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The whole vampire thing has thrown them for a loop, but no one is more confused than Eddie. With Vecna dead and the gates closed, he should be more focused on figuring out what the fuck is wrong with him, but his stupid vampire brain can only seem to think about Steve motherfucking Harrington.
Which is fine, because Steve-from-high-school is a completely different person from Steve now. He’s kind, compassionate, dumb pretty (those starsplotch moles and faint freckles are going to kill Eddie again). He’s impulsive and brash and really loves his friends, which apparently includes Eddie. If you had told him a year ago that he’d be watching Fast Times with Steve Harrington in the Wheeler’s basement, he’d probably have laughed. But now Eddie looks over and it just feels right.
Steve’s prettiness isn’t new, but Eddie’s odd fixation on the smooth skin of his neck is. And it would be way less awkward, somehow, if Eddie’s stomach swooped every time he saw Nancy or Robin’s neck, but it’s only Steve.
Being a vampire isn’t too bad. He’s not overcome with bloodlust or anything, probably because they’ve been feeding him pig’s blood from an increasingly worried butcher. But Eddie’s gums ache right to his skull when Steve laughs and tips his head back, neck tan and unmarked save for the smattering of moles playing Connect-4 up to his jaw. He knows it’s not just his hopeless crush speaking when his mouth goes dry from it.
Steve giggles, warm shoulder digging against Eddie’s. He isn’t sure how Steve can stand knowing that he’s sitting next to a corpse, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Beside him, Steve is oven-warmed and smells so, so good; when Eddie focuses he can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His hand rests over Eddie’s knee, his thumb drawing stars over the midnight denim. If Eddie wasn't so hyper-focused on the touch he might’ve relaxed into it.
“There she is!” he laughs, “Phoebe Cates!”
Onscreen, Phoebe Cates unclips the front of her swimsuit, dark hair running over her pale skin, and Steve and Robin shriek like banshees. Robin kicks Steve in the knee, cackling.
“Remember when—” she starts and then has to take a deep, calming breath before she can go on, “when Dustin told us that Suzie was hotter than Phoebe—”
Steve collapses into giggles, throwing his whole body over Eddie. The angle puts his neck right at Eddie’s chest and he hysterically notes that Steve has another mole at the top of his spine.
“Please!” he howls. “Have mercy on him, Suzie is cute as a button—”
Eddie’s fingers clench over his thighs and he heaves Steve up, catching the mystified look in his round, glassy eyes. “Sorry,” says Eddie.
“No, I’m sorry! Shit.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face and when he pulls it off he’s grinning sheepishly. “Guess I got carried away.”
Eddie opens his mouth to say something no doubt incriminating (Sorry, but I’m seriously gonna bite you if you throw yourself on me or I’ve been crushing on you since our junior year) when Nancy returns with popcorn.
She sets the bowl in front of the television, eyes dancing across Phoebe Cates in various stages of undress, and says, “Horndogs.”
This only serves to make Steve and Robin laugh louder. Steve snorts, perfect lashes fluttering as he shakes from his giggles. It makes Eddie want to grab him and shake him, screaming “Do you even understand how gorgeous you are!”
Steve Harrington had been all that back in high school. He was big and soft-hearted (no matter how jocky he tried to seem, Eddie could always see that), and, ahem, not to speak too openly about Steve’s past conquests, but from his reviews it was safe to say that he was a giver. Eddie, being unfortunately attracted to anything dumb and pretty, had fallen hard and fast for him when Steve had mentioned, during a particularly nasty swirlie session, that maybe they should leave Eddie alone.
Eddie had never taken his crush seriously until Steve was volunteering to bring him takeout after the whole Chrissy mess. He’d come into the house, two white bags of Chinese food, and said, awkwardly and utterly heart-squeezing-ly, “Dustin says this is your favorite.”
It had been downhill ever since then.
The movie ends and Robin crawls forward to pop the tape out. Steve groans, swiping the drool from the corner of his mouth and stretching. If Eddie’s heart could beat it’d be hurtling towards cardiac arrest.
“Hey,” he whispers, tapping Eddie on his shoulder.
“Hey,” he says back.
“You okay?” Steve gives him a long, searching look and cracks a grin. “Phoebe Cates isn’t your type, huh.”
“Unfortunately not.”
Steve laughs. “Sorry. But seriously, are you alright? It’s sort of weird that you’re not able to eat popcorn,” he sighs. “Otherwise we’d have to go to the store to buy some more.”
Eddie pokes him on his cheek and frowns as Steve’s heartbeat quickens. “It’s cool. Robin’s gonna get me some blood tomorrow.”
“Sure am!” she says from where her and Nancy have started to retreat up the stairs. “Gonna go grab beers from the store, be right back!”
Steve watches them go, mouth pursed. He turns his big, shiny eyes onto Eddie and asks, “Have you ever considered drinking human blood?” At his blank look, Steve blushes and continues, “I mean, the butcher – John, you know him – he’s started to get suspicious. Sure we can drive twenty minutes to another shop but it would be more convenient if… if you might be able to drink from humans.”
Steve’s cheeks have gone a gut-wrenching shade of red, and Eddie can’t stop looking at him, waiting for him to burst out laughing and tell him he’s joking. When that doesn’t happen, he says, “You’re serious?”
“Why would I be kidding?”
“I could kill someone if it goes wrong!” he whisper-shouts.
“You wouldn’t. I trust you,” Steve says firmly. He’s wearing that determined look on his face, the one where his mouth flattens out and his brows pinch together.
“Who would I even drink from?” It’s a dangerous question. He hopes Steve says someone random, maybe one of those dumb jocks from high school or another asshole. The thing is, Eddie doesn’t think he’ll lose control. He’s worried about being near Steve, seeing the look on his face as he leans in and getting caught up in his reactions.
“Me,” says Steve.
Eddie starts to stumble to his feet but Steve grabs him by the wrist, tugging him back down. He stares at the difference between their two complexions, his alabaster white and Steve’s sunkissed gold. “No way,” he hisses, trying to pull his hand away, “no fucking way, dude.”
“Yes fucking way,” says Steve. “It’ll be ok. I promise.”
He laughs, bordering on hysterical. “There’s no way you would know that.”
“Eddie,” Steve whispers, reaching forward to brush his other hand across his cheek. Eddie shivers. “Whatever happens, I won’t die.” He takes his hand and forms a fist, knocking gently on his head and making a tonk sound with his tongue. “I’m built like a brick wall,” he says, too proudly.
Eddie snorts, grabbing his hand and dragging it to rest next to their hands in Steve’s lap. “Yeah, maybe your brain is,” he teases. Steve huffs.
“I’m serious. It’ll be ok. Think about it: Nancy and Robin will be back in ten minutes, the phone is right on the wall, if this doesn’t work out we’ve got two backup plans.”
He hates to admit it, but Steve is starting to wear him down. It’s that unholy combination of that sugar-spun tone promising his safety and his pretty, dumb face. He has no consideration for his own safety, and it drives Eddie up the fucking wall.
But Steve’s also right. John is getting suspicious and Eddie already balks at the idea of Robin and Steve driving five minutes to the butcher's to ask for pig blood every week. A deeper, darker part of himself wants to agree just so he can get his mouth on Steve’s neck, marking it so everyone knows he’s taken.
“Alright,” says Eddie, “whatever. Let’s do it.” It’s worth it to see Steve’s eyes sparkle like stardust.
Steve scootches forward, their knees bumping as he gets close enough for Eddie to reach. He can smell the pretentious aftershave Steve uses and the faint floral scent of his hairspray, which Eddie knows is from a women’s brand after seeing it in his room once. It’s cute how vehemently Steve denies how vain he is.
“It’ll hurt,” he warns.
“Probably,” Steve says with a shrug. He grins, teeth flashing; Eddie runs his tongue over his own sharp canines, feeling their deadly points.
Steve tips his head to the side, his freckles showing under the warm lighting. This is what Eddie means when he says dumb. Steve should be smarter than to offer himself up to a vampire like dessert, but his brain doesn’t seem to have processed the fact that Eddie’s teeth are sharp enough to tear through his throat. Chocolate-brown eyes look up at him and Eddie knows he’s screwed.
It doesn’t help that he smells so good (a bakery on Monday morning, hot coffee after a snowstorm, cracking open a new case of cigs). Eddie knows it’s probably his instincts reading into it but it’s making him dizzy.
“Last chance,” he croaks.
Steve pinches Eddie’s side.
“Ouch— okay! Okay, I’m,” and then he cuts himself off, placing a hand on Steve’s far cheek and brushing his mouth over his neck. Steve hiccups. Eddie swallows a rush of saliva and opens his mouth to scrape his teeth over the thin skin, wondering if he’ll be able to taste his freckles.
Then he sinks them in.
Steve gasps, hands spasming and Eddie pushes through the sudden, burning relief to start to pull away, but Steve grabs the back of his head, tangling his fingers in his hair and wrenching him closer. He tastes better than anything. Steve is whimpering, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. Eddie wonders if it hurts. His blood is warm and candy-sweet, driving him to drink more and more.
“Eddie,” Steve mumbles, “Eds, Eddie, please—”
He pulls away. Steve’s eyes are closed, mouth slack and inviting, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s leaning in and kissing him. Steve responds before he can think better of it, tugging at the nape of Eddie’s neck and moaning downright obscenely into his mouth.
“Sorry,” Eddie gasps, “sorry.”
Steve yanks himself back, panting. His eyes are glassy and his pupils are so big that his irises are black. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and Eddie copies him, both their hands coming away bloody. “Sorry?”
“I didn’t— I didn’t mean to kiss you.”
“Oh.” Steve looks away.
And then it starts to make sense; the willingness to give his life to Eddie, how he’s always plastered to his side, the way he blushes when the kids call him “mom” and Eddie “dad”. For some reason he’d never stopped to consider how Steve might react if he was crushing on someone. Watching from faraway, his relationship with Nancy had seemed concrete and Steve had seemed confident. But maybe when the two of them were alone Steve turned into this: a blushing, stuttering mess who couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Stevie,” he croons. “I said I didn’t mean to, not that I didn’t want to.”
Steve glares at him. Eddie is glad that they’re adults and don’t need to spell it out for each other. He reaches forward and brushes the mark on Steve’s neck. When it scabs over it’ll look like another set of moles.
“I think we skipped a couple steps,” he teases. “Isn’t neck kissing second base?”
Steve blushes, glaring even harder. “Neck kissing isn’t even a base,” he bemoans, “you’re so full of shit.”
Eddie grins. “For what it’s worth, I’d like to reach all the bases with you.”
“Oh yeah? What do Eddie Munson’s bases stand for?” Steve huffs.
“Well,” says Eddie. He holds up one finger; “First base is hand holding, second base is kissing and neck kissing, third base is having sex, fourth is marriage.” He flutters his lashes obnoxiously and laughs at the poisonous sneer Steve sends him.
“Okay, well, you’re wrong. First is kissing, second is over-clothes touching, third is—” he freezes, face going red. “…Did you say marriage?”
Eddie leans in and kisses that stupid, open-mouthed look off his pretty face.