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"Jesus, how do you live like this?" Steve huffs, nose scrunching at the sticky sensation of the weird glittery black paste being spread across his eyelids.
Eddie is careful as he does it, not wanting to take Steve's eye out in the process. It's sweet, but it doesn't help the gross, sticky part of it.
"Says you, Mr. Farrah Fawcett hairspray," Eddie teases with a chuckle. He doesn't actually sound offended. More so just happy to tease. What can he say, it's the best part of their dynamic.
"Besides, I've had worse things on my face," he says, throwing Steve a wink when he peeks his eye open. It makes him snort and shake his head.
"You're disgusting," he groans, trying to ignore the graphic visuals try to wiggle to the front of his mind.
It would be unfortunate if he let those thoughts settle in while Eddie is practically in his lap, black jean clad legs straddling one of his large thighs as he hovers over him.
Steve is in some metal chair in the dressing room of some bar, his head tipped back so Eddie has the best lighting to slather glittery makeup on him. Why? No reason really. Eddie just wanted to. Steve lingered too long after their set and Eddie insisted he needed to try it.
"I know, but you're into it," he damn near purrs, gripping Steve's jaw and tipping his head a different way so he can slather more glitter under his eyes.
Eddie's body is so close, almost pressed to Steve's chest. It makes him wonder if he really needs to be this close. He has fine vision last he knew.
Still, he doesn't mention it.
"Whatever you say, Munson."
"That's right. Because I'm the boss. Big rockstar shit," Eddie jokes, sounding beyond smug as he leans over Steve to grab a small pallette and a fluffy makeup brush.
The sudden movement, hidden by closed eyes, makes Steve jump to action before he can think about it. Strong, scarred hands jump from their limp position between his thighs to Eddie's small waist.
The contact makes them both pause, Steve's grip tightening then loosening repeatedly in indecision.
He opens his eyes to see Eddie looking down at him with a weird look in his eyes.
His lips are almost trying to find their usual lifted position, but it doesn't happen. Not right away.
"Careful, Stevie. Pretty sure there's some kind of law about groping rockstars," he says it and Steve can tell he's trying to tease, but it's missing it's usual Munson flair. It sounds breathier, cautious, but not afraid.
"Sorry," Steve mutters, speaking quietly so he doesn't break whatever the hell this is.
He's hesitant as he loosens his grip on his waist, moving to pull his hand back.
"It's alright," Eddie says, quiet but hurried almost. It makes Steve pause again, unsure what it means and how he should proceed. Eddie must figure that out because his free hands falls to his side, carefully pressing Steve's hand more firmly into his waist.
"It kind of helps. You know, with my back and everything," he shrugs. As he speaks, he can hear how he eases back into his usual tone. It's still much more mild. Like he isn't sure of his own intention. Which is kind of nice? Makes Steve feel better about being so unsure.
Eddie always had struggles with his muscles and joints. Always had weird pain and weakness that got him randomly with little cause. And since the whole Upside Down thing, it's only gotten harder. He's doing better at taking care of it; Doing the strength exercises like he's supposed to, even when he hates it. Still, that obviously takes time and sometimes he's stuck laying in bed or on the floor just so his ribs and spine don't hurt so bad. Sometimes he has to simply sit on the ground or on the edge of whatever stage he's supposed to perform on later in the day during rehearsals, saving his energy so he can put it all into his performance.
"Right," Steve replies after realizing he hadn't already.
Eddie carefully brushes his thumb over the back of Steve's hand; Over scars and rough knuckles and faint hair before slowly pulling his hand away.
Steve leaves his hands where they are. Just to help Eddie with the pain, obviously.
Eddie clears his throat as he opens the messy, damaged makeup pallette and dips in some blue shimmery powder. The hand holding the pallette rests over Steve's shoulder, extended behind his head so he can lean into the strong body beneath him. The other hand moves to spread the power across the sticky glitter.
"You sure there's not such a thing as too much glitter?" Steve asks. Mainly just to break the tension, but he's rewarded with a signature Munson scoff.
"No, Harrington, there's not such a thing. Not when you're a star."
"I think you've let the spotlight go to your head," he teases.
"Maybe. Though I think I'm allowed. Almost dying gives you special privileges, don't you know?" he grins.
Of course, Steve remembers that. He was the one to drag him out of there after all. Still, hearing him mention it makes his grip tighten. Makes graphic images of Eddie with his guts spilling out of his torso flash in his mind. It makes his stomach churn. He's gotten used to the image, no longer pushed to throwing up every time he thought of it. Still, it's a lot to recall.
Steve didn't ever expect to be friends with Eddie Munson - the freak himself. And yet here they are.
They were stuck in the hospital together for a bit. Even when Steve was released, the mom he was, he stuck around waiting for Eddie to get better. Look after him when Wayne wasn't around. Not like it was any sort of imposition. He lingered around to check on Mayfield too. Be the strong shoulder for the freaky kids he considers his friends as they grieved their friend. She woke up around the time Eddie was getting out of the hospital.
Then he helped him with his physical therapy. Being a jock makes that sort of thing pretty easy to understand and explain.
It's been hard. Helping Eddie get to this point. Took a lot of shouting and crying and so much medicine. So many nightmares and early mornings and metal music. Not Steve's idea of healing music, but it worked for Eddie, so. Still, Steve wouldn't trade it for anything. He's made a really good friend out of Eddie. He can't imagine life without him. Like he can't imagine life without Robin. But different still. He's tried to explain it to himself. The difference between the two. It feels so similar, but there's something quiet lurking around his relationship with Eddie.It's not the near death experience part. He had that with both of them. Robin was a girl and Eddie was a guy, but Steve didn't think that meant that much. Not when they're both gay anyways, that's gotta have some impact on the gender aspect. That part, he hasn't thought about. He'd rather face those thoughts another day.
Point is, it's different with Eddie, even if he can't explain why.
"Don't worry, Big boy. I'm not going anywhere," he promises with a playful tone, gently caressing his cheek with a knuckle. It's so intimate. Too intimate for a couple of guys.
They don't mention it though. Too afraid of what'll happen if they face that part.
Maybe that's the difference. With Robin, pretty much everything is out in the open. To them, TMI doesn't exist. With Eddie, everything seems to exist under some sort of blanket. Hidden away and protected. It's a weird feeling.
"Not sure you can promise that. You've got tour shit coming up." Steve isn't really bothered, he's happy for him, but he almost pouts as he says it.
"Aw, don't miss me too much. You've got the party," he teases, dipping into the pallette again.
"Yes, because I totally want to spend my time with a bunch of children," he chuckles.
He's just being a hater. He loves those kids, but they were all figuring out college stuff. Stuff Steve isn't ready to face yet.
He should be, but he's not. Robin abandoned him for college shit already. Not really. They keep in touch, but she's a couple hours away. It's not the same as seeing her everyday for work. It gives Steve plenty of time to figure out what he wants to do with his adulthood. He hasn't taken the opportunity though.
He kind of thought he'd die before he was even legal to drink, forgive him for being a little behind.
Eddie hums, seemingly deep in thought as he applies more blue shimmer.
"Suppose you wouldn't want to come with for the tour. Be a groupie. You're already obsessed with me, you'd just have to carry around heavy shit for me."
Steve grins.
"Yeah? Need a big strong man to come help? Or do you just need an excuse to ogle all this?"
Steve pulls a hand back to flex his muscular arm. Eddie tries in vain to not let his eyes linger on the defined lines in his arm as much as possible.
"You let me do that anyways," Eddie argues, closing up the pallette and plopping it down on the dressing room vanity.
"Mm. Fair enough," he chuckles, dropping his arm down again, resting his hand on his waist again.
Through the thin, sleeveless band shirt Eddie's wearing, Steve can feel the scars. It's not totally obvious. They're healed and closed at this point but they're not old enough to have smoothed out already.
Eddie leans over again, digging around through the mess of makeup products and tools on the desk, digging out some sort of black tube. It puts him close enough for Steve to get a whiff of him. The subtle salt of sweat and ash of cigarettes and something more musky, like that gross incense shit he likes to burn. Steve hates all the smoke and how it clings to his clothes, but it smells great on Eddie. Adds to his charm, or whatever.
"Would you really let me?' Steve asks, quiet and careful as Eddie pops open the black tube of eyeliner and carefully starts to draw around his eyes.
"Let you what?" He asks, words mildly muffled by the cap between his teeth, mildly cold pencil liner rubbing off around the corner of his eye.
Dork.
"Come with you. Follow you around the country, be a groupie."
Eddie pauses again, leaning back to see Steve's genuine expression.
"I mean, yeah." he admits, removing the cap from his mouth so he can speak clearly.
This doesn't have to be a big deal. It's not a big tour just down the coast at some small bars and venues. They're hardly being paid and it's really just a job when all is said and done.
But it feels important. Steve could do lots of other things with his time.
But no, he wants to be cramped in a dumb van with a handful of metal heads and shit, going through weigh stations and eating garbage food the whole time.
Or maybe he'd bring his own car and he and Eddie could just drive together. Listen to music and talk about whatever stupid shit they manage to come up with.
Or maybe that's hopeful thinking and Eddie should stop being such a queer.
"We really could use all the hands we could get. Gareth is useless when it comes to carrying heavy shit," Eddie chuckles. "Don't tell him I said that."
"Mhm. Your secret is safe with me," he chuckles.
"See? You're already doing a great job," he laughs, tossing a strand of curly hair out of his eyes before leaning in and working on his eyes again.
"Whats the pay?" Steve asks, unable to hide his knowing grin. It's a joke. He doesn't need his money to say yes. Steve's got money. Mostly.
Eddie scoffs when he answers.
"You get paid in french fries and free drinks, nothing more."
"Hmmmm," Steve hums, pretending to think about it. That doesn't sound too bad. Call it a vacation maybe? Get the hell out of the tar pit that is Hawkins and maybe feel better. Feel inspired or something. Whatever normal people their age do.
"Let me play my music on the way out and you've got a deal," Steve says, meeting Eddie's eyes.
"Hell no."
"Hell yes or no groupie. You'll have to deal with Gareth and his sad little arms the whole time."
There's no real argument here. Steve can see it in Eddie's big, stupidly brown eyes. He's seen Eddie when he's serious. Has seen the way he looks like a wild animal when he's angry. Eddie's eyes are warm and full and looking at Steve like he'd want nothing more than to squeeze into a stupid van with him for a couple weeks.
"One CD for every stop, the rest is my music. Deal?"
Eddie pulls a hand back and hovers it in front of Steve, waiting for him to shake on it.
"Deal," he agrees without a second thought, slapping his hand into Eddie's and giving a firm shake. They linger together for a moment, his thumb stroking over the back of Eddie's hand to trace along messy ink lines and silver rings.
Eddie smirks.
"You're stuck with me now, Harrington. Think you can handle it?"
"I've made it this far. Can't get much worse," he shrugs, grinning up at him.
"Fuck off," Eddie laugh, shaking his hand off before getting back to his makeup.
They sit in comfortable silence for just a few moments more, allowing Eddie the space to finish up with the pencil liner, capping it and tossing it haphazardly onto the vanity.
"Alright, you're done," he smiles, standing up and twisting his body to release some uncomfortable sounding pops in his spine.
Steve releases his hold on Eddie as he turns to look in the mirror.
The blue glitter is a stark contrast to his skin, even with the summer enforced tan he's sporting, but it's kind of cool. It has a grungy yet summer-y sort of feel, emphasizing the almost blonde tones in his hair. The eyeliner is light, only deepening the corners and emphasizing his dark lashes to make the whole look pop. It definitely doesn't go with his outfit, but he didn't have it in him to mind. Not when Eddie put so much effort into it.
"What do you think? Too much?" Eddie asks, leaning over his shoulder and resting his hands against the back of his chair, only slightly towering over him in this position.
"You? Doing too much? Never," he smiles. It's meant as a taunt, a tease, but it comes out so damn soft it's almost revolting. But it makes Eddie smile and huff out an amused sound.
"It looks great."
"Thanks. So do you," Eddie winks.
Steven shoves him away with a light hand, making him snort.
"Lets go get a drink? I'm sure you'll be a hit with the ladies," Eddie hums, raising his eyebrows with mischief.
"Oh totally. Wearing more eyeliner than the ladies will definitely draw them to me," Steve rolls his eyes. Not that he even really minds. He's got other things to think about.
"I won't say no to a drink though," he says, forcing himself up and out of the stupid metal chair.
"Good. Because we gotta talk ground rules, my van my rules," Eddie says, feigning sincerity as he leans into Steve's side, hooking an arm over his neck and dragging him out of the dressing room.
"I thought it was Jeff's van?" Steve asks, feigning ignorance as he loops his arm around Eddie's waist. For stability, of course.
"Eh, same shit," Eddie laughs.
They step into the dimly lit bar, some other band's music ringing out through the place as Eddie goes off about 'van rules' and 'groupie expectations'. And Steve, the man he is, listens intently, watching the lights bounce off the remaining glitter on Eddie's face and smiling all the while. Because he's a fool who will follow Eddie wherever he goes. Because it's the easiest thing and being on the road for nearly a month, surrounded by metal music and smokey incense, sounds more like home than Hawkins ever did.