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"... he picks you up by your breastplate straps and pushes you against the wall. He screams in your face; bits of spittle hit your chin."
Eddie grins, all his teeth on display, as he describes the scene, but he's the only one. Everyone else is fidgeting in their seats or grimly contemplating their next actions.
Tension hangs thick in the room. They're nearing the end of the session and were so close to exiting the catacombs when they ran into another enemy encounter: ghouls, four of them. Their party of nine will probably make it out mostly unscathed, but it's still an obstacle between them and aboveground.
And worst of all? One of the ghouls just grabbed their least experienced member.
Steve stares at the miniatures representing him and the ghoul, listening to Eddie with a furrow between his eyes. For someone who needed months of aggravating pleading to even sit down at the table, he's been really serious about playing. No one would fault him for showing up merely to be a nuisance in the quest of teaching them to accept 'no' as an answer (well, actually, they would fault him, but they'd also, like, understand why he'd do it). But he hasn't done that! He's put in the effort to be a model player and has barely partaken in any shitheaded shenanigans.
Which is why it's a bit of a surprise when, once Eddie finishes, Steve looks him straight in the eye and asks:
"Can I flirt with him?"
Splutters and groans erupt from around the table. Eddie himself barks out a shocked laugh. Steve simply raises an eyebrow in question, coolness personified.
Still snickering, Eddie shakes his head. "No, man. You can't do that."
"Why not? I'll use my charms and convince him to let us pass."
"Ghouls are immune to charm spells-"
"Hey, it's not a spell! S'all natural!"
"-and why would you want to flirt with it?"
Propping his elbow on the tabletop, Steve rests his chin on the palm of his hand and smiles, almost coquettishly.
"Maybe being pushed into a wall by a strong man turns me on?"
More groans, louder and more dramatic. Heads tossing and eyes rolling. Which might be why none of them notice that their fearless dungeon master has turned the deepest shade of crimson.
No one except Steve, who's yet to break eye contact with him.
Eddie sighs, burying his face in his hands out of frustration (and only out of frustration). He says, voice muffled, "You still can't do that. There's no reason for him to be affected – his goal is to eat you. Persuading him to do anything is a waste of time."
Steve hums. "So, he won't be affected?"
"Exactly," Eddie says after a moment, peeking through his fingers. "He won't."
"Hm. Guess I'll try to push him off me, then."
Nodding, Eddie removes his hands. He's still slightly pink, but that could just as well be due to the basement's stuffy atmosphere.
"Do an athletics check."
And if he's casting semi-distracted glances toward Steve for the remainder of the session, his players are too absorbed by the game to notice.
(It's not until the next morning that Dustin jerks away from his Lucky Charms to exclaim "That's what that sonuvabitch meant!")
(Claudia immediately scolds him for swearing at the breakfast table.)