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So they defeat Vecna, but it turns out Eddie’s still wanted for triple murder and the crime of wearing too much black or whatever, and so he hides out at Steve’s for a bit.
He doesn’t have a lot of his own stuff but Steve is happy to lend him whatever he needs, and turns out almost dying and saving the world together fucks up a lot of your boundaries real fast so they’re constantly in each other’s pockets, and so it was kind of inevitable that someday Eddie would end up walking into Steve’s room looking for a shirt or a belt or a notebook and instead find Steve jerking off.
Steve doesn't miss a beat (as it were); he just goes, "Oh, hey Munson, this is awkward, just close the door will you?"
And Eddie does close the door, but then he realizes that probably Steve meant it like, get out and then close the door, not come in and close the door behind you, but it's too late now, isn't it. He's here.
And Steve raises an eyebrow and his hand slows but crucially, it doesn't stop.
They stare at each other for a couple excruciating, frozen seconds (move, Munson, what are you doing, move!) and then Steve frowns and he says, "You're gay, right?" and Eddie's been expecting this talk. He wasn't expecting to do it quite like this, though, with Steve quite like that (though it's not like he hasn't thought about it, Eddie's got a very active imagination, okay?)
Eddie nods, mutely, trying his best to keep his eyes on Steve’s face, but he keeps glancing down because movement in his peripheral vision, right? It’s basically a survival reflex.
Steve’s silent for a few seconds, shifts on the bed a little. Eddie Does Not Look.
"That must be pretty hard around here,” Steve says.
Eddie nods again. Why are they having this conversation??
And then the next thing out of Steve’s mouth is: “You wanna stay? You could watch, I don't mind."
And Eddie’s mind is fucking blown to smithereens. His mouth opens and closes a bunch but no actual sound comes out, and still Steve correctly interprets it as a yes – Steve may not be booksmart but he's not stupid, Eddie knows that much, or at least he knows it now. And so Steve sort of nods to himself like, right, that’s settled then, and then gets back to it, picking up his rhythm and Eddie should leave, he knows he should leave, whatever this is he shouldn’t stand here looking at Steve getting himself off, and yet.
It’s so fucking hot: weirdly it’s hotter because there’s nothing showy about the way Steve is doing it, just stroking himself hard and fast, no frills, not putting on a show or even really looking at Eddie at all – he genuinely doesn't seem to care that Eddie's there, watching him, and fuck if it makes Eddie a pervert for real but that is doing it for him.
With a silent shudder, Steve comes, and Eddie doesn't, though it's a close thing, his dick throbbing untouched in his too-tight jeans.
"You can use my bathroom," Steve says, already half-asleep because apparently he's one of those guys, and so Eddie does, strokes himself just as hard and fast as Steve had, thinking of Steve asleep just a few feet away.
It doesn't take very long at all.
*
Eddie expects it will be majorly awkward between them now – it's not.
Eddie expects it won't ever happen again – it does.
It happens again, twice in quick succession, once in Steve's bedroom and once in his bathroom, where Eddie goes looking for a hairbrush and instead finds Steve leaning against the shower wall in the dark with no water running, which is why Eddie thought the bathroom was empty.
Eddie never plans it, never expects it, but Steve has to be doing it on purpose, right? Or does he really just spend all of his time alone jerking off all over his house?
Eddie doesn't ask. They don't talk about it.
And he doesn't even think Steve's queer, or anything. He's still going on dates with girls and complaining to Robin about which ones he likes or doesn't like or wants to see again or not. He just... also does this, with Eddie – or, well, Eddie sometimes gets the feeling it's not so much something Steve does with Eddie as for him, somehow? Like, Steve knows Eddie doesn’t have a lot of viable options, and he must know Eddie’s lonely, and this is a weird extension of Steve’s martyr complex, maybe?
It's just so fucking weird.
But then again, alternate dimensions are real and so are monsters and curses and like, mind-melding. Things have gotten pretty weird all around.
They don’t talk about it. They just keep doing it.
One day, after Steve's come over his own hand, he opens his eyes and looks over at where Eddie's sitting at his desk chair, always keeping a respectful distance, ha! And Steve asks: "Good?" not so much like he’s asking for a performance review but more like he’s checking in with how Eddie’s doing.
Eddie feels himself grimace, gestures vaguely at his crotch, says "Uh… not yet?" sort of tentatively, because it feels like the elephant in the room somehow, neither of them's ever acknowledged what Eddie does after he leaves the room, and Steve says "Oh! You can do it here, you know," easy and unconcerned, and Eddie has to grip his own thighs as a shudder runs through him, almost like a tiny orgasm, raising every hair on his body.
Steve's still looking at him expectantly, swiping a handful of tissues across his own crotch and belly, and so Eddie puts a hand on himself over his jeans, and then fucking Steve says: “You can take it out, it’s okay, make yourself comfortable or whatever,” and Eddie doesn’t think he’s going to last long enough for that, and he doesn’t. He comes as soon as he’s got a hand inside his boxers shorts, which is excruciatingly embarrassing but Steve doesn’t say anything, throws him the tissue box without a word.
*
This has to be some kind of jock thing, Eddie thinks sometimes. Like, the kind of weird stuff that goes on in locker rooms, the stuff that guys like him fantasize about and that he didn’t think was actually real. Right? The kind of stuff straight guys get up to when they’ve been around other naked guys a little too much at a formative age, or whatever.
Right??
Eddie sleeps on Steve’s couch and watches TV and chain-smokes in the backyard by the empty pool while Steve goes to work at Family Video with Robin and the kids come over for movie nights and D&D weekends and Eddie under/overcooks their dinners, and once a week or so, Eddie watches Steve jerk off in front of him like his own personal peep show.
It becomes a routine, almost.
And then, somehow, impossibly, things get even weirder, because one day Eddie barges into Steve’s bedroom – on purpose, he does it on purpose now, it’s become a strange game of hide and seek they’re both playing where Eddie still doesn’t know the rules, or if there are rules, even – and so Eddie opens Steve’s bedroom door, and Steve's there, naked on the bed, but he’s not alone this time.
There’s a girl there with him, a blonde girl sitting naked in his lap. He can’t see but he can tell Steve’s inside her, he’s fucking her, and Steve must have told her about this – How?? How do you bring up something like that? ‘Oh yeah by the way I live with my weird satanist murderer roommate and I let him watch me jerk off sometimes, don’t worry if he walks in on us, he’s gay?’
Whatever Steve’s told her, she must know because she doesn’t seem surprised at all, she just keeps moving on top of Steve with barely a glance back to Eddie.
Eddie feels weirdly betrayed. He’s already stepping back out but then Steve says, strained, “It’s okay, man,” and then, to the girl, “Right?” and she just says, “Whatever,” because apparently everyone in this damn town has lost their goddamn mind, not just him and Steve.
They get back into it without another word. Eddie doesn’t say anything.
He takes a step in and closes the door behind himself.
Girls aren’t really Eddie’s thing. There have been a couple notable exceptions – don’t think about her don’t think about her – but generally speaking it’s not what he’s after, though it’s not like he’s grossed out by them, either. He doesn’t mind that the girl is there, it doesn’t do anything for him but he can sort of tune her out, used to it from watching too much straight porn and focusing laser-tight on the guy’s dick. This is no different, really, and she makes much less noise than those actresses.
The only thing is that he can’t really see what’s going on, can’t see enough of Steve, barely glimpses Steve’s dick except the inch or so where he’s going inside her, can’t see Steve’s chest or his flushed face because she’s in the way. So he stands there for maybe a minute and then he starts thinking about leaving anyway? Maybe this was Steve’s way of telling Eddie he was bored of their weird thing, which was inevitable. It’s not like it was going to last forever.
Somehow – freakishly – Steve must know what’s going on in Eddie’s mind because all of a sudden he’s pulling the girl off his dick by the hips. She protests a bit but then Steve says something to her that Eddie can’t hear, and she must be into it because she nods and starts shuffling up his torso until she’s – oh, fuck, Steve told her to sit on his face, and now Eddie can see Steve again, his hard red dick and his stomach and his sweaty chest, and Steve’s pulling the condom off and stroking himself as the girl rides his face, and Steve’s making a bunch of noise now, he never makes much noise when he’s by himself but he’s loud now and it’s driving Eddie crazy and he doesn’t wait for anyone’s permission to touch himself this time – they can’t see him, anyway, but he thinks Steve might hear the sound of Eddie’s zipper somehow because he groans extra loud, muffled between the girl’s thighs, and he starts coming, and Eddie is right there too, just a fraction of a second behind, coming before Steve’s even stopped and Steve is fucking someone else but this is more like Eddie’s had sex with Steve than it’s ever been before.
He leaves the room before the girl’s orgasm.
He’s in the living room watching TV by the time Steve comes downstairs with her to drive her home. When Steve comes back, Eddie holds out a beer for him and Steve says, "Thanks, man," and then they watch the rest of Carson together, laughing occasionally.
They don’t talk about it.
*
Eddie doesn’t know if Steve brings home any more girls after that, because the suits come to Steve’s house and tell Eddie he’s been cleared. He goes back to the trailer for a while, hangs out with Wayne, smokes every last bit of his remaining stash of weed and does not think at all about Steve and about what the fuck that all was.
He goes into town for cigarettes and doesn’t even get chased out of the store. He walks past the diner and sees Steve through the window. He’s sitting across from a girl – a different girl, a brunette with long hair. He’s laughing. Eddie goes home and gets drunk and doesn’t think about it.
Then, a few days later, the phone rings and it’s Steve, telling Eddie he should come over, watch the game, drink some beers.
They’ve never watched the game together before in all the weeks Eddie was hiding out at Steve’s.
Eddie goes anyway.
He and Steve sit in Steve’s beautiful living room, Steve on the couch, Eddie in the recliner, beers in hand. They don’t talk, and yet Eddie couldn’t tell you what sport is even playing on the TV.
Then, Steve says: “Everything good?” and Eddie almost startles.
“Sure, dude,” he says, because he has no fucking idea what Steve is talking about.
Then, because he can’t help himself, he says: “How was the date?”
“Oh, I don’t know, it was – you know," Steve says, which doesn’t help at all, does it.
They finish their beers; Steve gets them two more.
“You’re really not into girls, are you,” Steve says after a while, which – oookay, Steve knew that, didn’t he? Eddie’s pretty sure they said that much, at least, and wasn’t that the whole reason they were doing – whatever this was?
“Nope,” Eddie simplifies. He’s not going to derail this with the meandres and intricacies of his sexual identity, because he wants to know where this conversation is going. Dumbly, he adds: “Sorry?”
“No, no, it’s okay, it’s fine,” Steve says, and then he gets that look on his face, the pensive one, and he’s quiet for a few more seconds. Eddie goes back to staring blankly at the dudes running around on the TV.
Then Steve says: “Hey, come here, I wanna try something,” and, yeah, Eddie goes, because he’s just too used to following Steve’s lead and not asking questions by now.
He extricates himself from the recliner and goes to kneel by the couch next to Steve’s legs. Steve’s wearing sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, and he takes Eddie’s hand, sort of gently. Turns it over like he’s examining it for a second, and he must approve because he pushes it under his shirt until Eddie’s touching his skin.
Steve feels warm. Sort of soft.
“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, and Steve says “Wait, shut up, I just want to–” and he slides back against the couch until he’s sort of lying down, bringing Eddie’s hand with him, still under his shirt.
Eddie doesn’t move. He really doesn’t understand what’s happening. He’s never touched Steve before, in all the times they’ve done this; he’s never even sat this close to him. He doesn’t know if he should move his hand or not, if he’s allowed, if that’s what Steve wants, what Steve could possibly want, what the fuck this is, what the fuck is going on.
“Come on, touch me,” Steve says, impatiently, like Eddie’s being dense, and then he reaches up with his other hand and grabs a fistful of Eddie’s hair and tugs him close. The feeling of his lips on Steve’s makes it to Eddie’s brain before the realization that they’re about to kiss.
Steve tastes like beer and his skin is warm and soft under his shirt except for the raised ridges of the scars on his sides. Eddie moves his hand gently over Steve’s belly and his lips gently across Steve’s lips, barely breathing, and Steve opens his mouth and pulls on Eddie’s hair a bit harder until Eddie’s pushing into Steve’s mouth and licking across Steve’s tongue, hand gripping Steve’s hip.
“What the fuck, Steve,” he breathes against his mouth, trying to take a full breath, to have a full thought. Steve licks across Eddie’s mouth and it sends a jolt down his whole body. “What the fuck are you doing, man?”
“Uh, kissing you,” Steve says, like duh, like Eddie’s the stupidest person alive and Steve has told him a million times. “Thought that was fairly obvious.”
He tugs at Eddie’s other arm. “Wait, this isn’t – Come up, come up here with me.”
Eddie goes, because why the fuck not at this stage, right? This is going to kill him, probably, but out of all the ways he’s almost died recently this is the one he likes best.
And then he’s lying half on top of Steve on the couch. Steve’s thigh is between his legs. Steve must be able to tell Eddie’s hard. Eddie can tell Steve is hard, too. Jesus, what the fuck is this, what the fuck is this??
“What the fuck is this,” Eddie says, hysterical. “Steve, what the fuck, wait, we have to talk about this.”
“I don’t know, do we?” Steve mumbles, and then he pushes his hand up Eddie’s shirt, all the way to Eddie’s neck, up and down Eddie’s throat, and back down to his chest, sliding his palm from side to side over Eddie’s nipples. Eddie groans, and when he does, Steve does too.
“But you’re straight,” Eddie whines, as Steve pushes his hips into Eddie’s, hand still petting him under his shirt. Their cocks grind into each other. Eddie pushes back, rubs himself across the hardness of Steve’s cock. He’s losing his mind. “You’re straight, jesus fucking christ, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Shh, it doesn’t matter,” Steve says, “I want to, let me,” and then he clambers on top of Eddie, straddles him awkwardly, not really enough room on this couch no matter how big it is, and he lowers himself all along Eddie’s front until they’re kissing again while Steve rubs himself against Eddie and it can’t be comfortable, Steve in sweatpants against the hard zipper of Eddie’s jeans, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind, and Eddie thinks he might just come like this, go insane and come and then die, probably, it’s imminent, it’s almost happening – and then Steve stops again, frowning underneath all the hair that’s fallen across his face.
“Wait, wait, that’s not quite –” he says, and he raises himself up again – no, no, Eddie almost cries out – and he pushes and pulls and rearranges until their positions are reversed again and he’s back underneath Eddie – make up your damn mind, or, no, do whatever you want, just don’t fucking stop now – and he pulls at Eddie’s hips until Eddie’s the one who’s thrusting down onto Steve, and Steve pushes his arms up above his head and lets Eddie kiss him and fuck against him, over and over, harder and harder until he makes them both come.
He lies there, after, on top of Steve, sweaty and bewildered with his come cooling tacky and gross inside his underwear. It’s fucking uncomfortable. He’s never moving again.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Steve says, running his hand through Eddie’s hair, sending shivers down his spine where his damp shirt is cooling. “We can just – do it, can’t we?”
And it’s a terrible idea, and Eddie should fucking know better. But still, he nods.
*
So they don’t talk about it, later that night, when Steve takes Eddie’s hand and leads him up to his room, and they undress next to each other and get under the covers together.
They don’t talk about it the next morning, when Steve pulls Eddie on top of himself again before taking both of them in one big hand.
“Keep your eyes open, come on, you know I like it when you watch,” he says, shuddering at his own words, and Eddie does, keeping his eyes on Steve’s face the whole time, even when Steve closes his eyes and comes all over them both and it makes Eddie come too.
They don’t talk about it when Steve goes up to fetch them more beers one night when they’re watching TV, and sits back down next to Eddie instead of in his own chair, and puts his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, raising it just enough to press his lips there briefly.
They don’t talk about it when Steve says, “Wait, I want to –” and puts his tongue on Eddie and lets him come in his mouth, or when he tells Eddie “You should come back, man, bring your stuff this time, you’re practically living here anyway,” or when Steve grabs Eddie’s hand where the kids can see and doesn’t let go, and no one else says anything about it either, not a fucking word, and maybe Eddie really did go crazy. This is crazy, right?
They don’t talk about it, and they don’t talk about it, and they keep doing it, week after week, month after month.
And one day Eddie wakes up with his face smushed into Steve’s sweaty armpit, drool all down his chin and soaking into Steve’s shirt, and Steve grumbles sleepily and curls up around Eddie, clutching him closer, and Eddie thinks, fuck it, okay. Maybe some things don’t need to be talked about. Maybe they can just be.
**
The end