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There’s a very specific reaction that Eddie is used to getting when he tells people the date of his birthday: a brief moment of surprise, followed by a nod of understanding, followed by, Ohhhh, that makes sense!
He’s not sure if he became the person he is because some powerful, mystical forces were at play one gloomy evening in 1966, when he came into the world kicking and screaming, or if he started playing it up as a kid when the other children started making shit up about him, leaning into it instead of letting it hurt him, and he’s just been playing it up for so long that it’s become natural to him.
Either way, the fact that he was born on Halloween has always been part of his whole schtick.
It might not have been the wisest thing for him to play up his love for all things ooky-spooky growing up in the Bible Belt. Luckily, time has cauterized the hurt of his childhood, so he can joke about it now. Lean into it. And the fact that his whole town thought he was a virgin-sacrificing satanist and as good as ran him out of town has been folded into his personality. Just adds to his weird and whimsical persona.
And it was for the best, honestly. He doesn’t stand out in the city like he did in his hometown, fitting right in among the peculiar public. Able to find people who like him for who he is, not because they want to earn brownie points with Pastor Carver by saving his soul.
While all he had was Jeff when he was 16, at 26 (27 today!) his life is now filled with people who love him, schtick included. A social circle big enough that smalltown parishioners would have accused him of hexxing them, probably. He no longer has to beg for mere fractions of friendship and instead now has friends who refer to October as ‘Munson’s Month.’ Friends who spend all year trying to get him to reveal what his costume is going to be. Friends who, instead of having normal parties every year, instead throw Annual Halloween Birthday Bashes.
Argyle’s hosting this year because, despite the fact that it’s taking place in Jonathan, Nancy, and his new place and they’re technically all hosting, Eddie knows that Jon and Nancy were happy to let him take the reins.
Argyle, as per usual, has outdone himself. The place is packed, the mood music (he supplied) is sufficiently spooky, and the combination of candles and fake cobwebs is probably a fire hazard. But what really is the cherry on top is that he thought to warn their neighbors before hand, apologizing for any noise, and also extending an invitation to anyone who was interested. Ensuring that there won’t be any angry neighbors banging on their ceilings or calling the pigs to complain. Plus, there’s the chance that some of them might decide to join—Eddie’s always been a firm believer in ‘more the merrier’.
He’s been scanning the fields of familiar faces, keeping an eye out for any strangers—friends he hasn’t met yet, as his momma used to say—always eager to pull more people into his pack. He hasn’t spotted any just yet, but that's fine. He’s already surrounded by so many people that it makes his head spin. People who love him.
He fights his way through the crowd to get to the kitchen, cheeks and chest warm from all the people who turn around to say Happy Birthday as he passes. Also from the alcohol, but mostly from the love.
He gets pulled into conversation with Kali right outside the kitchen, not paying attention to the people that come and go through the front door to the right of him. He is sufficiently distracted so that when he finally does enter the kitchen, he finally sees a FHHMY (friend he hasn’t met yet) who managed to sneek past him.
She’s wearing a green flight suit with no other clue to what she’s supposed to be, staring down at a bowl of punch with trepidation.
The punch bowls were Jonathan’s creation—one on the balcony, one in the lounge, and one in the kitchen. The one that his FHHMY is peering into is the red one, filled with floating eyeballs and gloopy jello that looks like viscera. Only marginally less creepy than the purple one out on the balcony that has plastic bugs and a mysterious black goop.
“Hey!” He has to raise his voice a bit to get her attention, guests now sufficiently plyed with punch that they’re getting noisy.
Her head snaps up, her eyes widening at the sight of him.
“Who are you supposed to be?” She says, then seems to laugh at herself. Shaking her head. “Sorry, that sounded rude.” Eddie opens his mouth to reply, but she doesn’t give him the chance. She tilts her head and says, “You’re the birthday boy, right?
“How did you guess?” He picks up a plastic cup—it’s purple and covered in stars and bats, perfect for the birthday party of any child under 10 or adult turning 27.
“Just a guess, since you’re the only person I’ve seen wearing a birthday crown.”
Eddie’s free hand shoots up to his forehead, so used to the squeeze around the top of his head that he’d managed to forget about it.
“It’s a circlet,” he corrects, picking up the plastic ladle. “I’m dressed as Elrond... from Lord of the Rings,” he tacks on when she doesn’t say anything, staring into the punch again.
She pulls a face when Eddie fills his own cup, making sure to get an eyeball before filling one for her, sans eyeball and viscera.
“So, should I call you Elrond?”
Eddie snorts. “I mean, if you want. But most people call me Eddie.”
“Most people?”
Eddie takes a slow sip of his drink. Her eyebrows pinch together as she mouths the word gross to herself. “Some people call me different things.”
She tilts her head, looks ready to ask him to elaborate, then seems to think better of it. Instead, says. “I’m Robin. But, uh, you can call me Ripley if you want?” She pulls a face at her own words, then continues. “I, uh—I live next door. I was invited to gatecrash.”
“Is it still gatecrashing if you’re invited?”
She picks up her own cup, sloshing the drink around and eyeing it suspiciously. “It’s more fun that way, I think.”
“Like how it feels better to say you’re stealing a cigarette than to be given one?”
Her frown returns when she looks up at him. “I don’t smoke.”
“I wasn’t offering.”
Robin stares at him blankly. Eddie rocks on his heels. Robin’s eyes narrow, like she’s trying to figure out if he’s hitting on her or not. Eddie holds her gaze and tries to appear as non-threatening as possible.
It must work because then Robin has a small sip. Apparently deciding that it’s not going to harm her, she holds her cup out to him.
“Cheers,” she says, waiting for Eddie to tap the lip of his to hers. “Anyway, I might not be gatecrashing, but I invited my friend too. So he will be.”
“Cool,” Eddie replies, at a loss for what else to say.
She raises her cup again, then pushes away from the counter. She moves past him with just a mumbled happy birthday before she leaves him alone.
Eddie laughs to himself, then downs his cup. Refills it instantly and leaves the kitchen in search of more friendship.
🎃
Gareth grabs his wrist as soon as he’s out of the bathroom.
“There you are!”
Eddie shakes his hand off so that he can right his collar. “Here I am!”
Gareth grabs his wrist again. Eddie shakes him off. Rinse and repeat. After splashing his face and sitting down to piss, Eddie’s feeling less drunk than he was 10 minutes ago, but still tipsy enough to find it more amusing than Gareth seems to.
Eddie’s been having a blast and has turned two FHHMY into friends, and frankly, he’s a bit put off by how grumpy Gareth seems, even if Gareth is always a degree of grumpy.
Eddie manages to avoid his grip for long enough to reach down and boop his clown nose, but Gareth just huffs and checks his watch. His eyes widen.
“Fuck’s sake, Eddie, he’s gonna be here any second!”
Eddie takes a step back, the words a bucket of ice and sobering him even more. He bats at Gareth’s hands when he tries to grab him and levels him with a look.
“Who is going to be here?”
Gareth has the decency to look embarrassed for a second before he puffs out his chest and squares his shoulders. The effect is slightly lessened by the red nose.
“Does it matter? Just come with me!”
Eddie squints at him. Like, yeah, he’s going through a bit of a romantic dry spell at the moment, and it might be making him a bit cranky, but his friends know better than to try and set him up with anyone. Or at least, he likes to think that they know better.
“Gareth, I swear to god. If you’ve tried to set me up on my birthday—”
He’s cut off by Jeff appearing behind Gareth, reaching around him to grab Eddie by the bicep. The Durin to his Elrond, here to shield him from Gareth’s attempts at meddling in his love life.
“There you are!”
“Here I am!” Eddie says, just like he had to Gareth.
“Come on.” Jeff is such a good friend, swooping in to save him. Except then, he turns to Gareth and says, "Argyle just buzzed him up.”
Judas!
Eddie makes his eyes as big as he can, hoping Jeff can tell how wounded he feels. “Et tu, Brute?”
But instead of looking chastised, Jeff just ignores him and drags Eddie towards the living room. Jeff has the benefit of childhood friendship, so he doesn’t fold like Gareth did and takes it in stride when Eddie slaps his hand.
“Unhand me! Unhand the birthday boy!”
Jeff neither responds to him nor does he remove his hand. Used to Eddie’s theatrics.
He just frogmarches Eddie through his own birthday party until they’re back in the kitchen. The drinks table has been pushed back against the cabinets—the red punch bowl now empty—and a single kitchen chair has been placed in the middle of the floor, facing the door. It does not bode well for Eddie.
Jeff shoves Eddie down into the chair, then points a finger at him.
“Sit. Stay.” Like Eddie’s a fucking dog.
Eddie raises an eyebrow. Jeff knows enough about his interests to know how much he’s just pissed him off. But Eddie’s starting to feel intrigued by whatever the fuck they’re doing, and he’s still pleasantly buzzed, and it’s his birthday, so he’ll grant him some clemency.
Unless he’s trying to set him up with someone. Then Jeff’s dead to him.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
No one acknowledges him. Instead of an answer, he gets a bodyguard in the form of Grant pulling up a chair and sitting down next to him. Throwing an arm across his shoulders.
He leans in, whispering conspiratorially.
“Did these shitheads try to set me up with someone?”
Grants smirks. His fake moustache is lifting at the side. “No.”
Light of the details, but it’s reassuring at least. Knowing that his friends aren’t inadvertently trying to rub the fact that he’s not cut out for romantic love in his face. Who even needs romantic love anyway? Eddie’s life is already overflowing with platonic love. He doesn’t have room for any more.
He still fucks enough. Sure, sometimes he does crave the poetic, sweet stuff that comes with sleeping with someone you’re dating, but he gets by without it. Besides, he’s not had much luck finding partners who share his particular interests out in the wild in the past, so for now, he’s happy going to clubs to satiate his desires.
Eddie huffs, trying to make eye contact with Chrissy, where he can see her leaning against the sofa. Contemplates diving over the kitchen counters to reach her and escape whatever torture awaits him. But as if hearing his thoughts, Jeff places a cautionary hand on his shoulder.
Eddie sighs as he accepts his fate, turning his attention away from the three main betrayers and eyeing where Jonathan is leaning against the load-bearing pillar. Jonathan has morals—at least Eddie thinks he does—so surely it can’t be that bad if he’s involved.
His attention shifts to the stripy tail of Argyle’s tiger costume as he approaches the front door. Pulls it open but doesn’t invite whoever it is inside yet. So that Eddie can’t see this mysterious person that they’re “not” trying to set him up with. Bastards.
Argyle waves Jonathan over, the latter taking out his plastic fangs so they can whisper to each other. Eddie watches as Jonathan frowns and turns away from Argyle, stalking over to the boombox and shifting through the stack of CD mixes next to it.
He holds one out to Argyle, and Eddie squints, trying to see what it is before it’s passed to whoever is waiting in the winds.
“Is there a problem?” Jeff asks, blocking Eddie’s view of the door as he approaches.
Eddie hopes there’s a problem. He hopes that these conspiring gremlins are having lots of problems.
“He didn’t bring his own music,” Argyle supplies, and Eddie’s own frown deepens.
Bring his own music, he mouths to himself, gears turning in his head. His eyebrows furrow together as he watches Argyle pass the CD back to Jonathan with a nod of approval, sending him back to the boombox. Grant scoots his chair away, leaving Eddie sitting alone in the open space.
The music cuts out, the party mix Eddie had lovingly crafted ejected. He finally manages to see what CD Jonathan’s got in his hands. Mood music for mattress dancing, in Argyle’s handwriting.
“Oh, fuck,” Eddie gasps. He looks around at his friends in horror as he puts two and two together, hoping that he’s added up wrong. “Please tell me you didn’t!”
He receives confirmation in the form of an overdriven guitar riff, and Argyle ushering a man into the apartment. A very pretty man. A very pretty man in a sailor suit. Hat included.
His ‘friends’ hired a stripper for his birthday. He’s going to kill them.
The opening notes of ‘You Sexy Thing’ are loud in the apartment. He can’t believe he’s about to watch a striptease. He can’t believe that 30 of his closest friends are about to watch him watch a striptease.
He looks at the sailor, and the sailor looks at him. The music plays. The sailor looks away, over to Argyle with raised eyebrows. Now? Eddie sees him mouth, getting a nod and a warm smile from Argyle. Maybe he’s new. Nervous.
Never let it be said that Eddie isn’t a welcoming presence, ready to soothe those in need. Despite his scorn and bubbling indignation, he relaxes his posture and spreads his legs, fixing his mouth into an easy smile. If he’s going to do this, he might as well not make the guy’s job any harder by being weird about it or anything. He can’t imagine it’s much fun taking off your clothes for someone who is plotting homicide.
The sailor nods to himself, then his eyes are back on Eddie, and he’s smiling. God, he has a nice smile. Even if he looks like he’s trying not to giggle. It’s strangely endearing.
“I believe in miracles,” Hot Choclate croons from the boombox, and the sailor shimmies his shoulders.
Then he lifts his hands and does finger guns. There is a stripper shimmying over to him in his friend’s kitchen, and he’s doing finger guns. All while hitting Eddie with one of the prettiest smiles he’s ever seen. Maybe the prettiest.
“You sexy thing,” The sailor mouths along with the song, then he hops. Turns around and smacks his own ass. He looks at Eddie over his shoulder and wiggles his eyebrows.
And Eddie can’t help it—he’s only human. He bursts out laughing.
Luckily, the sailor doesn’t seem offended. In fact, he smiles wider, giggling to himself as he spins around. He drags his hands over his body in an approximation of something Eddie is sure is meant to be sexy.
The sailor points at him, holding eye contact as he mouths, “Since you came along.”
He pauses his mental revenge plot. It might be missing the mark of ‘sexy’, but Eddie can’t deny that it’s doing it for him. Watching the sailor fumble his way over. Maybe because the guy seems to be genuinely enjoying himself.
By the time the iconic riff plays again, the sailor is standing right in front of him, running his hands up and down his chest as he rolls his shoulders back. Moving in close enough to touch.
Eddie looks up at him, and, fuck, he hates his friends. He’s in hell. They might not have set him up, but he almost wishes they had. That would be better than…this. Because now he’s mooning over a guy who’s just doing his job. A guy who reaches for his hands and guides Eddie’s limp wrists to his own body. Inviting Eddie to touch.
Eddie is never one to turn down an invitation, so he runs his hands over the polyester of his shirt before smoothing down his sides. Squeezing the curve of his waist as the sailor squirms in place.
The sailor takes him by the right wrist again, and this time, he shoves Eddie’s hand up under his shirt. So that Eddie’s palm is pressed against soft, warm skin. Fingers curling around a soft hip.
The sailor is close enough that Eddie hears it when he laughs this time. It’s a surprising sound—not what he expected. A high little giggle as he wiggles his way between Eddie’s knees.
“Where did you come from, baby?” Hot Chocolate sings, and honestly, Eddie is thinking the same. Pawing at a lithe waist as sparkling hazel eyes fix on him.
The sailor takes a step back, and Eddie misses him already. He’s glad that Jonathan doesn’t have his camera in hand; he can’t imagine the lovestruck look that must be on his face. Wouldn’t want it to be caught on film.
The sailor plucks his hat off his own head, then bends at the waist—more than necessary—so that he’s looking directly into Eddie’s eyes when he sets it down on top of his head.
Eddie feels awestruck. Doesn’t even care that the hat is messing with his hair. His mouth hangs open as the sailor winks at him, then turns around again. Gives Eddie a closer look at his ass and fuck, Eddie’s palms itch to reach out and touch. Grab. Bite. Smack.
But the sailor pulls his focus up as he pinches at the hem of his top, teasing it up and off his body. Revealing a set of sweet dimples at the base of his spine, then swathes of golden skin, dotted with moles.
He spins around again, grinning wide as he sticks his arms out. Does fucking jazz hands, as if to say ‘ta da!’
Ta-fucking-da indeed.
Eddie’s eyes race to memorize every inch of him. Over the light dusting of hair under his navel, up to the thatch of dark chest hair between his dusky nipples.
The sailor swivels his hips some more and nods at Eddie, inviting him to touch again. Eddie drags his palms up from his stomach, carding through his chest hair and thumbing over his nipples on the way.
It’s dangerous territory, so Eddie forces his hands back down before he goes too far. Curls his fingers around the guy’s ribs and smooths up and down his sides. He squeezes him where his waist nips in so that he won’t be tempted to touch his nipples again.
The guy turns around again, Eddie’s hands gliding across skin with the movement, so that he’s still holding him by the waist, just from the back.
The sailor rocks his hips side to side, more like he’s trying to keep the beat than to be alluring. Eddie is so busy staring that he startles when warm hands wrap around his wrists again.
Pushing them down his body, over his hips, before his hands settle on the sailor’s ass. Eddie gulps, ready to pull back as soon as the sailor decides he’s felt enough, but the sailor just covers Eddie’s hands with his own. Squeezing until Eddie copies.
Eddie must be dead. He must have ascended. This must be heaven.
Now that he’s been given permission, he can’t stop squeezing him. Digs his fingers into soft flesh until he feels the firm muscle underneath. His palms itch from how badly he wants to spank him. Just to see if it bounces—
His hands drop back to his lap as the sailor leaps away from him. He twirls on the kitchen floor until he nearly bumps into where Jeff is leaning against the refrigerator.
The sailor mouths ‘sorry’ before his focus is back on Eddie. Arms up and pointing at him as he does a dorky little two-step. Dancing like Hopper after one too many beers. It’s adorable. Eddie wants to devour him.
The sailor drops his hand back to his hips, tilting his plate belt buckle to unhook it, then pulling it out slowly. He swings the web belt in circles at his side, and Eddie raises an eyebrow. Wants to see if this little sailor is going to try and crack it like a whip.
But his sailor surprises him. Instead of whipping the air with his belt, he waves it about like a gymnastics ribbon. Keeps going until Eddie laughs again. The sailor grins at him and drops his belt to the floor.
He wiggles about like an inflatable tube man before he gets close to Eddie again. He drops down to his knees so smoothly that the air rushes out of Eddie’s lungs like he’s been gut punched.
The sailor rests his hands on Eddie’s knees, leaning up until their faces are close enough that Eddie can feel his breath against his lips. Can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
Eddie leans in; he can’t help it. Feels like he’s being pulled towards his perfect pink mouth by some supermagnet. Gets close enough that he can practically taste him.
But then the sailor leans back. Does some sort of crab walk to put distance between them again. It shouldn’t be so attractive.
He pops back up onto his feet, doing his little two-step again and winking at Eddie. The little tease.
He swings his hips again, the movement smooth enough that Eddie is pretty sure the guy is full of shit and that he can dance. That he must’ve just seen Eddie and known what he’d like, right away. God, Eddie might be in love.
“Where did you come from, angel?” The sailor mouths, turning around to show off his ass again. Like he’s trying to murder Eddie.
On his birthday.
The sailor tucks his fingers into his waistband, and Eddie holds his breath. Maybe Jeff had the right idea earlier, because Eddie feels like a dog. Ready to start howling and panting as the sailor eases his shorts down ever so slooowly over the curve of his ass. Eddie wants to gnash his teeth and lick him all over. Wants to get him in bed and—
He shakes his head, forcing the thoughts away before his body gets too excited by the idea.
The sailor watches him over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched. Like he’s waiting for Eddie to get a hold of himself. Impatient, even. Eddie’s palms itch.
The sailor must decide that he’s got Eddie’s full attention again because he continues. Teasing his shorts down down down—
Eddie startles when someone whistles. Had almost managed to forget that he’s experiencing what feels like a private show in front of his friends.
The sailor winks at the crowd of spectators, but then he meets Eddie’s eye and wiggles his hips again. Bends at the waist to give Eddie the perfect view.
But then he pulls them back up.
He sidles back up to Eddie, and this time he sits down. His bare back to Eddie’s chest, ass perched on Eddie’s upper thigh, his hands gripping onto Eddie’s knees.
Eddie can’t breathe. His brain shuts down after trying to process the solid weight in his lap, so close to where he wants it. His whole world reboots.
He lets out a shaky exhale as the sailor wriggles, looking over the guy’s shoulder so he can watch as the sailor tries to kick his sneakers off. It doesn’t seem like he really thought his outfit through.
The party cheers as the sailor finally kicks off a shoe, sending it flying through the air until Patrick’s hand shoots out to grab it.
The sailor giggles again before he properly tries to kill Eddie. Bending over so that he can take his other sneaker off properly and pushing his ass up against Eddie in the process.
Eddie feels hypnotized. His hands move without waiting for confirmation from his brain, grabbing at him and squeezing.
Eddie watches as a shiver travels down the sailor’s spine, watches the way his shoulder blades flex before he sits up straight again. Kicks his sneaker away, then leans back into Eddie’s chest.
Eddie’s hands move around to his hips, holding onto him as he exhales against the sailor’s shoulder.
"Jesus!" Eddie gasps against his skin, getting another laugh in return.
He’s distantly aware that people are cheering and whistling and that the music is still playing, but he feels numb to it all. His focus on how the sailor covers his hands again and guides them under his waistband. So that when the sailor lifts himself up to hover over Eddie’s lap, they can push his shorts down to his knees before he sits down again and kicks them off. Sending them flying into the crowd.
Leaving him sitting in Eddie’s lap in nothing but a pair of white briefs.
The sight shocks another laugh out of Eddie; he was expecting something more risqué. A jockstrap, maybe, or a thong. Not tighty-whities.
He’s in love.
The sailor doesn’t let go of his hands, guiding his right hand down his thigh and his left up over his stomach. He swivels his hips in Eddie’s lap and squeezes his hands until Eddie gets the idea. Keeps petting at him so that the sailor can move his hands to rest around his wrists instead. Just holding on as Eddie gets his fill.
The sailor turns his head, and god, Eddie’s in love. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s got the sweetest set of moles on his cheek, begging to be kissed. His doe eyes flick down to Eddie’s lips, and then Eddie watches as the sailor’s pink tongue darts out to wet at the seam of his lips. Eddie curls his left hand around the handle of his hip, his hips rolling up before he can stop them.
He’s not sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t think this much touching was allowed.
The thought leaves his head and is replaced by pure static, because then the sailor leans in and kisses him.
He fits his perfect mouth against Eddie’s and kisses him so softly that Eddie feels like he’s about to faint.
His hands grip him even tighter as the sailor tries to twist at the waist. His right hand coming up to cradle Eddie’s jaw so that he can kiss him deeper.
Eddie’s in love.
He’s so consumed, so enraptured, that it takes him a few slow seconds to realize that all the background noise has gone quiet. Not muted, but purely absent.
The music has stopped. The whole party has gone silent.
With a herculean effort, Eddie pulls away from his sailor and looks up.
He finds a police officer staring back at him.
Or a fake officer, maybe, given the lack of any vaguely official details. Eddie squints to get a better look, and yeah, he’s ninety-nine percent sure that’s not a real officer and is in fact another stripper.
“Uhhh,” the sailor says, and Eddie’s heart flutters, realizing it’s the first time he’s hearing his voice.
He cranes his neck, trying to look the sailor in the eye, but the sailor keeps staring at the police officer.
“Are you—? Wait. Did they not... What?” Eddie stammers, then looks over to his friends again. He meets Gareth’s eye first, so he addresses him. “Did you hire two?!”
Gareth balks. “No!”
Eddie’s head snaps to try and look at the sailor again, who then makes things easier for him and hops out of his lap. Bending down to scoop up his shirt. Or shirts, Eddie realizes. Watching as the sailor shakes a stripy red t-shirt free from the polyester sailor’s top. He pulls it over his head, then smiles at Eddie.
Like, it’s normal for a gorgeous man to appear at his birthday party and give him a strip tease, then stand in the kitchen in just his socks, briefs, and tee. Like the world’s weirdest game of ‘Where’s Waldo.’
“So…who—” Eddie starts, eyes tracking from his pretty face, down his body, then back up.
The sailor opens his mouth, then—
“Wait, Steve?!”
The sailor’s head whips to the side, looking over at the cluster of people standing by the sofa before his face lights up.
“Birdie!”
The ‘gatecrasher’ from earlier pushes her way through Eddie’s friends, her cheeks bright pink like she’s been standing out in the cold for a while. She must’ve been, if she only just noticed her friend was busy—
Eddie turns back to the sailor—Steve? “Oh! So you’re the real gatecrasher!”
Steve (?) frowns and scrunches his nose.
“That’s pretty rude, man. I was invited.”
“You weren’t invited; you were my plus one!” Robin exclaims, sidestepping Grant until she comes to a stop on Eddie’s left side.
“I’d say that counts as invited, Robin. I’m not a gatecrasher!”
“Yeah, ‘cause apparently you’re a stripper now.”
Her words are dripping with sarcasm, but Eddie watches as Maybe-Steve nods exasperatedly.
“Exactly!”
“Actually, he’s the stripper,” Nancy interjects, nodding towards the fake police officer.
The fake officer raises his hand in acknowledgement.
“So who’s the naked guy?” Someone behind Jonathan says. Ronnie, maybe.
“Steve,” the sailor confirms. Lifting his own hand like the fake officer had and twiddling his fingers in their vague direction. “Robin’s best friend.”
Jeff frowns. “Who’s Robin?”
Robin lifts her hand. “Me. I’m Robin.”
“She’s our neighbor,” Argyle explains.
“So… Steve is just a stranger?”
“A friend we haven’t met yet,” Eddie and Jeff say at the same time, out of reflex.
“Okaaaay,” Chrissy says slowly. “But if he isn’t a stripper, and you don’t know him, why did he just give you a lap dance?”
Eddie—and all of his guests—turn to look back at Steve, waiting for an explanation.
Steve shrugs.
“Felt like it.”
Eddie squints.
“You felt like it,” he repeats. Slowly. Waiting for Steve to hear how bizarre it sounds.
It doesn’t seem to work. Steve just shrugs again.
“Well, yeah. I showed up, and the guy in the tiger costume asked if I was the guy, and I mean, I’d like to think I’m the guy, you know?” Steve looks away from him, brow furrowing as he scans his eyes over the floor. He looks up at the crowd of partygoers. “Anyone seen my shorts?”
“Catch!” Someone says. Eddie can’t tell who, anymore. Can only stare at Steve in wonder as his arm shoots out to grab the bundle of navy fabric as it flies towards his face.
“And then, you know, he asked if I had my music, right? And I’ve never bought my own, like, theme song to a party, so I said no.” Steve keeps talking as he pulls up his shorts, apparently blissfully unaware of how ridiculous he sounds. “And then the other guy asked how much space I needed to perform, and it clicked.”
Steve tucks his t-shirt into his shorts. Eddie’s in love with him. A large part of him wants to take Steve by the wrist and go somewhere more private, where they can talk without an audience. And maybe (hopefully) have a repeat performance.
“So you just…went along with it?” Eddie asks, lowering his voice.
Steve looks at him, then down at his feet. The first sign of uncertainty. He bends to scoop up his navy shirt, bunching it up in his fists.
“Well, I wasn’t going to once I realized what had happened, but then I saw you and thought, Fuck it, why not? You know?”
Eddie watches his hands as he speaks. Watches how he wrings the fabric. Nervous. Eddie knew it. He looks up at Steve and smiles. Steve smiles back.
“Also, I thought the song choice was too funny to resist.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything back. Can’t figure out how to make words come out when Steve is smiling down at him like that. When Eddie can still feel the phantom weight of him in his lap. His plush mouth.
He just stares at Steve, and Steve stares back.
Until someone clears their throat.
Eddie shifts his gaze over to the fake officer.
"So... do you still want me to strip? Or should I just—” He points a thumb over his shoulder and clicks his tongue.
Argyle drags his eyes away from the officer and over to Eddie. “It’s up to you, Munster.”
He shakes his head.
“Nah, I’m good. You guys can, uh, figure it out, but,” he reaches for Steve’s hand. Smiling at him, Steve jumps in surprise at the touch. “I think I wanna go have a word with Steve.”
“Yeah?” Steve asks softly, letting go of his shirt with one hand so that Eddie can pull it closer to his face.
He kisses the back of his hand, then nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Cool.”
Eddie stands up, waiting for Steve to get his shoes back and slip them on before taking him by the hand and leading him out to the balcony.
Or rather, trying to.
Steve stops walking, so Eddie stops too, turning around to see what the problem is and finding Steve and Robin staring at each other. Neither of them say anything, but both of them move their eyebrows enough that Eddie’s sure that there’s some sort of conversation transpiring.
Robin raises her eyebrows practically to her hairline, then nods at Eddie. Steve raises his right back, tilting his head.
Robin narrows her eyes and stares at him for three long seconds before sighing and rolling her eyes. She waves them away.
“You gonna tell me what that was about?”
Steve hums, throwing his sailor shirt over his shoulder like a dish towel. “Depends on how well this conversation goes.”
🎃
Thankfully, it seems that everyone has moved inside now, including the people who missed Steve’s performance. He can hear the excited chatter at getting two shows in one night before he closes the door after them.
Steve leans against the railing, staring out at the city. Despite it being a pleasantly warm evening for October, the sight of Steve in his short sleeves and short shorts makes him shiver in sympathy.
Luckily Nancy, ever the pragmatist, had thought ahead and left a few old blankets on the outside chairs.
Eddie takes a seat on the bench opposite to where Steve is standing, and picks up a bundled-up blanket from where it sits next to him. He holds it out to him, and Steve accepts it with a smile, wrapping it around his shoulders.
Steve doesn’t say anything, so Eddie shoulders the burden of breaking the ice.
“So Steve. You’d rather be a stripper than a gatecrasher."
Steve looks away from the city and focuses on Eddie. “Well, I’m not a stripper or a gatecrasher, thank you very much. But, yeah. Obviously. Wouldn’t you?”
Eddie tilts his head, bumping his knee against Steve’s. “Care to elaborate?”
Steve hums in thought. “I think I’d rather be most things than a gatecrasher. If you’re a gatecrasher, generally, it means people don’t want you around.”
“But isn’t that part of the fun?” He reaches out and pinches at the soft fabric of the blanket around Steve, looking up at him. Leans forward in his seat to get closer to him.
“You mean you like going where you’re not wanted?”
“I live for it.”
Steve snorts. “I can’t imagine—” he starts, but he shakes his head and shuts his mouth.
“Can’t imagine what?” Eddie asks, leaning in closer.
Steve shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“No, what were you gonna say?"
“Nothing!” The blanket slips off one of his shoulders when he moves too much, and Eddie reaches up to tuck it back in place.
Eddie widens his eyes, jutting out his lower lip. “Come on, Stevie, it’s my birthday!”
“Stevie?” He asks, eyebrow raised.
“Yes, Stevie. Now tell me what you were gonna say!”
Steve shakes his head. “It’s embarrassing.”
“I love embarrassing.”
“It’s cheesy.”
Eddie reaches for his hands, taking them in his own and squeezing when he says, “I live for cheese.”
“Really? Robin always used to keep a bag of cubed cheese on her when we worked together.”
Eddie’s eyes narrow at the attempted topic change, but he goes with it.
“Does she live for cheese too?”
“Nah, it was for me.”
Eddie squints up at him. “She kept cheese on hand for you?
“Yup. She said it calmed me down.”
“Don’t tell my friends that, or they’ll all start packing cheddar.”
Steve snorts again, but doesn’t say anything in reply. So Eddie tries a third time.
“Tell me what you were going to say,” he implores.
“It’s silly.”
“I love silly.”
“I can tell,” Steve teases, but he squeezes Eddie’s hands back.
Eddie sucks his teeth. “Tell me.”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“No!”
“Tellmetellmetellmetellme!”
“Ugh, fine! I was going to say that I can’t imagine there are many places you aren’t wanted.”
Eddie blinks up at him, his mouth dropping open. Has to take a few seconds to process before he grabs ahold of Steve’s shirt and pulls him in. So that Steve stumbles forward and lands heavily on his lap, and Eddie can kiss him again.
Steve huffs against his lips, and Eddie reels back.
“Shit! Was that—is that okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s okay. It’s good. Just think I’m gonna get a bruise from sitting on what I hope isn’t your dick.”
“It's my sword.”
“Your—is it your…meat sword?”
“No, it’s my prop sword.” Eddie laughs, reaching down to unsheath his very own Hadhafang. “I don’t think my ‘meat sword’ could give you a bruise like that.”
They’re interrupted by the opening notes of ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ and they both turn to try and watch through the window, but they can’t see anything past the bodies.
It’s strange. Any other year, and Eddie would be annoyed to not be the center of attention at his own party.
He thinks he likes this more, though.
He sets his sword down beside him, so that Steve can get more comfortable. Can’t stop himself from smiling when Steve leans down for another kiss. Which turns into another and another and another. The songs change inside, and he can hear applause in the background before the performance seems to continue.
He feels numb to it and can only focus on the gorgeous man in his lap.
"I still can’t believe you just walked into a party and started doing a strip tease,” Eddie says when they eventually break apart.
“I’d say it worked out for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, very much.” He kisses him again. "I still can’t believe you did it, though.”
“Don’t you ever do something, just to see if you can?”
Eddie mulls it over. Traces his finger up and down Steve’s thigh, where the blanket has fallen open. He’s starting to lose feeling in his own thigh, but he’s not about to push a pretty boy off his lap for something inconsequential like nerve damage.
“I know I have done stuff just to see if I could, but I don’t think I’ve ever done something quite so bold.”
“It is easier if you pregame with a few shots of tequila.”
Sadly, the show inside seems to be over, so the little bubble of privacy is burst by a few people strolling out on the balcony. Eddie smiles in acknowledgement, then turns back to Steve.
“So, did this conversation go well enough that I get to know what you were talking about?”
Steve perks up. “Oh! Right. Well, I’m actually moving in with Robin next week!”
“Yeah?”
“But I haven’t moved my stuff over yet.”
“….okay?”
“I’ve got a bed, though! Just no bedding.”
“I see.”
“So I was asking her if I could borrow one of her sheets.”
“Her sheets?”
“Yeah. I want to borrow one of her sheets so we don’t ruin my new mattress.”
Eddie’s a quick thinker, normally. It’s another crucial part of his schtick—the ability to think on his feet and leave people feeling bewitched and bewildered.
But when he’s got a lap full of gorgeous, gorgeous boy, his brain gets a bit slow and sidetracked. Lured in by heavy-lidded eyes and pouty lips that pull into a sultry little smirk.
He’s slow on the uptake, too busy staring at the set of moles on Steve’s ripe cheek again to put two and two together like he’d managed earlier.
“Your mattress?” Eddie asks, his brain running at half speed as he squeezes Steve’s waist with one hand and runs his left up his bare thigh. Fingers teasing under the hem of his shorts. It’s his birthday—he deserves to be a little slow if he wants.
He toys with Steve’s neckerchief. Steve covers Eddie’s hands with his own, then leans in to whisper exactly what he means in Eddie’s ear.
He really must be a siren. Eddie has never left one of his birthday parties early, not even for sex. Then some little sailor trots in through the door, gyrates to Hot Chocolate, and climbs in his lap, and suddenly Eddie is ready to duck out early.
He’s in love.