Work Text:
He shoves him away slightly. “Harrington,” he chuffs. “Did you just fucking lick me?”
Steve Harrington, seemingly normal guy, has all the poise and confidence and skills, the dude who’s got the whole world wrapped around his finger, that Steve Harrington just swiped a glob over his cheek. With his big, warm hands squeezing him tight. His hair wet from the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, droplets still beading down his broad shoulders. A tongue—usually choked down Eddie’s throat, usually used for envelopes sent from Family Video, usually cleaning up ketchup at the corners of his mouth—that just maimed him like a dog with too much energy and love.
Yeah, that’s what Steve is.
A lovable dog with wiry fur and the eagerness of the whole sun.
And he licked Eddie.
“Mmm…maybe I did…maybe I didn’t.”
Eddie narrows his eyes, his arms holding Steve out about a foot away, and he quirks a brow. “Why?” he asks slowly.
Shrugging his shoulders, Steve has the audacity to be bashful—almost shy. “You looked good,” he mumbles quietly.
“And you licked”—
“Uh-huh.” Steve smiles dopily at him. Eyes bright, crinkled. Teeth shining, mouth stretched wide. Rosy cheeks. Stupidly endearing wet hair. Lightly toned arms and his wicked chest hair. “I sure did.”
“Right,” Eddie mutters. “And…”
“And you tasted really good. Like…like kinda musky? Y’know, like when you suck down a cigarette? But also kinda spicy. Did you use new aftershave? Or maybe you sprayed your cologne?”—
“Steve”—
—“Oh, I love that new cologne you got, by the way. I’ve been thinking about it for fucking hours now and I’ve barely smelt it—well, because you’ve been at work all day and I’ve been home—but I’ve been thinking about it and”—Steve gasps for air, red faced, chest seizing for it. Then, once a moment passes and he doesn’t pass out, he continues on—“You also smell good. I think it might’ve been because it rained not too long ago or”—
“Steve”—
—“maybe because you were just outside or maybe it’s because I just love the way you smell, but you smell really good. And I’ve been thinking about other things that smell good and was wondering if maybe, after I get dressed, if you wanna go catch a movie at a drive-in? We can get popcorn—I’ll pay for it, don’t worry—and also sodas. Oh! And RedVines. They work good as straws and I bet that would taste good, too—not as good as you, but”—
“Steve!” Eddie finally shouts.
The room quiets. Goes eerily quiet. Silent, though. Finally silent.
Steve’s chest is moving up and down and up and down and up—
He blinks. Shifts his eyebrows all over: sideways, upside, downside, vertically, horizontally—at least it feels that way. Purses his lips. Can’t really conjure more words than just Steve’s fucking name, but. Well, this doesn’t happen.
And by this, Eddie’s talking about whatever garbling mumble-jumble just poured out of Steve’s mouth like a forever fountain that won’t shut off. He gets some of it. Or, he caught a bit of what was being said. Something about scents? Good? Him, he knows. But Steve getting all awkward and clammy and rambling nonstop?
Well, that doesn’t happen.
Eddie springs his left hand up to Steve’s face. Places the backside over his forehead, patting around his skin; testing.
“What’re you doin’, Eds?” Steve murmurs.
“You’re not warmer than usual,” Eddie quietly remarks, “and you don’t feel tacky. Maybe a little pale, but that could just be the lighting…” He drops his hand away. Purses his lips again, harder—hard enough he can make out every wrinkled etch around his chapped mouth. Carefully, he rotates Steve left and right, twisting him around like a cake on a Lazy Susan. When they’re back to staring directly at each other—and he finally has his bearings—he asks, “Are you feeling okay? No visions? Nose bleeds? Stomach issues?” He whispers that last one, as if he could save Steve’s dignity. (As if Steve’s dignity could be redeemed. He’ll remember the bathroom break of Christmas, 1986. He’ll remember.)
“I’m doing just fine,” Steve chirps. “So…drive-in? M&Ms in popcorn? Or should I go with my Sour Patch Kids?”
“No. No, no, no. Hold on.” Eddie darts his eyes over Steve’s face. “Something’s different about you. You’re…more Robin than Steve today and I need to figure out why.” He shakes Steve’s shoulders, rocking him like a low-battery flashlight. Narrows his eyes once more. “Why. Why did you lick me? That’s usually my move.”
Steve shuffles nervously and awkwardly from side to side, his hands rubbing against each other as if they’re cricket legs. “Uh…you want me to be embarrassingly honest or, like, cool guy honest?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Is there a difference?” Eddie teases.
Part of the bitchy, prissy, and confident Steve cracks through. But not enough. Not his usual self. Or the version Eddie’s known for a little over a year. Steve rolls his eyes and huffs. Then, he mumbles something too quiet for Eddie to actually hear.
“What?”
Steve sighs, long and heaving. “I said that maybe I’ve been wanting to lick you, or whatever, for a while now.” He shuffles again, timid. “Look, I know it’s weird and maybe not what you’re used to out of me, but I felt like I needed to do it and I’ve been thinking about doing it since this morning and maybe I’m really nervous because now you’re gonna realize how lame and awkward and so uncool I am and then you’re gonna feel all conned or something because I’m not the Steve Harrington everybody seems to love, but I am weird and I love a little too much and maybe I just…” He trails. Stops.
Eddie’s eyebrows crinkle with concern. Well, that was a lot of information at once. “Stevie, I’m not gonna”—
“I just love you, okay?” Steve bursts. “I love you a crazy lot and my way of showing it is both really over the top and also very weird. Like…like, sometimes, I look at you and wanna bite you or lick you everywhere or hug you so tight that we both just turn into big ol’ puddles of SteveandEddie and nobody would know any better and—fuck. I’m being weird.” He blows out a shaky breath. “Sorry,” Steve whispers, “I’m sorry. Not…not what you’re expecting, I’m sure.”
After that, the room goes quiet again.
Tension steaming from Steve’s now goosebump riddled body, his slow-to-dry hair, and his thoroughly dried shoulders.
Eddie wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe that wasn’t something he considered at all. Maybe he didn’t take the time to wonder if Steve was weird, a weirdo just like all the other dorks and freaks he’s known over the years. But. Well, it makes sense. Doesn’t it?
“Baby,” he coos.
“It’s weird,” Steve half-whines, “I’m weird.”
He snorts. Rolls his eyes. “Baby,” he repeats emphatically. “Sweetheart, I’m a capital W Weirdo. You think…you think any of what you’ve done today, said today, is going to scare me away?” Eddie tugs Steve a bit closer to him, bringing him into warmth. “So you get a bit in your head…and you get all aggressive and territorial about your love. Am I supposed to take offense to that? Any of it? Being loved by you is so special to me, you have no idea.”
“Is it?” Steve asks meekly, “you don’t think my love is too much?”
“Stevie,” he whispers, “I love all of you. I love you so much, too much sometimes.”
“Really?”
He nods his head, gazing deep into Steve’s eyes. Taking his hands off of Steve’s shoulders, he instead cups his face. Holding him tenderly.
“I love you, Steve Harrington. No matter how weird we get.” He leans in, pecks the tip of Steve’s nose. Draws back, gooey smile on his own face. “‘Sides,” he murmurs, “we’ll only get so much weirder. I promise, sweetheart.”
“Does that mean I can lick you again?”
Eddie laughs hard and hearty from his stomach. Laughing so hard he bobbles Steve’s head in his hands. “You can do whatever you want to me tonight. After sodas with RedVines, got it?”
Steve, all on his own, bobbles his own head. “Got it,” he says breathily. “Whatever I want.”