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"Is this seat taken?"
Eddie sighed into his glass, annoyed. It might be egotistic on his part, but he probably shouldn't have gone to a bar when he wasn't in the mood for anything.
Considering he wasn't in a disguise right now, there were millions of reasons for this stranger to approach him. And none of them gave him joy. God forbid the fame Corroded Coffin's front man drinking his night away in peace for once.
As Eddie went to turn the stranger away, however, he was met with familiar doe eyes and pouty lips, coifed fluffy hair, red polo tucked in skin-tight Levi's.
His throat went dry.
"You gonna buy me a drink or what?" Little Prince—Steve—raised a brow, bitchy, and Eddie realized with no amount of remorse that he'd been staring.
He wasn't the only one, Eddie noted, turning green with jealousy as he caught some men watching his boy—whom he'd spent months searching for.
They were hardly acquaintances, just two strangers who'd crossed paths and relieved each other's needs.
That night—sun-kissed skin, feverish touch, tender and bruising, sweet lips—had given him a heartburn he'd never recovered from.
Standing up, he took Steve's hand and pressed a kiss on the back of it, meeting those hazel eyes.
"How about I get you something better, butterfly?"
Steve blushed, clearly recognizing the nickname—inspired by his cute tramp stamp. What Eddie wouldn't give for another chance to worship every inch of him.
"What's your suggestion then, rockstar?" Steve asked coyly.
Eddie gazed at him, adoring.
"You heard about Eddie Munson?"
When Eddie woke up with Steve snoring soundly in his arms, he knew he was more than screwed.
The sleeping angel in his bed wasn't a mistake or a potential heartbreak anymore. No, Steve Harrington had become the death of Eddie Munson with his pretty eyes, pretty mouth, and even prettier smile. He was a heart attack in the making.
It was foolish, but Eddie would willingly sign away everything he had for a mundane life with Steve.
"Are you free tonight?" He asked after they finished their breakfast, oddly turned on and anxious, while watching Steve pop a cherry into his pink mouth.
"Depends," Steve said, regarding him calmly from across the table. "If you're looking for a booty call, then I'm afraid you're asking the wrong person."
Eddie let out a measured breath, glad that Steve was giving him a chance to make things right. He'd be damned if he lost his boy now.
"What if I'm looking for a boyfriend?" He figured that saying husband would've scared Steve away.
Steve blinked, thawing visibly. He seemed surprised that Eddie was serious.
"Well." Steve bit his lip, peering up through his lashes shyly. "I guess you're asking the right person."
Eddie smiled, utterly gone and smitten, and reached out to interlace his fingers with Steve's.
"It's a date."
Steve beamed, precious and radiant. Like the sun.
"Yeah, it's a date."
And Eddie swore those wedding bells were jangling in the air.