Steve could hear his obnoxious laugh cutting through the chaos. Steve’s stomach dropped. This was the last person he wanted to see tonight, but Tommy had already spotted him, so Steve sighed and forced his feet to walk over to him. 

Tommy’s group was a tight-knit bunch, the kind that had known each other since orientation and had spent everyday together since. Steve was part of it, but God at what cost. Most of those guys were big assholes, and yes, true, Steve liked Tommy—he was funny and loyal when he wasn't being a dick—but it was hard to be comfortable around him when he was like a bomb waiting to go off. 

Tommy’s arm shot out when Steve approached, wrapping around his neck in a headlock that was more painful than playful. “Look who decided to join the common folk! You playing?” 

“Sure, why not?”  

Sure, Steve was walking on eggshells there, scared Tommy would mention Andy or Robin again—or just be a big asshole and start spitting slurs like last time. But it was still ridiculously easy to relax. No matter how much of jackasses those guys were, that was still a crowd Steve was used to. Slipping under that mask was like breathing. So when the drinks kept coming, that tension began to loosen, and he started to enjoy the game. 

That is until Tommy suddenly clapped his shoulder and pointed over his head. “Dude, look at that!” 

Steve followed his gaze, and his stomach flipped. Across the room, Eddie was laughing, a petite blonde girl practically hanging off him, kissing all over his face. His arms were wrapped around her waist, and it looked like she was this close to start climbing him. Steve’s smile cracked. 

What the fuck was that? 

“Hey, Munson!” Tommy shouted over the noise. “Thought you were a faggot! When did you grow a dick?”  

The blonde girl pulled away from Eddie’s face, her eyes narrowing at Tommy, all joy disappearing from her face. Eddie’s smirk didn’t falter, though. But even so, Steve caught the change in his eyes, the way they became cold and sharp. Steve didn’t think people would notice that, but Steve has been the target of those eyes before. It wasn’t any dramatic change, but it was enough to make Steve scared and horny. 

And that totally wasn’t the place. 

“Hagan, you’re really obsessed with my dick, aren’t you?” Eddie called back. Some people laughed, some looked back at Tommy, obviously hoping for a fight.  

The blonde girl glared at Tommy before pulling Eddie away, whispering something in his ear that made him laugh, and they disappeared into the crowd, Eddie flipping Tommy the bird without looking back.  

Tommy's face contorted with rage, his cheeks reddening. He looked at Steve. "Can you fucking believe him?"  

Steve cringed. He knew Tommy was just trying to be a loyal friend—after all it was Steve who bitched about Eddie to him for a whole year. But it was too much. Too much . And all Steve wanted to do was to tell him to stop, that Eddie wasn’t the enemy there. That it had never been Eddie. That the enemy had been Steve’s own ignorance, his fear of being seen as different. His fear of admitting that maybe he didn’t fit into the neat little box everyone had put him in. 

But he didn’t say anything. He just turned, gave Tommy his back, and walked away, not looking back even when he heard his name being called. The room was already spinning a little, but all he needed was more alcohol. Because something inside him felt off— disgusting .  

Hurting. 

Of course it was hurting. Eddie would shrug it all off with that stupid smirk of his. Eddie didn’t care. But Steve couldn’t even tell his own friend to shut the hell up. Pathetic. He was really pathetic. A coward again and fucking again . 

Everything was always repeating and he never learnt. 

The kitchen was still a mess, only now it was packed even more, with bodies pressed together, shouting, laughing, spilling drinks everywhere. He couldn’t spot Robin or Jeff in the chaos, but he didn't care. He needed a drink and just that. So he fumbled his way to the counter, grabbed the first bottle in sight—it didn’t matter what it was—and twisted the cap off, taking a deep swig. It burned, but not in a good way. It was strong, and he coughed, feeling the room spin harder than before. 

Someone slapped him on the back, and he nearly dropped the bottle. “Easy there, champ!” a voice yelled over the music, but Steve wasn’t interested in whoever it was.  

Pressure. It was too much. The heat from everyone packed in the room was suffocating. The mix of sweat, beer, and something else much more disgusting, made him feel sick. But he kept drinking because the more he drank, the less he could think, and that was the whole point, right? Shut it all out, drown it. 

Another gulp. And another. Until the bottle was practically empty. He couldn’t feel his face anymore. The floor was tilting, the lights twisting and making everything look unreal. He stumbled back, his shoulder knocking into someone—he mumbled some apology and shoved his way out of the kitchen, heading for the backyard. He needed air. Needed to breathe . 

The backyard was just as chaotic as inside. People everywhere, by the pool, dancing, falling into each other, all of it spinning and spinning like the room had. He staggered through the mess, barely able to keep his balance. His eyes landed on Robin by the pool, her feet dangling in the water. 

He stumbled over, barely managing not to trip on his own feet, and she grabbed his arm when he was trying to sit to stop him from falling into the pool. The water looked really inviting, though. Should he just jump in? 

“What the hell happened? You okay?” she asked when he, more or less, sat at her side. 

He managed a nod. “Yeah, jus’ needed some air.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, ‘m fine!” he repeated, taking a deep breath. “Just… too much to drink.” 

Robin leaned back on her hands, her shirt lifting just a bit. Pretty. She was really, really pretty. Pretty just like the girl Eddie was kissing. And Steve found himself leaning in, closer than he should’ve been. He didn’t even know why, but for some reason, right now, it made sense. Her eyes were on him, watching, and for a second, he thought maybe—maybe she felt it too? 

But no. She turned her head away before he could do something stupid. Of course. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed. "I didn't... I just..." 

Robin looked at him with a mix of pity and amusement, her lips curving into a small smile. "It's okay, Steve," she said, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "You've had a bit too much to drink, that's all." 

"No," he protested. "I jus’... thought maybe..." 

"Steve," she said, her voice gentle. "I need to tell you something." 

"What?" 

"I'm lesbian," she said simply, looking into his eyes.  

That sobered him up a bit. He stared at her.  

"Oh," he said very eloquently.  

"It's not something I just go around announcing," she said, "but I guess now's as good a time as any." 

Steve felt like an idiot. He just tried to kiss his friend. His lesbian friend. He still didn't know much about the queer lore, but legends said they all came with a way to identify each other. And he was secretly laughing with Eddie about Andy’s broken gaydar earlier. God. 

"Sorry I tried to…" he said again.  

"It's fine. You're a good guy, Steve. But I guess I was a little skeptical about you. You know, because of those assholes you are friends with." 

He laughed, a little sad about just everything. "Yeah." 

They sat there for a bit, the silence stretching on. Steve finally wrestled his shoes off—took way longer than it should’ve—and dipped his feet in the pool like Robin. The water was warm and nice.  

He glanced at her, and before he could stop himself, words were being spilled out. “Tha’s actually… so brave of you, y’know? Jus’ sayin’ it like that, so… like it’s no big deal. I mean, it’s not a big deal, but it’s like… it’s a big deal. ‘Cause it’s not somethin’ everyone can jus’ come out and say like it’s nothin’. It’s like… like tellin’ someone you’re left-handed or that you like… pineapple on pizza. But way more… y’know, important and stuff. ‘Cause people are assholes sometimes, and they judge you for shit they shouldn’ even care about!” 

Robin watched him while he struggled to say whatever he was trying to say. He wasn’t sure he could , but he wanted to. He wanted to say that he got it. That he knew the feeling. But was he able to? 

Hell, probably not. 

“Thanks, Steve,” she said, her voice soft. “But it wasn’t always easy. I had to deal with a lot of crap before I got to the point where I could just be me. But I’m happy with who I am, and that’s what matters." 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I get that. I mean, I totally get that. ‘Cause, y’know, everyone has secrets, right? And... it’s hard to keep ‘em in when you’re ‘round people who… who jus’ don’t get it. An’ sometimes you jus’ wanna... scream it out. So people… y’know, know . So they get you’re not jus’ some… somethin’ else, y’know?” 

Her hand on his arm tightened. 

But before either of them could say anything else, Andy showed up, holding a beer and looking sweaty and wild. “Been looking all over for you two,” he said, plopping down next to Steve. “You guys okay?” 

Robin leaned back on her hands again. “We were just having a casual conversation about life and the pursuit of happiness in a mediocre world." 

Andy raised an eyebrow. “Sounds intense. Did you figure it all out?" 

Steve laughed. “Not even close, man." 

Andy passed him the beer, but before Steve could get it to his lips, Robin snatched it from him. “Nope. You’ve had way too much already!” She took a deep gulp herself, draining the bottle like it was water. 

Steve watched her. “I’m fine,” he protested, though his voice lacked conviction.  

“You’re not fine, you’re drunk out of your ass.” 

“Well, you are no Ms. Sober," he muttered, leaning back, feeling the cool breeze on his face. 

He watched the people around for a moment, eyes focusing on a pretty blonde girl who was just thrown in the water by some guy who jumped right after. He leaned in closer to Andy, almost falling over in the process. 

“Hey… hey, man,” he slurred, his words tumbling out messily. “Is Eddie… like, is he… bi or somethin’?” 

Andy blinked, then burst out laughing, almost falling in the water himself. Robin joined in, her laughter ringing out clear and bright. Steve frowned, not getting what was so funny. 

“What?” 

Robin shook her head, wiping a tear from her eye. “What are you on about? Eddie’s like… so not bi. He’s totally gay.” 

Steve blinked at them, his brain working just too slow. He pointed a finger at both of them. “No… no, I saw him. I saw him kissin’ a girl. Blonde chick, all over him. He was laughin’, she was kissin’ his face. Right there. It happened.” 

Andy’s laughter faded, and he exchanged a quick glance with Robin. They both looked genuinely surprised now. 

“Wait, what?” he said, eyes widening. “Eddie was kissing a girl ? No way.” 

“The girl was kissin’ him, but whatever. I saw it.” 

Then, so very conveniently, Eddie appeared out of nowhere, stumbling up to them. "Hey, losers, wanna get high with me? 

Steve, Andy, and Robin just stared at him, no one saying a word for a solid few seconds, Eddie raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. 

“What?” 

Robin cleared her throat. “Steve says he saw you with some blonde girl earlier. Kissing?” 

Andy chimed in, still looking pretty confused himself. “Yeah, you were kissing her? What’s up with that?” 

Eddie blinked. For a second, he looked genuinely surprised, but then he rolled his eyes and let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, that . Nah, she's just a friend. She gets kissy when she’s drunk. It’s a problem.” 

Robin raised an eyebrow. “That’s a new one. Didn’t know you were into getting attacked by drunk girls.” 

“I’m a man of many mysteries, Buckley,” Eddie replied with a grin. He took a baggie with some weed and waved it in the air. “Now, are we getting high or what?” 

“You’re such a bad influence,” Robin said, but Steve could hear the affection in her voice. 

“Come on, Robin. Live a little,” Steve said, pushing himself to his feet—or trying, at least. The world tilted, and he had to grab Eddie’s arm to stop from face-planting. Eddie just laughed and grabbed his shoes for him. 

They followed Eddie across the grass, the damp ground squishing under Steve’s feet, which was weird but also nice. When they found a quiet spot away from the pool and the noise, they sat in a circle and Eddie immediately started rolling a joint—and Steve watched, half-entranced by his long, very skilled fingers. 

When Eddie passed the joint around, Steve took a hit, holding the smoke in his lungs and almost immediately feeling a little better. He passed it to Robin, but she shook her head. 

"You not gonna smoke?" Steve asked. 

"Nah, I don't smoke," she said, leaning back on her hands. “I do edibles sometimes, though. But Eddie isn’t that type of cook.” 

Andy snickered, taking the joint from Steve. “Robin says she’ll never smoke,” he teased, blowing out a cloud of smoke, “but I think she’ll cave one day.” 

“Shotgunning’s good if you don’t like the burn,” Eddie offered, taking the joint back from Andy. “You wanna try that?” 

Robin shook her head again. “Nah, not my thing.” 

Eddie took a long drag from the joint, holding it in before passing it to Steve. "What about you, Harrington?" he asked. "Wanna give it a shot?" 

Hell, the fuck yes ! “Sure,” he said, trying not to sound too eager but obviously failing. Eddie chuckled at that, clearly amused. 

"There’s two ways to do it," Eddie explained, scooting closer. “You can put the lit end in your mouth and blow out, and the other person breathes it in from the other side.” 

Steve nodded, or at least, he thought he nodded. "Okay, I think I get it."  

“Or,” Eddie continued, voice lower now, “you can just take a hit and blow it into someone else’s mouth. That’s the fun way.” 

Robin snorted, looking very entertained by the whole thing, but still a little worried. "Steve, I don't think you're in the right state for more." 

Too bad Steve was already too far gone. 

“No, no, I got this,” he insisted, words all jumbled up. “Teach me, master.” 

“Alright, grasshopper.” 

Eddie moved closer, sitting in front of Steve, legs crossed. Eddie flipped the joint, putting the lit end between his lips, and Steve did as he was told, leaning forward, lips hovering near the unlit end. Eddie blew, and Steve inhaled the thick, white smoke, letting it fill his lungs. It hit him hard, but in a good way, the buzz spreading through him even more than before. 

Eddie pulled back. "Got it?"  

Steve nodded. "Yeah." 

Eddie’s eyes looked beautiful in the dim light, his pupils wide and dark. His legs spread out, scooting closer, until they were almost tangled up together, Steve in the middle of it. The booze made his brain all soft and loose, and the weed had slowed down time, making everything dreamy. He could feel the grass under his hands, but also... not really . The world was fuzzy around the edges, but when Eddie leaned in even more, it felt like the only thing that was real was him. Just Eddie. 

“You wanna try it the other way?” Eddie asked in a low voice. 

Steve nodded. He wasn’t sure if he was nodding because he wanted to learn it or because he just wanted Eddie closer. Robin, Andy, the party—all of that was just background noise. Just shapes and colors. Steve couldn’t even hear the music anymore, not really. It was just him and Eddie. 

Eddie took a long drag from the joint, leaned in until their faces were so close Steve could see every little detail of his lips. And then Eddie was exhaling, slow, right into Steve’s mouth. He could taste the weed and Eddie all at once. Steve’s hand reached out without thinking, landing on Eddie’s thigh, feeling the muscle tense up under his palm. 

Eddie pulled back just a bit, his eyes locked onto Steve’s. His eyes were so dark. “Good?” he asked, his voice still low. 

Steve nodded again, barely able to get the word out. “Yeah.” His hand stayed right where it was, resting on Eddie’s leg. Didn’t even cross his mind to move it. It just felt right there. 

“Wanna try?” Eddie whispered. Or he said it in the normal tone, Steve didn’t know. Eddie’s eyes were dark, dark . Pretty. 

Steve nodded. Eddie brought the joint to Steve’s mouth, and Steve took a hit, holding the smoke in his mouth. His hand tightened on Eddie’s thigh. He could feel the heat of Eddie’s body through the fabric of his jeans, and it was all he could do not to moan. 

He leaned forward, letting the smoke slip out between his lips and into Eddie’s wanting mouth. They were so close their lips brushed, just for a second, but it was enough to send a wave of heat and want through Steve’s entire body. 

Before he knew what he was doing, his hand moved up, cupping the back of Eddie’s neck, pulling him in. Their lips met soft and tentative and so good. But it wasn’t a full kiss—just a taste. The smoke still curled between them, mixing with the air, and for a second, everything else disappeared completely. 

Steve was floating.  

And he was falling.  

And that’s when Andy’s soft laugh cut through the haze. “There goes my token straight.” 

It hit Steve like a slap in the face. Reality came crashing back, fast and hard. He jerked back from Eddie, his hand dropping from his neck like it was on fire. Panic bubbled up in his chest, tightening his throat. What the fuck was he doing? His eyes darted between Andy, Robin, and Eddie, his heart racing even faster, but now for all the wrong reasons. 

“I wasn’t...” Steve stammered, his voice too loud. Andy and Robin were just watching, and he panicked. "That's not... we were just..." 

Eddie looked at him, his expression too unreadable to Steve’s fucked-up brain. "Harrington, calm down," he said, calm. "It was a joke." 

“No! This isn’t some fucking game!” Steve shouted, pushing himself up to his feet, but his head spun, making him stumble. He had to brace himself against the air just to stay standing. 

“Steve, it’s okay," Robin stepped in, her voice soft. “You don’t have to explain anything. We’re all drunk here, no one cares.” 

But Steve wasn’t listening. His thoughts were a mess, everything spinning, crashing into itself. “I need... I need to go,” he mumbled. 

Eddie stood up fast, reaching out and grabbing his arm. “Wait.” 

Everything was spinning. Steve’s legs felt like they barely worked, like they’d forgotten how to function. The music was too loud again, voices bouncing around in his head, all of it a mess. He tried to walk away, just get out of there, but his feet didn’t cooperate. Then, like a nightmare, Tommy appeared in front of him with that shit-eating grin on his face. Of course it had to be Tommy. 

“Look who’s playing for the other team now,” he sneered, his voice sharp, mocking. The guys around Tommy cackled, like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.  

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Steve slurred, words thick and clumsy. He tried to stand up straight, but everything tilted. He was way too fucking drunk. 

Why the fuck he had to drink so much? 

Tommy stepped closer. “I’m talking about you and your little boyfriend over there like a couple of fags!”  

That word. That fucking word .  

Again .  

It stabbed right into Steve’s gut, twisting everything up inside him. Oh god, Tommy had seen. Tommy fucking knew. His heart pounded, panic rising fast, choking him. What if everyone found out? What if— 

“Don’t say anything you gonna regret,” he heard Eddie say. Because Eddie knew.  

Eddie knew him. 

So Steve swallowed what he was about to say and tried again. “It wasn’t like that.” His voice came out weak, desperate. He stumbled back, almost tripping over his own feet. “We were just messing around. It wasn’t....” 

He could feel Eddie’s eyes on him, and Robin’s, and Andy’s—though he couldn’t bring himself to look at them. 

“You were swapping spit, man. Everyone saw.” 

Suddenly, Eddie was in front of him. Steve hadn’t even noticed him move, but Eddie’s hand was on Tommy’s shoulder now, and his voice was uncharacteristically calm. “Back off, Hagan. It’s none of your business.” 

Steve’s head was spinning even faster now. He looked around. So many people now. They were all staring. Judging him. Laughing. And Eddie was right there, so close, and it was all too much. Too fucking much. 

“Is that true, then?” Tommy demanded, looking at Steve over Eddie’s shoulder. He looked weird. All freckles and teeth. “You two are really...?" 

No. No! Fear, shame, confusion—they all exploded out of him at once. 

“No! I’m not like him!” Steve screamed, pointing a shaky finger at Eddie. “I’m not a fucking queer!"  

As soon as the words left his mouth, Steve knew he’d screwed up. Eddie turned to look at him, and Steve wanted to take it back. But it was too late. 

"What the fuck, Harrington?" 

Everything was spiraling. Eddie looked hurt. Steve hurt Eddie. He stumbled, barely keeping himself upright. “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he tried, but the words were all wrong. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just...” 

He just what? What? Steve couldn't think. It was like his fucking brain wasn't working anymore. He looked at Eddie and saw anger and disappointment and hurt all at once. He wanted to say sorry. He really did. But then Tommy laughed, all loud and obnoxious. 

God, that laugh. He hated it. 

Everything was happening too fast. His heart was pounding in his ears, and his mind was... fuck, what was his mind even doing? He could feel eyes on him. Too many eyes. Robin and Andy. They looked shocked or concerned or something. But they were too far away, and Steve couldn’t reach them.  

Everything was too fast, too loud. 

And Tommy kept laughing. 

He didn’t really hate Tommy. But he did at that moment. He fucking hated him. Hated the way he talked, the way he was full of hatred, the way he could ruin everything. And Steve hated himself even more. For being there, for letting it get to that fucking point, for feeling and wanting things. So many things . 

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," Steve growled, but it didn’t sound like him.  

"I know exactly what I’m talking about," Tommy grinned. That fucking grin. 

Steve’s pulse jumped. He couldn’t breathe. Then Andy was stepping forward, trying to grab his arm and that just made it worse. Because Steve didn’t want help. Not from him. Not from anybody. But especially not from him. "Don’t fucking touch me, you queer!" Steve shoved him hard, sending him stumbling backward into Robin, who caught him with a surprised gasp. All the strength he had left was in that one push. 

The word just hung there. Heavy. Like a punch. He didn't mean it—he didn't mean any of it—but the words had left his mouth, and there was no taking them back. So Steve just watched the color draining from Robin's face. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked, her eyes wide. 

But Steve wasn’t thinking anymore. Couldn’t think. He was too far gone, too scared. All he could feel was this burning, this anger that made everything blurry. "You’re all the same," Steve spat, pointing at Eddie. "You think you can just... seduce me and make me... like you?" 

Eddie looked genuinely murderous. "You're the one who kissed me, Harrington."  

"You drugged me," Steve snapped, the words barely making sense even to him. "You had to, because I would never—" 

Eddie hit him. Just like that. Fist, cheek. Hard. He didn’t even have time to react. Like an idiot, he didn’t see it coming. One moment he was spitting bullshit and in the next his head jerked to the side. He almost fell backwards, but Eddie held him by the collar of his shirt, bringing their faces close. Steve could see the muscles of his face trembling.  

"You pathetic piece of shit," Eddie's voice low and furious. "You can’t even admit what you are.” 

"I’m not... like you," he said, his voice cracking. "You and—" 

He didn't get to finish his sentence because Eddie's fist was in his face again.  

He stumbled, tripping over his own feet, and went down hard. The grass cushioned his fall, but his back still hit the ground with a thud. His head snapped back, the impact dizzying. Everything flashed white for a second, and he gasped.  

Eddie didn't give him a chance to recover. He was on top of him in an instant, straddling him, knees digging into Steve's ribs. His whole body was screaming in pain, but he couldn’t move. He was just lying there, too heavy, too slow. Eddie’s fist connected again, another hit that sent stars exploding behind Steve’s eyes. He felt his eyes fill with tears, but it wasn’t from the pain. 

"You're fucking disgusting," Eddie spat, his eyes wild. "You fucking coward."  

"Eddie, stop!" Robin’s voice cut through, distant, like she wasn’t even there. "You’re gonna kill him. 

Eddie's fist hovered in the air for a moment. But then he looked at Robin and something in him seemed to snap. He pushed himself off Steve, his chest heaving. Steve lay there, his cheek pressed into the cold grass. His body hurt, his face was sticky with blood, and everything around him sounded far away.  

Eddie’s voice reached him cold. Final. "We are done." 

And Steve just lay there, broken, while Eddie walked away. 

The party was dead quiet now. Everyone was looking. Judging. Fucking judging . He had to move. Had to get up. He pushed himself up, legs like jelly, stumbling over the grass. He blinked hard, trying to focus. 

He scanned the crowd. He had to find Andy. Fix that. He was drunk, yeah, but he was painfully conscious of how much he’d fucked up. Everything was spiraling, and he needed it to stop. 

But when he finally found Andy, Steve’s stomach dropped. The anger, the betrayal—it was written all over him. And he was crying. He was crying because of Steve. 

“Andy, I’m sorry,” he slurred, reaching out, desperate. 

Andy stepped back, his face twisted. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” he snapped, and Steve froze. 

“Andy... please,” he tried again, but his words were tripping over themselves, his brain not keeping up. 

"Secret’s out, huh, Steve?" He heard Tommy say from behind him. "Boyfriend beat you up in front of everyone, must sting." 

Steve's confusion and fear and desperation—and everything he was feeling—turned into anger. A kind of anger he’d never felt before, deep and wild. His vision zeroed in on Tommy's sneering face, everything else falling away. 

"You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about," Steve snarled, fists clenching so hard they shook.  

He wanted to break something. Wanted to cause pain. 

His heart was racing, blood pounding in his ears. The people around him blurred, didn’t matter. Only Tommy mattered right now. Steve stepped closer, his voice low and shaking. “Fine! Yeah, I’ve been fucking guys. You wanna hear that? You wanna know how much of a fag I am? Fine. Right here. I’m telling you. I’m a fucking queer." 

Tommy’s face changed, the smirk fading, eyes widening before narrowing into pure hate.  

Steve took a step closer. "And you know what? You’re just pissed ‘cause you know I would ever fuck your ugly ass!" 

Tommy’s fist came out of nowhere, connecting hard with his jaw. Steve stumbled back, the world spinning for a second. But that was exactly what he wanted. He launched himself at Tommy, fists flying without thought. They hit the ground, rolling in the grass, bodies colliding. All he could see was Tommy’s face, that stupid fucking face. His fist found Tommy’s nose and there was a satisfying crunch. Blood poured out, but Steve didn’t stop.  

The crowd around them erupted into chaos, some cheering, some screaming for them to stop. But Steve didn’t care. He kept going, punching everything. And then Jeff was there, pulling Steve off Tommy. 

Steve blinked, vision still hazy. His ears rang. His chest ached. He felt like he was on fire and freezing at the same time. He looked up to see Jeff’s confused face. "What the fuck is happening?"  

Steve’s eyes darted around, catching sight of Robin and Andy standing by the crowd, their faces full of disappointment. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely audible. “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

They didn’t move, just stared at Steve. “You don’t get to say sorry after this, Steve,” Robin said, and it killed him. 

Steve could understand it, of course. He could accept it. But it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.   

He pulled off Jeff’s grasp and shoved past the crowd. He had to find Eddie. He had to explain. He had to fix this. His thoughts were all over the place. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out of there. 

He found himself wandering aimlessly through the street lined with big houses, every one of them looking the same under the streetlights. His head was spinning, and he couldn't even remember which way he'd come. He didn’t even realize at first that he was barefoot. It only hit him once he slid into the back of a taxi. 

The ride back was long. Filled with guilt and anger, and what-ifs and never-agains. And Eddie. Eddie. What the hell could he even say to him? Sorry for calling you a slur? Sorry for saying you drugged me? Sorry for ruining everything? Sorry for being a fucking coward? 

By the time the cab pulled up, his head was clearer. He threw some crumpled bills at the driver and stumbled out. 

Eddie was there, sitting on the steps of the dorm, smoking. "Was wondering if you were going to come after me like the fucking hypocrite you are," he said, his tone so calm it was almost scary. Eddie’s eyes narrowed, his face twisting into something darker. "Fuck, you really are a piece of work, Harrington." 

Steve took a step closer, his knees threatening to give up beneath him. "I didn't mean it. Any of it. I was just... I was just scared. Let’s just talk. Please." 

Eddie laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was bitter. “Talk? I don't want to talk to you."  

"Please, just let's go inside," Steve begged, his voice trembling. “Please, let's talk.”

Eddie took a long drag on his cigarette. He was still acting in that uneasily calm way. "If I go back to that room, it's not to talk. It's to beat the crap out of you. Or to fuck you. Whatever it is, you're going to like it anyway, won't you?" 

"That's right. So, punch me or fuck me, do whatever you want as long as you accept my apology." 

Eddie smirked at him, but it was not right . It wasn’t the annoying little smirk Steve loved to hate. It was cold and dangerous.  

He crushed the cigarette under his shoe.  

"Fine. Don’t expect me to be nice." He stood and turned towards the building without waiting or looking back. 

Steve took a deep breath and followed Eddie without a word. And when they reached the door, Steve hesitated for only a second before stepping into the room behind Eddie. He leaned back against the door, eyes fixed on the floor, and let out a resigned sigh, bracing himself for whatever was about to come.  

Chapter Text

Steve didn’t have time to process it.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Eddie was on him in an instant, his hand wrapping around Steve’s throat, pressing him hard against the door. Steve’s hands twitched, instinctively rising to grab Eddie’s wrist—but he couldn’t decide if he was trying to push him away or hold him there.

Eddie leaned in, his breath hot and dangerous against Steve’s lips.

“So, Harrington? You wanna get beat up, or you wanna get fucked?" he asked, his voice low, calm and terrifying.

Steve swallowed hard, his throat constricting against Eddie’s grip. He should be scared. Fuck, he was scared. But beneath it, there was something much darker and much hotter curling inside him—like a spark waiting to catch fire and consume him whole. And Eddie was feeling it too. Steve could tell from the way Eddie’s fingers flexed, from the way his eyes flickered for a split second with something far from cold boredom.

Because that was them—Eddie liked it rough, and Steve liked it degrading. Even in that moment. Even when one was hurt and angry, and the other should just feel sorry.

“You can do whatever you want,” Steve said quietly, barely getting the words out, his voice sounding pathetic even to his own ears.  

Eddie's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening. "This isn’t just training anymore, Harrington. If you don't use that safe signal, I'll keep going even if you fucking die." His thumb dug into the flesh of Steve's throat, the pressure increasing just enough to make Steve's lips feel a little numb, like he wanted Steve to know that he was really capable of it.

A tremor of fear and arousal shot through Steve's body, his cock swelling despite it all. Eddie’s anger shouldn’t be doing this to him, but it was. He could feel it burning under his skin. He knew he should be sorry, actually feel sorry, because he was the one who messed up. But Eddie, with his jaw tight and eyes blazing, was a fucking turn on—and that made him feel like the worst person alive, because what the fuck. 

His pulse quickened, heat pooling low in his stomach, and he really wanted to kick himself for allowing his body to react like this at the worst possible moment. He clenched his fists, trying to focus more on the fact that he’d screwed up and should be punished for it, but all he could think is that he would enjoy the hell out of it. 

He really was the worst.

"Strip," Eddie said, releasing Steve's throat.

With trembling hands, Steve began to strip, eyes locked on Eddie's cold gaze. His shirt was first to go, then he stepped out of his shoes, his socks following. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his fly, and let his pants down to his ankles, leaving him in just his boxers. 

The cotton was tight around his cock, which was now straining against the fabric. Eddie looked down at it for a moment and snorted. He didn’t even have to voice anything for Steve to know what he was thinking. But god, Steve wished he said it out aloud.

The room was too hot, too small, too suffocating—but the pressure in Steve's chest had nothing to do with the lack of air. He had all those conflicting feelings that seemed to always be present when it came down to Eddie. And now the guilt was eating at him too, just to make everything worse. He didn’t know if he wanted to cry or start touching himself. 

He did neither. 

"Everything," Eddie said, his eyes flicking down to Steve's crotch and then back up to his face again when Steve stopped moving.

Steve hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down, letting his cock spring free, embarrassingly hard already.

"Get on your knees," Eddie ordered, then. “And say sorry.”

Steve’s knees hit the floor with a thud, pain shooting up his legs, but that was nothing compared to the heat crawling up his body. Eddie was towering over him, casting this dark shadow that felt too intense and too damn dangerous. Steve’s throat went dry, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with shame he enjoyed and everything to do with how stupidly attractive Eddie looked—angry, commanding, hot . Steve's eyes dropped to the floor, because if he kept looking, if he let himself take in that whole picture, he’d lose whatever little of control he still had. 

“Sorry,” he whispered then, sounding incredibly hollow.

The slap came out of nowhere. Pain erupted in Steve's cheekbone, and his head snapped to the side with the force of it. 

“Eyes on me, Harrington.” Steve looked up. “Now say sorry properly .”

“I’m sorry."

Another slap, this one much harder. Steve stumbled to the side, his forearm hitting the ground just in time to stop his face from colliding against the floor. Before he could even catch his breath, Eddie’s foot came down on the back of his head, pressing him firmly into the floorboards. Steve felt his nose grind against the dusty wood, the weight pinning him there, the humiliation burning through his skin.

“What exactly are you sorry for?” Eddie asked, his foot heavy on Steve's head. “For being an asshole? For hurting people who like you? For saying I drugged you?”

“Yes. To all of that.”

“Say you’re sorry for being an idiot,” Eddie hissed, pressing down harder.

“S-sorry. I'm sorry.” Steve tried to mumble words while fighting to keep his nose from touching the floor. 

"You’re sorry for what?" 

“For being an idiot.”

“Do you know why I hate idiots?” Eddie took his foot off Steve’s head and grabbed him by the hair, pulling back his head as far as he could and looking at him like he was really waiting for an answer. Steve tried to shake his head, but the slight movement only made Eddie yank his hair harder, the sharp sting forcing a wince out of him. Eddie leaned in to whisper into his ear. “It’s because I’m one.”

Then Eddie let go, shoving Steve back. The sudden release made Steve lose his balance and fall to the side again, his scalp throbbing. Eddie took a step back, rubbing a hand through his face in frustration.

“I’m fucking stupid! Just because you’re a good fuck, I thought… Fuck, I really hate you right now.”

Eddie looked at him. His face showed no sign of any feeling other than distaste, but his eyes were not burning cold anymore—they held so many different emotions it was almost like a new slap across Steve’s face. Then Eddie’s fingers grazed through Steve’s hair again, but this time with a strange tenderness.

“But it doesn’t change anything. That’s how fucking stupid I am.”

Steve’s throat was tight, like the words were stuck there. He needed to say something , anything, but his brain really wasn’t helping. “Sorry” wasn’t good enough, but it was the only word he had. So he opened his mouth to say it, but before he could even get that new pathetic excuse for an apology out, Eddie’s hand cracked across his face with another sharp slap. Steve’s head jerked to the side, skin stinging.

“Shut up.”

Eddie went to his bed and sat on it, lighting up a cigarette. He stared at Steve like he didn’t know what to do with him—and for so long that by the time he finally spoke again, he was on his second cigarette and Steve's knees were aching from the hardwood floor.

“Come here and suck my dick."

Steve crawled over to the bed, his knees scraping against the floor, and positioned himself in front of Eddie. With unsteady hands, he slowly opened up Eddie's fly, feeling the heat of his erection through the fabric, and pulled his cock free, heavy and hot in his grip. Eddie reached for Steve’s hair, grabbing a fistful of it to pull Steve forward, and Steve felt the heat of Eddie's body, his pubis against his nose, and the firmness of his cock pressing into his face.

 His mouth opened up, letting his tongue out to lick at the slit before taking as much as he could in one go. Eddie groaned at that, but didn’t let go of Steve—he just kept pulling him further down onto himself until there wasn’t any more space left inside Steve’s mouth. The tip hit the back of his mouth and then pushed past into his throat. Steve moaned around it, the sound muffled.

“You’re such a disgusting piece of trash,” Eddie muttered. "So eager to suck me off even after saying all that crap. Fucking pathetic.”

Eddie's grip tightened, pulling him off with a vicious yank before slamming his face back down, impaling his throat once more. Steve's world narrowed to the sensation of the hot, hard flesh filling his mouth, the bitter taste of pre-cum mixing with his saliva, and the overwhelming scent of sweat and smoke that hung in the air. He choked when Eddie's hips bucked upwards, pushing in deeper, holding him there as if he were nothing but a toy.

Eddie let go of Steve’s hair after a few moments, watching Steve cough and trying to suck in as much oxygen as he could. “Should we test how long you take to pass out?” he asked like it was the most common thing, taking a slow drag from his cigarette before flicking it away with a casual snap of his wrist. 

The cigarette tumbled to the floor and Eddie didn’t even glance at it—just let it burn itself out on the wood, like it didn’t matter at all. Any other day Steve would bitch about it, and they would have a heated discussion about that same problem again , but he couldn’t care less either. At that moment, the only thing he cared about was Eddie. So he nodded, like an addicted being offered his favorite drug.

And Eddie didn’t hold back. He pushed his dick down Steve’s throat, holding his head still with both hands. Steve struggled, his eyes watering and his tongue pressed against the underside of Eddie’s cock as it slid deeper and deeper until Steve thought his throat would rip apart. The thought of it made him moan louder—he really was fucked-up, he knew that already.

Eddie's hand tightened in his hair, holding him in place for what felt like an eternity. Steve's throat was raw, his lungs burning, but he didn't move. He could feel his orgasm building, a tight coil in his belly that increased with the lack of oxygen. It felt like he was drowning, and god he liked it—he liked being used, feeling powerless, being consumed by someone else's anger. It was a twisted kind of high. 

But then, the pressure became unbearable. Even with the pleasure of it all, he could feel the panic rising. And that’s when instinct took over and Steve thrashed beneath the strong grip, hands clawing at Eddie's thighs, his body twisting violently in an attempt to free himself. 

But Eddie didn’t let go. Instead he curved his body and hugged Steve’s head with his arms, holding him still and unable to leave.

‘This isn’t just training anymore.’ ‘I'll keep going even if you fucking die. ’

It seemed Eddie didn’t lie about it.

Black spots danced in front of his eyes—he was going to pass out, he was sure of it. His body was going limp already, and for a whole second he wondered if Eddie would stop with the sign or if he would let Steve pass out and throw him away like discarded trash.

He snapped his fingers anyway. A weak thing, almost no sound—he didn’t even have the strength to raise his arm. But Eddie still heard it. He pulled Steve's head back, his cock slipping from his mouth immediately. Steve fell back, coughing and sputtering, his body shaking.

Eddie watched him for a few moments, his expression unreadable, his cock still standing proud and wet with Steve's saliva. And when Steve thought he could breathe normally again, his lungs still burning but filled with air, Eddie grabbed him by the hair again and yanked him onto the bed, flipping him onto his stomach. The bed dipped when Eddie climbed onto it, straddling Steve's thighs, the chains and studs of his pants scraping against Steve’s skin. His hands gripped Steve’s ass cheeks, and Steve could feel his cock, hard and hot, between them.  

Steve’s whole body was flat against the mattress and it was maddening —all he wanted to do was to beg Eddie to fuck him already. But Eddie just sat there for a few moments, rocking his hips, his cock sliding up and down Steve’s crack. Then, finally, Eddie’s hand let go of him and Steve could hear the sound of a condom packet tearing open.

Eddie didn’t prepare him. Instead, he just spit on him—a hot, wet glob of saliva landing in between Steve's ass cheeks and slipping down the crack. Eddie leaned forward, his weight pressing down on Steve's back, the head of his cock pushing against Steve's tight ring of muscle. Steve's body rebelled, trying to close up, but Eddie didn’t ease in—instead, he pushed harder, his cock breaching Steve’s hole slow and painful. 

"Fuck," Steve grunted, his voice muffled by the pillow.

He had his ass fucked a total of three times now. Every time Eddie prepared him with care, for a long time, using his tongue, fingers and that small plug Steve started to hate—and every time Steve complained. He got it now. He was dry and tight and it hurt so fucking much, like he was being slip in two.

But he liked it a lot.

Eddie grunted against his ear, and Steve knew it was painful for him too, but not enough to stop him—maybe Eddie was punishing them both. He could feel every inch of Eddie's cock slide into him, inch by inch, until he was buried inside completely. His asshole stretched, the friction burning, the lack of enough slickness making every movement feel like a violation.

Eddie didn’t pause, didn’t give him a chance to adjust. In the same agonizingly slow pace, he slid out again and then with one violent thrust, Eddie’s cock slammed back, tearing through his hole without mercy. Steve screamed into the pillow, his eyes watering, and then Eddie's hips started to rock back and forth in a slow, torturous rhythm. The pain was intense, but his body was on fire, the pain mingling with the arousal that had been building inside him since the moment Eddie's hand had wrapped around his throat.

And Steve found himself pushing back, his body seeking more friction, more cock, more pain. Just more. He wasn’t made for slow fucking—for more painful it was, it wasn’t enough.

“Begging for my cock like a whore," Eddie said, his hot breath ghosting over Steve's ear. "Do you like it that much, Harrington?"

Steve couldn't respond, his mouth full of the pillow, his voice choking on a sob. 

“ Say it !”

“Yes!” Steve said against the pillow, holding back a moan when Eddie buried inside him again. “You know I like it.”

“But said I needed to drug you.” Steve felt the wetness of Eddie's breath, the spit that clung to his earlobes, the way the words cut through him much more painful than anything else—the kind of pain he would never enjoy. “Did I ever rape you, Harrington?”

“No! No, I’m sor—”

“Shut up!”

And with that, Eddie picked up the pace. The slow, methodical fucking turned into a brutal pounding, his cock slamming into Steve's ass with enough force to make the bed shake. But Steve didn’t protest. He wanted that. He needed that. His eyes squeezed shut, his fingernails digging into the sheets, his body taut with tension. The pain grew and grew, but so did the heat in his belly, the ache in his balls.

Eddie’s weight lifted off him, and then Eddie was pulling Steve's hips high into the air, fucking him hard, deep, and fast. He was fucking Steve like he was trying to punish him with every thrust, and each one was more violent than the last. Eddie's hand slammed down on Steve's back, pushing him further into the mattress, forcing his back to arch more, and Steve could feel himself getting closer, his orgasm building with every brutal thrust, with the feeling of being completely and utterly owned.

His hand shot down to his cock, his grip tight and desperate. He didn't know if he was allowed to cum, but he was going crazy already. He didn’t think his brain was able to respond to anything that wasn’t the need to get off. 

“Fucking animal,” Eddie grunted, his grip on Steve's hips tightening. “You even really sorry?”

Steve's only response was a strangled gasp as Eddie's cock tore into him again and again. He couldn't form words, couldn't do anything but act on his own instincts. He just needed to cum.

"That's right," Eddie sneered. "You're just a worthless hole for me to fill."

Steve's body responded to that, his cock jerking in his hand. The words were like a drug—poison that Steve would drink even if killed him as long as he could feel the high. He could feel it, the pressure building in his balls, the heat spreading through his body. He was so close, so fucking close.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he choked out.

“Do it. Make a fucking mess for me to clean up. That’s all you’re good for anyway.”

Steve stroked himself faster, trying to match the pace of Eddie's fucking. And then it washed over him, the orgasm ripping through his body strong and sure. He came with a strangled cry, semen spurting onto the bed, his body a trembling mess. He felt used, abused, destroyed.

Eddie kept fucking him, his thrusts becoming more violent and erratic. He fucked Steve harder, faster, the bed shaking under their combined weight. And in one moment, Steve felt a sharp, thin pain inside him, and then Eddie came right after. His hips jerked, his cock pulsing, and Steve could feel his cum spurt deep inside him, filling him up. 

“Fuck,” he heard Eddie say, sliding his cock out of Steve. 

Steve felt the warmth of Eddie's cum leaking out of him, trickling down his thighs. He glanced over his shoulder to see the torn latex hanging off Eddie's dick, and how he just yanked it off and tossed it to the floor—Steve couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at it—then he grabbed a sheet and wiped himself clean, tucking his now-satisfied cock back into his boxers.

"Don't leave," Steve said in a desperate whisper, his fingers wrapping tightly around Eddie's wrist before he could leave the bed. 

The last time Eddie was this angry, he'd stormed out, slamming the door behind him, telling Steve to fuck off like it was nothing. He’d said they wouldn’t do it again—but they still did it. But that time felt different. Steve was sure that if he let go now, Eddie would leave for real. That time, it’d be for good. And he couldn’t let that happen. Not Eddie. Not ever.

So Steve clung a little tighter, feeling his pulse hammering through his fingertips, half-expecting Eddie to rip his hand away or snap at him again. But instead, Eddie looked at him softer than he had all night since the fight. It wasn’t the cold glare from before—it wasn’t the warm expression Steve was already used to either, but he would still take it as improvement. 

"I’m not leaving," he said quietly, taking Steve’s hand off his wrist gently. His touch was careful and tender, completely different to the roughness from earlier.  "I’m just gonna grab something to clean you up."

Steve nodded, his eyes following Eddie with a strong sense of relief. He watched as Eddie disappeared into the tiny half-bath that adjoined their room, the light flickering on and casting a sliver of yellow into the room. The sound of running water echoed through the silence, and Steve shifted on the bed, grimacing. His muscles ached, and he was lying in a cold puddle of his own cum. He tried to find a better position, his body protesting with every movement, and that’s when he noticed some blood. Not just a smear, but dark streaks staining the sheets, like it had dripped.

Steve’s heart skipped a beat, his breath catching as he stared at it, and he looked down at himself, searching for the source. His hands ran over his skin, frantic, feeling for any cut, any wound. His nose had bled earlier, but that wasn’t from his nose for sure. 

His mind raced, flashing to the worst possibility, and his stomach twisted. But then Eddie reappeared, a damp washcloth in hand, and he knelt behind Steve, asking Steve to lift his hips.

“Try to push it out,” Eddie said. It was surprisingly embarrassing, even after everything they did, and it just got worse when he felt Eddie’s fingers inside—but it was okay because Eddie could check his ass better that way, right? And if it was bleeding… what? Should he go to a hospital? People go to hospitals because of anal bleeding? Of course they do , what was he thinking?

Eddie wiped the semen from his thighs and ass slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to cause any more pain. After everything—the anger, the fight, the brutal sex—it was almost impossible to believe Eddie could be this soft or careful. But Steve was still somehow waiting for Eddie to grab him and say they needed to go to the hospital right the fuck now for the most humiliating procedure of Steve’s life.

“I’m clean. I took a test a few weeks ago,” was what Eddie said instead, very quietly from behind him. There was an almost hesitant edge to it, like he wasn’t sure if Steve would believe him. 

Clean. That should’ve meant something more for Steve. It should’ve stirred up a flood of new panic and brought all those warnings back—TV ads, posters in the school hallways, ‘that’s the price they pay for living that disgusting life’ echoing in his mind in a known voice. But Steve wasn’t freaking out about that. 

“It’s okay,” he mumbled back.

And it was. Somehow, even though he knew it probably shouldn’t be. He wasn’t thinking about all the implications of raw sex, not even when it could be life or death. The condom ripped, and it was just a thing that happened, not some catastrophic event like it would’ve been if it were anyone else. 

Because Steve trusted Eddie in this reckless way that he didn’t even understand. Completely. In a way that Steve knew deep down he probably shouldn’t trust anyone, especially not when it came to something like this. But Eddie wasn’t just anyone. At some point, Eddie became special.

So Steve just let Eddie clean him up, not saying anything, just feeling the warmth of Eddie's hands on his skin. 

“Am I bleeding?” he asked when Eddie was done, looking over his shoulder. 

Eddie frowned, checking Steve over again before shaking his head.

“No, you’re not,” he said. And when Steve sat up, wincing with the pain, Eddie followed his gaze to the blood stains. He sighed. “If your ass was bleeding that much I wouldn’t keep going, Harrington.” He touched the stain and raised his fingers for Steve to see. There was no blood on his fingers. “It’s not from now.”

Steve blinked, nodding, the tension easing out of him slowly.

Eddie's eyes dropped to the bloodstain again, his fingers lingering on the sheets, his shoulders sinking. The frustration was clear in the way he sat there, looking worn out, and when he finally looked at Steve again, his expression was sad.

“I know how you see me,” he said, voice quiet. “But I would never seriously hurt you.” 

Steve knew that already. Wasn’t he just thinking about that? About how much Steve trusted him? Eddie wouldn’t ever hurt him, Steve knew. Not in the ways that really mattered, not if it wasn't something Steve wanted . 

“I don’t see you like that!” he protested, a little indignant. “I don’t—”

“Come on, man,” Eddie said, with a sad chuckle. “I heard you on the phone once. You called me a psycho, said your roommate was probably a fucking nutcase.”

Steve froze, heat rising to his face. Okay, he couldn’t deny it. He had said that. Hell, he used to say it almost every time Dustin called, when he first started living with Eddie, back when Eddie seriously scared and annoyed the hell out of him. But that was before .

“Maybe you were right, though. I get angry sometimes. I get violent. And I don’t know how to help it, I just lose it.” His voice cracked a little. “I understand you, Harrington. I get it. You’re scared. You say shit you don’t mean, shit that hurts, because you’re trying to protect yourself.”

“But when I’m angry,” Eddie continued, “I want to hurt too. But I don’t use words when I’m angry” He held up his hand, rough and bruised, a sad smile flickering on his face while he looked at it. “That’s the difference between us. I don’t say things to hurt people. I just hurt them.”

He remembered Eddie laughing that one day, bragging about how he used to beat the shit out of other kids on the playground. “Ruling like a king,” Eddie had said with a grin, like it was a badge of honor. Back then, Steve didn’t think much of it. But now, with Eddie sitting there, looking broken and tired, Steve couldn’t help but wonder if being the kid who fought his way through school wasn’t something Eddie was proud of. 

Steve looked at him, heart heavy, and after a long pause, he muttered, “We’re both fucked-up the same way.”

Eddie stared at him for a moment, then let out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

Steve let out a breath, feeling the tension between them slowly start to ease. He stood up, wincing at the soreness in his muscles, and moved to his own bed. He looked back at Eddie.

“Come lay down,” he called quietly, patting the small space next to him.

Eddie hesitated, but only for a second. With a sigh, he peeled off his shirt, tossing it to the side, and lay down next to Steve, face to face, their knees almost touching, and Steve just watched him for a moment, his breath steadying. 

Steve knew he should say something. Not sorry, no—Eddie didn’t want or need that anymore. He wanted to tell the why . Not as an excuse, but because he wanted to. He wanted to put it all out, turn his feelings into words and let it out of him for the first time. Because he didn’t talk about these things. Not with anyone—not even with himself, really. He’d kept all of it buried for a long, long time, hidden beneath layers of pretending and pushing things down. But Eddie was there, lying next to him, looking at him with those soft eyes, and Steve felt the urge to open up, to say what he never said aloud.

He wanted Eddie to know him, the real him, not only the parts that were messy, but also the broken and scared ones. Steve had spent his whole life being what everyone expected, playing roles, pretending, pretending and fucking pretending . Always pretending and never real. But he never really did it with Eddie because he didn’t need to. 

And Eddie already saw the worst of him, and he still stayed.

“My parents love me,” Steve said quietly. “They really love me. They’re proud of me.”

Eddie’s eyes stayed on him, quiet, listening. Steve shifted, trying to find the right words, feeling them heavy in his mouth. 

“My dad’s an asshole, but he loves me. He used to come to my competitions, you know? And he'd give me anything I wanted. Spoil me rotten, but he was there. He was present.”

Steve’s chest tightened, the feeling creeping up behind his eyes, making them sting. He blinked quickly, but it didn’t help at all. 

“And my mom is the perfect mom. She used to read to me before bed, and sing while she cooked my favorite food.” His voice wavered, and he swallowed hard. “But I don’t think they love me enough to accept that part of me.”

Eddie frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. “Steve—”

“My dad would hate me,” Steve cut him off. “He wouldn’t just hate me. He’d shoot me in the face if he found out. He’d fucking kill me. But… I don’t want to lose them,” he whispered, the words barely making it past his lips.

Eddie sighed, shifting a little on the bed, his expression softening. “If they can’t accept you, then they don’t love you.” He said it just like that. Brutal and final.

Steve’s frustration flared up. He clenched his fists against the sheets, and then shifted, staring at the ceiling. He hated how he couldn’t explain it, how the words didn’t fit together in his head the way they should. 

“It’s not like that. I don’t know how to make you understand.” His voice cracked. “I know they love me. But this ... they won’t love.”

His parents were always absolute in their beliefs. His dad, with his firm handshake and louder than necessary opinions, especially when it came to politics. And his mom, who smiled sweetly at neighbors and told Steve to always be kind, but would sit at the dinner table and agree when his dad ranted about “ those people”. Steve could still hear the hate in his father’s voice, the way he'd say with pride that at least he didn’t have a fag for a son, that if he did, he'd probably take care of it himself. 

It cut deep every time, the casual cruelty that Steve had to sit through, knowing full well what they’d do if they knew the truth. And because of that, Steve had to pretend until he himself believed he was normal .

But Steve still loved them. As much as it hurt, he loved them. They’d been good parents in so many ways, present and proud. But they didn’t know him. They didn’t know this part of him—the part that would shatter their picture of who their son was supposed to be. He knew that if they found out, all that love, all that pride they had in him, would be gone in an instant. But he couldn’t lose them. Not his dad, not his mom. And that’s why Eddie couldn’t understand.

“You could still live a normal life. Marry a woman, have kids…”

Eddie’s words hung in the air, well-meaning but completely off the mark. Steve shook his head, his frustration bubbling up again. He stared at Eddie’s face, seeing this sympathetic expression that just proved he wasn’t understanding. He couldn’t. Because Eddie was gay. There was no middle ground for him. No easy way to keep pretending, to have one foot in and one foot out like Steve did. Eddie didn’t get how it was different. 

“You don’t get it.” He sat up slightly, staring at Eddie. “Yeah, I could marry a woman. Sure, I could have kids. But it doesn’t change anything. I’d still be bisexual. I’d still like men, too.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but Steve didn’t stop. 

“And I don’t want to pretend anymore, okay? I don’t want to spend my whole life pretending. And if I fell in love with a guy, I don’t want to have to choose between him and my parents.”

Eddie got quiet, watching him closely, and Steve’s heart pounded in his chest. He wasn’t good at putting things into words. How the fuck people do that? He laid down again, so close to Eddie he could feel his breath.

“I’m good at pretending, you know?” Steve said, more calm. “Since I was a kid. That’s how you get places. You pretend to be good or bad at things. You pretend to like or dislike people. You pretend to believe things you don’t.”

He sighed and decided to just say it all. It was Eddie, after all.

“But now I don’t know who the real me is anymore. When things get real, I get scared, and I go back to pretending. It’s easier.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with everything, but especially with himself. “I was an asshole in high school because that’s who I needed to be to fit in. And I lost people because of it. Important people.”

‘I never want to see you again.’  

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else, Eddie. But I don’t know how to stop being... this. Like an illusion. I want to stop pretending and be a real person.”

Eddie didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched him, like he was processing everything Steve had just said. Then, slowly, he reached out and placed a hand on Steve’s face. Soft and so very warm.

“You’re already a person, Steve,” he said gently. “You’re real.” 

“I wish I was like you,” Steve said what was always in the back of his mind. 

He’d thought it so many times before, but saying it out loud felt a little stupid and embarrassing. But, yeah, that was the truth. Steve Harrington wanted to be like Eddie Munson. Eddie, who didn’t care what people thought, who lived unapologetically, who was so free in ways Steve couldn’t even imagine.

Steve wanted that. Wanted to be unafraid. Wanted to stop twisting himself into shapes to fit other people’s expectations. But more than anything, he wished he could be free to just be.

“I’ve always liked my hair long,” Eddie said after a moment, his hand leaving Steve’s face to brush through his own curls. “When I was a kid, my mom used to take care of it. Made sure it was always shiny and wavy. I really liked feeling pretty.”

Steve blinked, surprised by the tenderness in Eddie’s words. Eddie, tough, sarcastic and nerdy, speaking softly about wanting to feel pretty. He hadn’t expected that.

“My mom is the prettiest. I wanted to be like her,” Eddie continued, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “One day, I found her lipstick, this bright red one. I put it on, thinking it made me look like her. I was a kid, you know? I didn’t know anything about adults’ bullshit of what was right or wrong, I just liked how I looked.”

Steve could almost picture it—little Eddie with his shiny hair and his mother’s red lipstick, smiling wide, carefree. 

But then Eddie’s expression darkened.

“My father saw me,” Eddie said, voice harder now. “He beat the shit out of me. Didn’t even yell, just took his fists to me and didn’t stop. Then he buzzed all my hair off. After that, I went to live with my uncle for a while.” His voice and eyes softened again. “Wayne. He’s my dad’s brother, but he’s different, you know? He took me in and treated me like I was his own kid.”

Steve’s chest tightened, listening closely.

“We’d go fishing sometimes,” Eddie said and then chuckled, eyes shining. Jesus, I hated staying still for too long, it sucked. But I went with him because I felt safe with him.”

Eddie’s eyes flicked back to Steve’s, and there was something so open, so unguarded, that it made Steve’s heart squeeze.

“When I turned thirteen, Wayne gave me this little box, you know, fancy stuff. Inside was a red lipstick. A really nice one.” Eddie smiled at the memory, that big, pretty smile that lit up his entire face, eyes crinkling and dimples deepening. “I was shocked. Wayne’s this rough-looking guy, you know? Big, bearded, not the kind of man you’d expect to buy you lipstick. But he just said, ‘Thirteen’s when they start getting their own makeup, isn’t it?’ like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

It was weird. A weird little feeling inside Steve that made his eyes sting, and his throat hurt and his lips tremble, and then he was just really crying. Eddie’s hand came to his face again, his thumb trying to dry the corner of Steve’s eyes, but without much success—more tears just came down.

“That's when I started letting my hair grow again. Not really trying to be pretty, but because it was mine .” Eddie’s voice lowered, and he shifted closer to Steve. “I used to be scared too, Steve. Angry. And I pretended a lot too. It took me a long time to stop pretending. But I wouldn’t have made it without people like Wayne.”

Eddie rested his forehead on Steve’s, and Steve closed his eyes, trying his best to stop crying.

“I can be that person for you. I know you’re scared. But there are people who love you, people who’ll support you. Robin. Andy. Even if they’re pissed off right now, they’ll understand. They’ve been through the same thing. And you’ll get there, Steve. I know you will.”

Steve swallowed hard, trying to stop his ridiculous sobbing. Eddie wanted to be his support . Eddie, who was angry and unpredictable and sometimes overwhelming, was also someone who cared about him. Someone who understood him.

Eddie’s words hit him deep, in a place he hadn’t let anyone reach before. He didn’t know how Eddie could make everything sound so simple. There was a part of Steve that envied him for that. Eddie was so good with his words, so good at laying everything out in the open, while Steve could barely string together a coherent thought when it came to talking about his feelings.

“Thank you,” was all he could say.

Eddie gave him a small smile and a kiss on the forehead before shifting on the bed, lying back on the pillow. Steve watched him, feeling a strange sense of peace and joy settle over him.

Eddie had been through hell, and he’d come out stronger. Maybe Steve could get through his own hell too and find happiness on the other side.

Chapter Text

When Steve was a kid, he had a best friend named Chris. He was a small boy, with sandy hair and the greenest eyes Steve had ever seen and never saw the same again. When he smiled, his whole freckled face lit up and dimples appeared on his cheeks. Steve liked to tell jokes and make a fool of himself simply because he wanted to see more and more of that smile every day.  

They spent their afternoons after school wandering in the woods behind Steve's house, pretending that there were monsters there and that they were the heroes who would protect the town. In the summer, they would go swimming in the lake near Chris's house—shipwrecked pirates who have found land, a jungle to be discovered. Summer made Chris's face flush and his freckles more visible. Steve loved the summer. 

Chris used to bike every morning to Steve's house and the two would go to school together, competing to see who would get there first; the long road surrounded by trees becoming an Olympic track or a stone bridge about to collapse or a road where the cavalry proudly passed. Whoever arrived first won the medal, became the hero, was crowned king. By the time Steve was thirteen, he would always win. Not because Chris allowed it or because his bike was worse than Steve's, but because Steve had started to grow and was much stronger. He stopped competing because he couldn't see Chris's smile anymore. 

When they entered high school, Steve joined the basketball team. He had been swimming since he was seven, so he wanted to try something new. Another sport, another option if swimming was not enough to guarantee a place in a university—or so his father said. Chris had never been good at sports, so he just supported Steve, saying that maybe he should become a cheerleader, and immediately quitting the idea when Steve said that was a sport, too. When he decided to join the drama club, Steve thought that really suited him. 

The first time Steve heard jokes about his relationship with Chris was after a practice. Chris was waiting for him in the stands and Steve headed to the locker room to change. One of his colleagues told him to hurry, "your boyfriend is waiting," he had said. Steve just laughed, thinking it was a joke he didn't care much about. But in the days and weeks that followed, he realized that it wasn't a joke, it was bullying.  

The first time Steve saw one of his teammates pushing Chris against a locker, he defended Chris, earning vicious grins in return, and shoves during practice. The second time he saw it, he pretended not to see.  

At school, they rarely met. Steve used to have lunch at the basketball team's table, along with a few other athletes. Chris would sit with his friends from drama, from the band, and some other nerds Steve didn't know. When Steve told him that Chris should find friends that weren’t losers, because he was becoming a target by hanging out with them, Chris didn't speak to him for almost a month. Steve had to go to his house one afternoon to apologize, biking faster to try not to cry. 

But still, Chris stopped going to Steve's house in the mornings. 

The first time anyone asked if Steve and Chris were no longer friends, was during lunch on a winter's day. It was cold and it had snowed that morning. The question came from a blue-eyed, pretty cheerleader who was older than him and seemed extremely interested in talking to him (she would become his first girlfriend in a few weeks, and Steve couldn't help but compare the time he spent with her to the time he used to spend with Chris). His teammates were there, paying attention, so Steve just laughed and said no, as if the question was ridiculous. Steve, who hated winter, hated that one even more. 

The first time he heard someone call Chris a fag was in his sophomore year of high school. It was Halloween and someone had thrown a party. Chris had appeared there with some of his friends. He was wearing a green dress, of all things; pearls, high heels and pink gloves that didn't seem to make any sense except to him. Steve almost dragged him away just so he wouldn't have to deal with the aggression, physical or otherwise, that he would surely suffer. But when that word was thrown in the air, it hit only Steve. 

The first time Steve felt real fear was on the first day of his junior year. Steve was with his group of friends skipping last period, sitting in the bleachers of the track and field. That's when they spotted Chris, leaving the edge of the woods with one of his friends from the band. Steve's friends shouted names, made insinuations and threw stones. That day, Chris answered back, and Steve watched his friends turn on him and on the other boy. Steve could still remember perfectly well the blood staining his freckled face. 

That year, Steve began dating Nancy Wheeler. She was a small, frail-looking girl, but Steve could see fire in her eyes. She was a year younger and she would fall into the nerd category if she wasn't so pretty and didn't know how to defend herself so well. Her friends were weirdos from the band, the journalism and debate club. She reminded him a little of Chris, but Steve was now the king of the school, and his queen could be whoever he wanted—anyone who bothered her would have to deal with him. 

If one were to ask about when Steve's life took its first major turn for the better, he would say it was when he met Nancy. Through her, Steve experienced what he believed to be his first love. Through her, Steve met Dustin and Lucas and Will and Mike and, in the following year, Max. Through her, Steve began to see the world a little better. 

So when he went to Chris's house during Christmas that year, he wasn't expecting to be forgiven, but he wanted to apologize. Sincere apologies that came from the child Steve and not from King Steve. He returned home that night with a black eye and a ‘I never want to see you again’ echoing in his mind. 

The first time Steve realized he should stop wearing the King of Hawkins mask was when he met Billy Hargrove in his senior year. Billy, unarguably, reminded Steve of Chris. Steve kept in his mind, like a confused memory, the first time he saw Billy. Attractive and looking so, so similar to Chris and at the same time so completely different. Steve hated how Billy looked like Chris. Steve hated looking at him. He hated hearing his voice. He hated the smell of cologne mixed with cigarettes. And he hated his attention—something Billy seemed to take pleasure in giving, always sneaking into Steve's space. 

He hated how Billy behaved like Steve. 

Steve saw all his actions in Billy. Their way of behaving and adapting; how he wore masks to manipulate in the same way that Steve did. And Steve saw behind the mask: violent, racist, and downright cruel. Steve wore so many masks, and for so long, that that was the first time he was afraid to look under them and see Billy's reflection staring back at him. 

The King of Hawkins High’s mask began to be slowly destroyed—though he would build a similar one not long after. 

Nancy broke up with him that year, the worst pain of his life. He thought she would be his first and last love. 

The first time Steve realized he had been wrong for so long was that morning—a thought that popped into his mind for no reason right before he woke up, and that immediately disappeared like a dream, letting just the feeling inside his chest. That was the first time he realized that his first love had been Chris, and the worst pain of his life had been refusing to see it.      

-

Steve's eyes snapped open. His body felt like it'd been run over by a truck, every inch of him aching like a bitch. The fight and the rough fuck with Eddie had taken its toll: his throat felt dry and raw, he couldn’t really feel half of his face and his ass was begging for mercy. His head was pounding with a hangover from hell, too, because apparently he was a fucking alcoholic. He groaned and tried to sit up, but his body was definitely not down for it. He gave up with a sigh. 

Eddie lay there at his side, passed out cold, looking peaceful. Steve studied him, his heart doing this funny little dance in his chest. 

Not the dance, of course. Not the butterflies crap. Definitely not that shit.

It was because Eddie was kinda cute. Who cared? It wasn’t his fault Eddie looked pretty, or that the asshole somehow never looked hungover. He had this way of existing that felt unfair, like his whole being said, “deal with it,” and you just had to. Even there, sprawled out like he owned the damn place, Eddie looked good. Nice. His hair was a disaster, and his mouth was slightly open, but still. Nice.

Steve watched Eddie’s face, his eyes eager. He didn’t even bother pretending he didn’t think Eddie was hot anymore—it wasn’t a secret, and it wasn’t worth hiding. But sometimes, when Eddie had his damn mouth shut and was quiet just existing, or when he looked at Steve with his big soft brown eyes, Steve’s brain would set a trap. Something like, hey, wouldn’t it be hilarious if we complicated this a little bit more?  

Because Steve’s brain was an asshole and Steve was, well, a masochist.

But at that moment, it wasn’t really that one trap. 

Steve had always heard he was clingy. Clingy boyfriend, clingy friend, even a clingy son. That he gets attached too quickly, that he wants too much—taking, taking, taking and never really giving much back. Nancy had said it, in nicer words. He’d loved her too fast, too hard, until it became too much. Even with the kids, it was like that—one day they appeared in his life, and the next they were all his little siblings.

Eddie wasn’t an exception. 

In a way. 

If anything, Eddie was just like a stray cat showing up at the door of a loser who would say “I don’t want cats in this house” and then later would adopt ten more cats. It was Steve. 

Steve was the loser.

They’d spent almost a whole school year fighting over every little thing. Eddie’s loud music, “too many jocks inside my fucking room, Harrington” , “stop selling your crap here, asshole” and the unforgivable trait Steve had of being too clean . They would ignore each other if there was nothing to complain about and that was that. 

Then one day, they started talking and Steve felt good despite it all. 

It was ridiculous, though. It was messed up how it started with sex and bad words. Accusations. Humiliation. Name calling. And how it all felt good, liberating, pleasing. Steve was curious, and Eddie let him be. He let him try all the things Steve had never had the chance to before. 

But that was just sex. 

Steve had many fuck buddies, and yes, fine, that was the first time he was trying with a guy, but still. That was just sex. And just sex always bored Steve. If it had only been about sex, Eddie would’ve faded from his life like everyone else eventually did, because they wouldn’t have anything beside it. They’d go back to ignoring each other after a few fucks, fighting over ridiculous things and not caring about each other. But Eddie was still there. He’d stayed, stubborn like a cat looking for a home. 

Or maybe it was Steve, the fucking loser, who had held him too tight and didn’t let him go.

Oh, well.

It’s been years. Steve never really thought he would find a replacement to fill that one hole in his chest. And yes, it wasn’t really the same . It was different. New. And it was weird to think about Eddie as his best friend. But he sure was. He took a place Steve never wanted to fill again. But, well, clingy and all that .

Eddie was the loud, dramatic, pain in the ass constant in his life now. That’s why he’d been so fucking terrified the night before. Losing Eddie would be like… 

It would be too much.

He reached out and brushed back some of Eddie's hair from his forehead. It felt good, that ridiculous dry hair against his fingertips. He didn’t dare to touch more—and hell, he wanted it—because he didn’t want to wake him up and ruin that moment. So he just lay there, watching the quiet rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, feeling like maybe he hadn’t completely fucked everything up. 

Steve’s gaze lingered on Eddie’s face. He couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu that suddenly hit him, like he’d seen that exact scene before—only with a different face in the place of Eddie’s. 

Chris’s face, with those bright green eyes and that crooked smile, filled his mind, and Steve realized he dreamed about him that night like some sort of punishment. It felt weird. Well, it was weird, the way life twisted and turned, bringing him back to the same shit. Was it what people called karma? 

If it was, Steve hated the little bitch.

Honestly, Steve always stopped himself as soon as Chris came to mind. It was his own defense mechanism. He didn’t want to think about him, or remember his voice or his smile. But somehow, in that moment, he couldn't really control his stupid brain. He remembered the day he’d started putting on that King Steve bullshit, all shiny and hollow. The day he’d turned his back on the one person who had ever truly seen him. 

It was a giant joke from the universe that he was now there with Eddie. Another person who saw through his shitty personality, who didn’t care about his crown or his status. Who just liked him—broken, messed up, and all. 

Steve felt like a fucking hypocrite. He’d hurt Eddie, just like he had once hurt Chris. The same fucking way. He'd hurt him badly. But Eddie had taken him back. Eddie had taken his apology in the most Eddie-way possible. It was messed-up, but it worked for them exactly because of that. 

They were friends and they enjoyed real messed-up sex, yes. Two guys, two queers, two disasters, crashing into each other. Jock and freak, freak and freak—it didn’t matter anymore.

Someone in the karma department sure was having a laugh. 

Yeah, well, screw them.

He traced his thumb over Eddie’s cheekbone, his skin ridiculously soft under his touch even with the little stubble. Eddie stirred, a low murmur escaping his lips. Steve’s heart nearly stopped. He felt like a teenager doing something wrong and caught red-handed by a parent. But it was worse than that, because he wasn’t just hiding a pack of smokes or some porn mag—he was hiding what felt like a whole fucking cargo of feelings he didn’t know what to do with. 

Steve shut his eyes tight, hoping like hell that Eddie couldn’t tell he was faking it. He heard the rustling of the sheets after a while, the low groan of the bedframe, and then a gentle touch to his cheek. His breath hitched, and he hoped to God it wasn’t loud enough for Eddie to catch. But apparently it was, because the next thing he felt was Eddie’s finger tapping his nose lightly. 

“Are you seriously pretending to sleep, Harrington?”

Steve tried to slow his breathing, faking sleep. But when Eddie didn’t move, Steve had to open his eyes. And there Eddie was, right there, his face so close Steve could count the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. 

“Thought you were gonna keep that up all morning, ya goof,” Eddie murmured amused.

"Mayb—," Steve broke off, coughing harshly into his fist. He choked, feeling his throat hurt, and forced out the rest, any pretense of coolness gone: "I was."

“You're a crap actor.” 

“Yeah, well, sorry I’m not trying to win an Oscar here, okay?” 

Eddie snorted, but the amusement slowly faded into that soft calm he wore sometimes. His hand reached out again, brushing the hair from Steve’s eyes. His thumb brushed over the bruise on Steve’s cheek, his eyes flickering down to it. 

“You’re all messed-up again,” he murmured. If someone asked Steve to show a perfect example of what regret looked like, that would be it. There was a sort of frustrated sadness in Eddie’s eyes, a look that could tell how many times Eddie blamed himself for something.

Steve didn’t like it. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault after all. 

He smirked, trying to light the mood. “It's kinda hot, Isn't it? I actually look great with my face all fucked-up.” 

Eddie’s gaze snapped up to meet his. He moved his face closer. "If you want bruises, I'll give you bruises," he said, his tone playfully threatening. "But not like this. I don’t want to hurt you like this."

Steve couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. “I was hoping you could hurt me a little bit more, to be honest,” Steve said, half-joking, half-truthly. “Guess I’ll have to find another guy to spank me.”

Eddie snorted. “You know what I mean, asshole,” he said, and before Steve could even say anything back, Eddie playfully slapped his face. Not hard , but still enough to sting a little. 

Steve blinked, surprised, and Eddie moved away again, still smiling. “Are you trying to seduce me, Munson?”

“Is it working?”

Steve decided to play along, shoving Eddie onto his back and straddling him, his body feeling alive with a heat that was definitely not just from the sticky air of the room. He looked down at Eddie—amused, smug, beautiful—and grinned.

"It's definitely working," Steve said, taking Eddie's hand and placing it firmly on his erection, tightening the hold around it. "Looks like you got me all hot and bothered. What are you gonna do about it?"

Eddie laughed. 

"I will be honest here, Harrington. When we first met, I'd never think you were such a horny slut," he said, his grin turning into a smirk. 

Steve rolled his eyes. "Thank you for the compliment, Munson" he shot back, rolling his hips slightly, feeling Eddie's dick through his jeans. The fabric was rough against his skin, the friction delicious. “Now, what are going to do about this ?”

Eddie gripped Steve’s thighs, and in one motion, he had Steve flipped onto his back, the bed groaning in protest. Steve’s eyes went wide, his body tensing as Eddie straddled him, a cocky smile playing on his face. 

“We gotta pack our shit and hit the road, you know?”

Steve's eyebrows shot up, not believing what he just heard. “Seriously?”  he said, deadpan. “There’s a hot dude here, naked and obviously down, and you tell me ‘we gotta pack’ ?”

Eddie's grin just got wider, the fucker. He leaned in closer. "You are always down, babe. I will keep you for later,” he said, teasing. “Gonna make you my road snack."

Steve couldn't help but laugh. 

"Asshole," he murmured and Eddie just chuckled.

Eddie rolled off him, sprawling out while Steve sat up, dragging a hand through his hair. Okay, being a “road snack” wasn’t so bad, but hell if Steve didn’t want to kick Eddie’s ass for saying that. He wandered to the window and shoved it open, feeling a gust of morning air enter the room, cool against his skin.

Eddie groaned from the bed. “Oh, blessed wind!” he exclaimed with exaggerated relief. “A merciful gift from the gods to spare this fool from boiling alive in his mortal shell!”

Steve glanced over his shoulder, biting back a grin. “You know, you could’ve avoided the suffering if you hadn’t decided to put on your jeans again after fucking.”

“I didn’t even take my jeans off yesterday. To be honest, I thought about fucking you and then leaving,” Eddie said, laying on his side and looking at Steve. He sighed dramatically again, as if his words didn’t punch Steve right in the guts. “But an angry man is a doomed man, and now I’m paying for it.”  

Steve snorted, turning back to the window. “Serves you right.”

Right. Steve was fine. Eddie thought about leaving, about not giving him another chance, but he had chosen to stay. 

He stayed, and that’s what mattered.

He turned to look at Eddie again and was smacked in the face with the disgusting pair of boxes he wore the day before that Eddie found on the floor. 

“Cover your modesty, Harrington,” Eddie said, grinning. “I don’t wanna look at your junk all day.”

Steve rolled his eyes, tossing the dirty boxers on his bed. “Fuck you, you love my junk.”

He made his way to his closet—a pair of shorts would be all he needed if they would have to clean their room in that heat. 

The mirror inside caught his reflection, and Steve paused, running his fingers over the bruise darkening his cheek. It was worse than he thought—dark red and purple bruises blooming across his cheekbone, his lip slightly swollen.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “My mom’s gonna have a fit.”

He heard Eddie’s chuckle. “For the record, I didn’t punch you that hard. You bruise like a peach.”

Steve couldn’t help but snort, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a hell of a right hook for a nerd.”

Eddie came up behind him, casually resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, his curls tickling Steve’s neck. “Stay at my place for a few days,” he offered.

Steve shot him a look through the mirror. “This is not disappearing anytime soon, man,” he said, gesturing toward his face. “And you just want me at your house for your own dirty reasons.”

 “ I’m the one with dirty reasons?” Eddie asked, leaning forward, his hand resting on Steve’s waist. “ You were the one throwing yourself at me five seconds ago.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

Steve pushed him back with his elbow, slipping a pair of gym shorts up his legs. If smugness had a sound, Steve was pretty sure he could hear it coming off Eddie. Steve really needed to learn how to play hard to get—that was getting ridiculous.

He turned toward the half-bath without another word. It was small, barely room to turn around, but it was cool, the tiles mercifully cold under his bare feet. He braced his hands on the sink and stared at his reflection. 

The bruises on his face hadn't magically vanished within the last five seconds. He let out a sigh, grabbing his toothbrush and scrubbing just hard enough to feel it. His parents were going to annoy the hell out of him.

He rinsed, splashed cold water on his face, and reached for the towel hanging from the hook. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Steve caught sight of Eddie sitting at his desk, legs kicked out casually, sipping from a half-empty bottle of water. He had pulled his hair back into a bun, loose curls spilling out messily, and Steve couldn’t help but stare. Did he ever mention Eddie was beautiful?

Yeah, whatever.

He sighed, pretending annoyance. “Are you gonna just sit there, or are you actually gonna help clean?” 

 Eddie gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Clean? In this heat? Steve, my body is not built for manual labor under such extreme conditions.”

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. He went to his bed and started to yank the covers off, tossing them into a heap on the floor and going for Eddie’s dirty ones. He could feel Eddie’s eyes on him, and it was weird, but he could feel this change coming from Eddie. He looked at him, and sure enough, he had a serious expression. There was no vestige of the humor from seconds before. 

“I lied,” Eddie said, his tone way quieter. “Packing up wasn’t really what I had in mind.”

Steve blinked, confused. He didn’t respond, letting the silence stretch until Eddie leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You need to talk to Robin and Andy.”

Steve dropped the sheet, his throat dry. “I know,” he said, looking down. “But I don’t want to.”

Eddie didn’t speak for a moment, and Steve wished he would. Wished he would just yell or hit him again or say he was right to feel ashamed—because he was. He was ashamed, and more than that, he was sickened by himself. 

He treated Andy like trash as if Andy hadn’t taken him under his wing the moment Robin introduced them. Like he wasn’t one of the kindest people Steve ever met. And Robin, who never shut up and that somehow had become one of the best parts of Steve’s day, hearing her bitch about classes and politics and how much she wanted a nose piercing, but her mother would kill her if she put one. Robin, who he didn’t say anything bad to—not directly—but God, he knew. He knew if she’d reached for him the night before, he would’ve yanked her hand away, maybe even spit the same poison at her he’d thrown at Andy. And that would’ve been it.

He swallowed thickly. He was sticky with sweat, and his skin itched with it, his whole body feeling wrong, dirty and disgusting. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“I can’t,” he said, voice cracking at the edges. “I can’t face them like this. I wouldn’t even want to see me.”

Eddie leaned back slightly, didn’t say anything at first, just let the quiet settle in around them. Steve hated that too, for a tiny moment. That Eddie was silent. That Eddie wasn’t looking at him like the rotted and unworthy thing that he was.

“You can’t change what you did,” Eddie said eventually. “You can’t force them to accept your apology. But you can show up.” 

Steve didn’t answer. His knees gave out and he sat on the floor beside the bed, back against it, legs folding like a puppet with its strings cut. He ran a hand through his hair, then down over his face, trying to breathe. 

“I can’t go there, I…” he whispered.

Eddie moved, sitting on the edge of the bed now, right above him. 

"You can, Steve," he said again, quieter this time. Less forceful. "They’re your friends."

Steve let out a hollow laugh. His throat was so dry it hurt. "They were."

"No, man. They are ."

He wanted to believe that. Fuck, he wanted that more than anything. But all he could picture was Andy’s face when Steve shoved him— shoved him—after Andy had just tried to hold his arm and calm him down. Steve could still hear his own voice echoing in that horrible moment. The way he spat it, eyes wide and blind and boiling: Don’t fucking touch me, you queer! Like he’d been possessed.

God.

That was the kind of thing you can’t ever walk back. The kind of thing that makes people stop looking at you like you’re human.

Steve’s chest caved around the weight in his lungs. He dragged the dirty sheet to his lap just to have something to hold, even though it was hot as hell in the room, and stared at the scuffed hardwood like it might open up and swallow him.

“I’m scared they hate me,” Steve whispered. It felt like bleeding. “They should hate me."

Eddie’s hand came down slowly, resting on Steve’s hair. Not pushing, not gripping, not pulling, just there. Warm and solid and gentle. “You gotta go talk to them. Even if they don’t want to see you. Even if they slam the door in your face or throw shit at you. You go. You say what you have to say.”

Steve wanted to lie down on the floor and never get up. That felt like the only thing he deserved.

But instead, he nodded, a miserable, jerky movement, and then covered his face again, breath hitching like a kid on the verge of sobs. He felt like trash. Like someone had opened him up and dumped everything shameful inside. 

“I don’t deserve them,” he croaked.

Eddie's hand slid up to the back of Steve’s neck, thumb brushing lightly against the edge of his hairline. It didn’t feel romantic, or sexy, or any of the stuff they’d gotten tangled up in. It felt like comfort, uncomplicated and intimate.

“Maybe you don’t,” Eddie said simply. And that one hit hard. "But you aren’t the one who should decide that."

Steve stayed still, almost quivering with the effort of not curling up into a ball on the floor. 

"Will you go with me?"

Eddie’s hand paused, and Steve heard a sigh

"Yeah. Of course I will."

-

They were standing outside the door. Light wood, ordinary, and old, with chipped paint near the edges and a few stickers someone had tried to peel off without success. It shouldn’t have felt intimidating. It was just a stupid door. But Steve was sweating through his shirt again, hands cold and shaky even though the sun had baked them both on the walk over.

Eddie was next to him, calm in that lazy way of his, but still feeling like a solid and reliable presence. They’d walked there together, after their talk—if that’s what you could call Eddie trying to convince him, and Steve just crawling through his own shame like a goddamn worm.

Steve had gotten dressed with trembling fingers after that, and Eddie didn’t say anything about how long it took. He just waited. Then they’d left, cutting across campus while the sun tried its best to incinerate the earth. Eddie had immediately started bitching about it, hissing at the sky like he was in a fucking classic vampire movie.

“I’m telling you, Harrington, it’s targeting me. I can feel myself starting to sizzle. You smell that? That’s my flesh. That’s me, slowly turning into ash.”

Steve knew Eddie was just trying to distract him. And it was stupid. It was so stupid it actually worked. Steve snorted—almost a laugh—and then bit down hard on his lip because he thought he hadn’t any right to feel good at that moment.

Eddie didn’t say anything about it. Just bumped Steve’s shoulder gently, like yeah, I saw that, and let the silence stretch again.

The dorm wasn’t far. Steve had passed it before, never paid much attention. But now it loomed over him, and the pit in his stomach swelled until he felt like diving into it, to never come back again. 

“You can knock when you’re ready,” Eddie said when they stopped in front of Andy’s door, voice soft, just for him. “Take your time.”

So he did.

People came and went around them. Someone peeked out of a door across the hall, then quickly went back in. Two girls walked past whispering, glancing. Steve’s heart was thundering and his fingers were curled inwards like claws, digging crescent moons into his palms.

It took time. More time than Steve wanted it to. He stood there, palms sweating against his jeans, heart pounding with every passing minute like it was keeping a countdown to something awful.

Eddie never rushed him. At one point, he just reached over and traced his fingers along Steve’s hand, barely brushing, then laced their fingers together like it was something they always did (it wasn’t). Steve gripped his hand and didn’t want to ever let it go.

Then, finally, finally, he raised his knuckles and knocked.

It took a few seconds. Steve could hear faint movement inside, maybe something knocking over. Then the door swung open, and Andy stood there.

He looked like hell. His usually perfect blonde hair stuck up in all directions, flattened on one side and frizzy on the other. His glitter makeup was still smudged around his eyes, half of it crusted in the corners. He wore a robe that was half slipping off one shoulder. His eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, landed on Steve and then flicked to Eddie.

And without a single word, he closed the door.

Just like that.

Steve flinched like he’d been hit. His hand dropped like it had lost the will to stay attached to his body. He was going to vomit. Or cry. Or both. Maybe he’d just sink into the floor and save everyone the trouble.

But Eddie didn’t let go. He knocked again, harder this time. 

“Andy. Come on.”

No response.

Eddie leaned in toward the wood. “You don’t have to talk. Just let us in. Let him say what he has to say.”

Steve was trembling a little, fingers white around Eddie’s. His vision blurred for a second, and it took everything not to slide down and sob on the floor like a fucking disaster. His fingers were ice. His face was hot. He wanted to disappear.

“Andy, seriously,” Eddie said, his voice low and tight now. “He knows he fucked up. He knows, okay? Just don’t make him do this through the door, please.”

More silence.

“Come on, Andy. Don’t be a bitch about it.”

There was a sound behind the door. Footsteps. 

“Say that again and I’ll shove your guitar up your ass.”

Eddie laughed a little. “There you are, babe, I knew you were listening.” He sighed. “Can you please open the door? For me? You trust me, right?”

The door creaked open an inch. Then three. Then wide enough that Andy’s whole tired face came back into view. His gaze slid over Eddie, then settled on Steve again, colder this time. But at least he didn’t close the door again.

“Five minutes.”

“That’s more than enough,” Eddie said with a smile. “Thanks, darling.”

Andy just snorted in annoyance and opened the door completely.

Eddie tugged gently at Steve’s hand, guiding him over the threshold like Steve might change his mind and bolt at any second. Hell, he might have, honestly, if Eddie weren’t holding him like that, so gently and firm, like he was saying “I’m here. I’m not letting go.”  

Robin was there, curled up on the messy bed like a kid, legs crossed, oversized pink shirt swallowing her whole, and this sad little teddy bear hugged tight to her chest. That was Andy’s bed, obviously—fancy sheets, over-the-top decor, all that glittery shit Steve would’ve made fun of in high school but, that now, just looked like home. Or what home might look like if you were brave enough to make one for yourself. 

He looked around just to not look at Robin. There were posters everywhere, walls crammed with men in mesh shirts and Madonna with her tits out and this wrinkled ACT UP thing. Steve's eyes skipped over it too fast—he didn’t know how to look at it.

The other side of the room was empty. Blank walls, blank desk, bare bed. No posters, no clutter, no nothing. Steve had to blink a couple times to even register it was part of the same room, and it took a few moments more to realize Andy didn’t have a roommate. Or maybe he’d scared them all off.

Andy walked without looking at Steve, and just sat down next to Robin, leaning into her like they were one person now, Robin looping her arm through his automatically. They looked so much alike, they could pass as siblings. Steve could even imagine they fake disgusted faces if he told them this. Or not. They would just stare at him with dead eyes like they were doing at that moment.

Eddie sat on the bare bed across from them, and Steve stood in front of him like an idiot, not sure if he was allowed to sit or breathe or exist. But Eddie just tugged his hand again, calm as ever, and Steve stumbled a bit and then sat beside him. He was still holding his hand, and he noticed how both Robin and Andy looked at it, judging him even harder.

"Five minutes are ticking."

That was all it took for Steve’s throat to close. He couldn’t even tell if it was from the panic or the ache that’d already been there, raw and burning from the night before.

Eddie gave Steve’s hand a squeeze and nudged his knee with his own. Just a little. "Go on," he whispered.

Steve swallowed. Or at least he tried to.

"I know nothing I say is going to fix it," he started, voice thin and scratchy like gravel down his throat. "And it’s not even the first time I’ve been a dick, so like… fuck, this probably doesn’t even mean much anymore."

He was already tearing up. Fucking great.

"I just…" His voice cracked. He closed his eyes, breathed out through his nose, but it didn’t help. "I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. "

Robin didn’t move. Andy didn’t blink. Eddie didn’t let go.

"I was scared," Steve forced out. "I’m still scared. I’ve been scared my whole life. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on inside me, and I’ve never had to deal with it. I used to just… ignore it. Pretend I was fine… Pretend I was normal , or… or whatever the fuck I thought would keep people from looking behind the mask. Like if I just pretended it was nothing, I could go back to being the guy who doesn’t... who doesn’t feel all these things. But I can’t do this anymore, and it’s fucking me up ."

The tears were coming faster now. It hurt to talk. Not just emotionally, but also physically. Like something was squeezing his heart, punching his stomach and stealing the air from his lungs. 

"But then I met…" His voice broke again. "Then I didn’t want to ignore it anymore. I don’t wanna hide because of you … I want to be like you. But I’m not. I’m just…"

He choked on the next word. Didn’t even know what he was going to say, honestly. He was just what? A coward? An asshole? A piece of trash? They all knew that already. 

"When I get scared, I… I do a lot of stupid things," he gasped. "I hurt people I love. And it’s not fair to you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry… Please… Please, forgive me… Please…"

He tried to keep going, tried to speak through the pain, but it felt like his whole chest was being opened. Like if he opened his mouth again he’d just start screaming. Or sobbing harder than he already was. His shoulders were shaking now, his vision all messed up, nose running, face hot and disgusting.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

Eddie squeezed his hand again and leaned forward, looking right at Andy and Robin.

"You all know exactly what he’s going through," he said. "Don’t pretend you don’t."

Andy blinked like he’d been slapped. Robin’s brows pulled together, jaw tight.

"You left home at fourteen, didn’t you?" Eddie asked Andy. "Ran away ‘cause your dad didn’t want a fag for a son. And Robin," his eyes flicked over, softer now, "your mom said she’d send you to some fucking camp if you were really a dyke, didn’t she?"

Robin looked down. The bear in her arms got squeezed tighter.

"My father almost killed me. You guys know that."

Steve knew what Eddie was doing by saying that. But all it did was crack something open so violently inside Steve that he couldn’t even hold it back. It made him cry harder than before. It came out all shaking shoulders and choking breaths, hot tears leaking down his swollen face, stinging the scrapes. It was like something was rotting in his chest and finally started spilling out.

Because fuck , what the hell was he even doing here?

Every single person in that room had it worse. All of them. And they’d all turned out alright. Whole in ways Steve didn’t even know how to define. And he , what had he even suffered through, honestly? A little suburban suffocation? A few years of pretending to be someone while hurting the people he loved the most? He was just a broken, dramatic, self-pitying fucking mess who kept hurting people because he didn’t know how to be himself.

Eddie hadn’t let go of his hand once. Still holding it, palm sweaty against Steve’s, fingers wound together like they were meant to be there. Steve reached his other hand, clumsily fumbling for Eddie’s arm, and leaned into him. Let himself collapse right into Eddie’s shoulder, just pressed there like he could maybe crawl into Eddie’s skin and disappear from how goddamn small and guilty he felt.

"He’s going through his own problems, but he’s trying," Eddie said, quieter now. "That means something."

Andy’s eyes were leaking now too, Steve could see, quiet tears sliding down his cheeks like he hated them. He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, looking angry about it. Robin didn’t even try to hide it. Her face was blotched and wet, eyes wet and wide, locked on Steve like she was seeing something new and fragile.

Steve finally pulled in a breath, shaky and fucked-up and messy, but at least he wasn’t chocking on air anymore. He turned his face toward them even though it felt like every part of him was burning.

"I-I want to… do better," he said, voice cracked and shaking and wrecked. "I want to be better like all of you. You’re all so… so fucking brave and I want to be like that too."

“Steve…” Robin let out this little sound, like a soft gasp that might’ve been a sob. Steve hated himself for making her cry. 

Andy didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared, still crying but quieter now, more in control than Steve could be. Then he blinked the tears off his eyes, and said, "You made everyone think Eddie raped you."

Steve’s whole body went cold.

"I—"

"That’s between us," Eddie cut in fast. 

Steve looked at him, panicked. His voice wasn’t loud, but it had that one feeling he got from Eddie’s voice sometimes. A quiet authority that was final and dangerous, that would make Steve’s heart skip a beat and his skin crawl. Right now, it made Steve’s stomach knot because, fuck , Eddie looked scary in that second. His eyes had gone dark, really dark, no softness anywhere. His whole body was tense, jaw locked, something mean and electric simmering just beneath his skin. It was the same way he talked and looked at Steve the night before, when his own mask slipped.

Because yeah, Steve knew now that Eddie wore one too. But while Steve’s mask was there to protect only himself, Eddie wore one to not hurt others.

So when Eddie snapped that "That’s between us" Steve felt it in his spine. The danger. That reminder that Eddie Munson could be terrifying.

But then, like flicking off a switch, he blinked and softened. 

"I’m still pissed about that shit, don’t get me wrong," he said, shifting his gaze to Andy, then Robin. "But we talked, me and him, and we’re good now. So drop it."

His grip on Steve’s hand didn’t loosen, and Steve realized, distantly, that he was squeezing back so hard his knuckles ached.

Andy wiped his eyes again, rougher this time, and muttered, "You always had a butter heart."

Eddie smiled, crooked and tired and kind of sad. "Yeah. I’m not the only one."

Andy sniffed and rolled his eyes, the sound wet and annoyed like he wasn’t about to start crying again, even though his lashes were still damp. He turned back to Steve. Less angry now, but still a little hurt. 

"We thought you were just an asshole.”

Robin picked it up without pause, looking a little ashamed. “We thought you were just a straight guy fucking around. Curious or whatever. Playing with Eddie."

Steve almost wanted to say that, yes, he was curious. And that, yes, he was just fucking around with Eddie, but both were playing with each other bodies. There were no feelings in the mix, God forbid.

"Robin told me you tried to kiss her last night," Andy said, and Steve’s head snapped to Robin once more. 

"I’m sorry," he said, his throat still so raw it came out all broken. His face burned worse than his eyes this time.

But before she could even say anything, Eddie made a ridiculous noise like he’d just been shot, both hands flying to his chest—including the one still wrapped tight in Steve’s. He tugged him a little closer, all drama.

"You tried to kiss Robin?! Jesus H. Christ, I leave you alone for five minutes and you're out there slutting it up and trying to make out with your lesbian friend?"

Steve rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. Yeah, okay, he was grateful for it. For Eddie's determination to crack jokes even in the worst moments, to pull everyone back from the edge.

Robin snorted. 

"You are both so ridiculous." She looked between them. “Wait. Are you guys, like, dating or something?”

Steve flinched, instinctively trying to pull his hand away. Eddie didn’t let go. He just tightened his grip, thumb brushing Steve’s knuckles once, soft. 

Still, they both exploded in denial at the same time.

“What? No!”

“God, no, ”

“Jesus, look at him.”

“Like I’d date a jock.”

“Like I’d date a freak.”

Eddie reached out with his free hand and slapped Steve’s shoulder

"Watch it, Harrington! You’re already on thin fuckin’ ice."

Robin and Andy were both staring at them like they were watching a goddamn circus. Sure, there was an annoying knowing smirk on Robin’s lips, but isn’t like Steve was in the position to tell her to fuck off.

He just blinked at them, still feeling like he was walking through a dream with a happy ending he didn’t quite believe in yet. He licked his lips and asked, quietly, “So... are you guys gonna forgive me?”

Robin didn’t answer. Neither did Andy.

They just looked at each other. 

It was a whole-ass novel between them in five seconds flat, like they were syncing up on whatever weird ass brainwave frequency they shared. 

Honestly, it made him a little jealous. It had been years since he’d had a best friend he could communicate like that with—someone who could just get him with a glance. Sure, Eddie pretty much had that spot now, and somehow had this freakish ability to tune into his thoughts exactly when Steve needed. But still. He wished they’d let him in on it one day. Let him be part of that secret language.

Then they glanced back at him, taking in the whole disaster that was Steve Harrington that morning: swollen lips, dark bruises blooming over his throat and jaw, eyes still wet and red and too big for his own face.

"Well, at least Eddie made a fucking mess of you."

Eddie smirked. “Twice.”

Robin groaned immediately. “Oh my god, I didn’t want to hear that!”

“You’re disgusting,” Andy agreed, rolling his eyes. 

Steve’s face was fucking burning.

Robin sighed, like she was so fucking tired of all of them. “Yes,” she said. “We forgive you.”

Andy huffed. “Yeah. Sure. You’re forgiven. But,” he added, holding up a finger, “we’re still allowed to be mad for a while.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘a while.’”

“Five minutes.”

Eddie snorted.

“Ten tops,” Andy corrected. “Then we’re cool.”

Robin scooted off Andy’s bed and onto the one Steve and Eddie were sitting on. She slid in next to him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

“No ten minutes?” he asked, surprised.

“Shut up, dingus,” she whispered in his ear with a soft laugh.

Behind her, he heard Andy mutter a very unconvincing “Fine,” and two seconds later the full weight of him landed on them. It was like being tackled by a glittery, pissed off linebacker, all big and dramatic. Steve let out a loud oof as Andy flopped over both him and Robin, squishing them back onto the bed.

“You better promise never to be an asshole again,” Andy said, lying halfway across Steve’s chest.

Steve wheezed. “Jesus, I promise.”

Eddie made a dramatic groaning sound like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, then flopped down on the bed too, stretching himself out along Steve’s side, wrapping himself into the mess of limbs.

Steve didn’t know where Robin’s arm ended and Andy’s leg began and Eddie’s hair was in his mouth probably, but he didn’t care. It was messy and stupid and suffocating and perfect.

Eddie never let go of his hand.

Not for a single second.