Archive of Our Own

Steve’s not really surprised that it takes him less than a year to fuck everything up.

He’s been sitting at the kitchen table for a while now, head in his hands as he tries to keep his breathing even, just barely holding back the tears he can feel burning behind his eyes. There’s an empty juice glass near his elbow still giving off the scent of cheap whiskey, the taste of it lingering on his tongue, and he’s heavily considering pouring himself another two fingers worth when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Shit,” he whispers, dragging his fingers through his hair as he raises his head, peering suspiciously towards the door of his apartment. He glances at the clock above the stove and winces, knowing that there’s really only one person it could be at this time on a Friday night. 

When Steve was a child his parents started leaving him alone overnight at eight. By ten they were away for days at a time, and then for entire weeks before he’d even celebrated his twelfth birthday. His parents always stressed upon him the importance of never letting anyone know that Steve was home alone. Not his friends, or the neighbors, or any of his teachers from school. No one could know. 

Someone knocking on the front door used to send him into a panicked tailspin. He’d already gotten into the habit of watching the television on the lowest possible volume, to avoid bothering his father in his office while he was working, but he’d mash the power button the second anyone knocked, the remote always held tightly in his fist. He would slip off the sofa, staying close to the floor and crawling along the floor out of sight of the windows, hiding until whoever was at the door went away. 

He gave up on all that as he grew older, when it no longer became a concern that someone his age was left alone, but part of him wants to do that now. Wants to keep quiet, wants to hide, until the person at his door gives up and leaves. 

He’s an adult now, though, and he knows that ignoring his problems won’t fix them. 

He sits back in his chair, flimsy wood flexing under his weight, looking at the mess spread out across his kitchen table. Ominous red envelopes holding bills stamped overdue along the top. His checkbook that he’s balanced and balanced again, hoping to make money appear where there was none. The scrap piece of paper he’d been doing calculations on, along with his old school calculator to double check his shitty mathematical skills, trying to figure out what bills he can pay and which ones he can’t. 

Truth is, he can barely pay any of them. Not the important ones, at the very least. 

At least Max can’t see how badly things have gotten, he thinks, looking down at his credit card statement, before immediately chastising himself, guilt swelling in his stomach and making him feel like the world's biggest asshole. He’d give just about everything for her to have her sight back, and he’d give absolutely anything for her to have her mom back. Short of an actual miracle, though, there’s nothing he can do to make either of those things happen. He’s been trying his hardest to give her the best life that he can, but apparently, his hardest hasn’t been good enough.

There’s another sharp knock on the door, knuckles tap-tapping against the wood, and he sighs as he presses his fingertips beneath his left eye, winching at the ache brewing there. He’s pretty sure he’s got a migraine coming on, and he’d love nothing more than to go curl up in the darkness of his bedroom with an ice pack and a bottle of ibuprofen, but he can't. 

He has to deal with this first. 

“Coming,” he calls out, tossing aside the pencil he’d been chewing on, running his hand through his hair again. “Sorry, just one second.”

His knees crack as he rises, limbs heavy with dread as he shuffles over to the door and flips the deadbolt, utterly unsurprised when he finds the building’s manager-slash-maintenance guy standing on the other side, the skin around his eyes taut, body stiff, everything about him practically screaming how unhappy he is to be here. 

Steve isn’t very happy to see him, either.

“Hi, Eddie,” he says evenly, grateful that Max decided to stay at El’s tonight. He’d rather her not be around if this turns ugly. 

Eddie just sniffs, jaw jutted out as he glares over Steve’s shoulder. “Your rent is late.”

Eddie Munson is a weird guy. 

Not in a bad way, really, Steve tries not to think about people like that anymore, but no one can deny that he’s a little strange. He wears t-shirts for bands Steve’s never heard of, and movies he’s never seen. He’s overheard him having conversations with the old hippie that lives downstairs that go right over his head, the two of them talking excitedly about things like the fallacy of trickle down economics and marxism and tax deductions. Any time Steve walks past his ground floor apartment he’s blaring music that seems to mostly be shredding guitars and screaming, and is in a band that makes the same sort of music; he and everyone else in the building can hear when they practice every week in the utility shed out back. He’s into all the same nerd shit that the boys are, sci-fi and fantasy and dragon dice, or whatever that game is called. He’s been known to let the little girls that live upstairs bully him into letting them do his make-up and then will complete the rest of his workday with blue eyeshadow and blush-stained cheeks. Steve once watched him get into a fight with a squirrel and lose. 

Eddie Munson also hates him. Like, no questions asked, outright hates him. He’s as sweet as can be to the other residents, Max included, but not him. It’s only Steve that he looks at like he’s lower than dirt. 

The worst part is that Steve gets it, he really does. He knows that they went to high school together, even if he doesn’t remember Eddie. He doesn’t remember a lot of things these days, the last concussion he received shot his memory full of holes, but he’s gotten the hint that he treated him pretty badly. 

If this is karma he probably deserves it, but fuck, he really needs a break.

“I know I haven’t made the payment yet,” Steve says, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the pressure he can feel forming in his sinus cavity. He really doesn’t want to start crying like a fucking baby, unless it will help, but he really doubts it. “Do you mind coming in? So that we can talk privately?”

Eddie finally looks at him, lips curling down in a sneer of displeasure before he shrugs, stepping into the apartment. Steve nudges the door closed, staring at the collection of sticky notes on the inside of it as he tries to collect himself, taking a deep breath before he turns around.

Eddie’s standing on the far side of the kitchen, near the imaginary border where the kitchen turns into the living room, marked only by the linoleum transitioning into carpet. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, body stiff, eyes flicking around the apartment. Steve can see the way his attention catches a few times, a flicker of interest in his eyes, but when he looks up at him his face is closed off. Unfriendly. Hostile.

Steve carefully examines the small amount of pride he’s got left, and then promptly shoves that shit down into the depths of his brain, where it can’t interfere with what he’s about to. 

“I’m really sorry I haven’t dropped a check in the drop box yet,” Steve starts, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, leaning his hip against the edge of the counter. “Things have been sort of rough lately and I’ve been short on funds.”

He glances up, flinching when he sees Eddie staring at him, eyes dark and cold. “Look, I’m gonna level with you, man. I don’t have the money. I can give you a check right now, but it’s gonna bounce. Is there any way I can get a discount on my rent or even an extension? Something? I could probably pay part of my rent. Like, half of it? Or, is there any way I could work off the rent? I could help out with maintenance, do shit around the property for you.”

Eddie stares at him, expression unchanging. “No.”

Steve’s stomach drops through the fucking floor, panic rising in his chest and licking at the insides of his throat. He’d said no, just like that, didn’t even consider it.

He’s going to lose his apartment. They’re going to take Max from him. 

“Look, Eddie, I am desperate. I am begging you to work with me here. I haven’t missed a single payment in the last nine months. It’s been late, sure, but never by more than a couple of days, and I always made sure to add the late fees to my check. We’re quiet, we’re clean, we don’t bother our neighbors, we aren’t even harboring any secret pets, like whoever the fuck is keeping what sounds like a goat on the floor above us.” Eddie says nothing, his desperation kicking up into high gear. 

“Please. If I lose this apartment the courts are going to revoke my guardianship of Max, and she’s been through enough. Please don’t take away the last bit of stability in her life.”

Eddie sighs through his nose, looking down at his shoes for a moment before raising his head again. “You know, I have always been curious as to how King Steve ended up with a teenage girl as his ward.”

Steve scoffs, skin crawling beneath the weight of Eddie’s gaze and guilt laying heavy in his stomach at the use of his old nickname, looking away and letting his eyes settle on the strip of pictures stuck to the front of the fridge, Robin’s beaming smile giving him a scrap of comfort. 

He wishes she was here so badly that it hurts. He’d been ecstatic when she got her acceptance letter from the University of Michigan, and he couldn’t be prouder that she’s pursuing a degree, putting those language skills of hers to use, but… he still wishes she was here, though. He needs his best friend, and their daily phone calls aren’t nearly enough. He would have followed her to Michigan in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for Max. 

“I feel like the Hawkins rumor mill has already thoroughly covered that one.”

“Well, I’ve never been one to pay much mind to any of that,” Eddie says, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, according to the townspeople I practice Satanism and sacrifice cats under the light of the full moon, so.”

Steve glances up, meets his eye for a split second. “And is any of that true?”

“Nah,” Eddie gives him a sharp, sarcastic smile. “Everyone knows that the new moon is the best time to perform blood magic.”

Steve snorts, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Well, the rumors are pretty on track for what happened with Max. She was injured during the earthquake, her mom died, no one can find her dad, and somehow I conned the courts into granting me custody. We’ve been friends for a few years now, Max and I. I was sort of an honorary babysitter for her and her friends. She, uh… she doesn’t have anyone else. Her step-brother died in the mall fire a few years ago, and her ex-step father doesn’t want anything to do with her.” 

Eddie’s expression has softened, and he latches onto that, desperate for Eddie to throw him a bone of some sort. 

“C’mon, man, work with me here. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. I can pay back the missed rent later. I’ll make payments. I can give you some sort of collateral if need be. The title to my car? It’s not like, a nice car, but it’s still worth something.”

“What happened to your beemer?” Eddie asks, throwing him off for a moment. He’s staring at him when he looks over, dark eyes narrowed, scoffing a little at whatever expression is on his face. “Didn’t you have a BMW in high school? I remember everyone losing their minds when you got it. It was a sweet ride.”

“Yeah, I did.” Steve nods slowly, wetting his lips with what little moisture is in his mouth. “I sold it last year. I needed the money for a lawyer.” He’d burned through all his savings as well, spent every single cent he had trying to convince the courts that he was stable enough to take care of Max. “The Gremlin out in the parking lot is mine. I’d sell it too, but I need some way of getting Max to her doctor's appointments.”

“The red one that leaks transmission fluid and oil all over the asphalt?” Eddie looks horrified for a moment before shaking his head, expression flattening back into thinly veiled contempt. “Look, Harrington, don’t you have someone you can borrow the money from? A friend, maybe, if you have any of those left? Mommy and daddy? I seem to remember them being loaded, I’m sure they could front you some cash.”

He’s already in debt to Hopper, Joyce, Claudia Henderson, and Karen Wheeler, and asking his parents is completely and utterly out of the question.

“No, please. Please help me out here. I’ll do anything, I swear. I’ll clean your apartment. I’ll mop the entire building top to bottom. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll pick up your dry cleaning-”

“Do I look like the type of person that dry cleans their clothes?” Eddie asks incredulously, which is fair. Steve had really been grasping at straws there. “Nah, dude, I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands. As far as I’m concerned there’s only one thing you could do to get out of paying your rent, and it sure as shit isn’t picking up my fucking dry cleaning. Get the check to me by the end of the week, and next month's better be on time.”

Steve’s head spins as Eddie moves towards the door. The end of the week gives him a little extra time, sure, but he’s still not going to have the money by then, or next months either. Not unless he manages to win the lottery, which is doubtful since he can’t even justify spending a dollar on a scratcher right now, or some distant relative dies and leaves him something in their will. Eddie said there was one thing he could do, but he didn’t say what it was. What the hell could that even mean, he-

Oh. 

“How many times?” Steve asks, just as Eddie reaches for the knob, throwing himself to the side and slapping a hand against the door to keep it closed. “You want me to- what? Blow you, fuck you, let you fuck me? Yeah, fine, whatever. How many times would I have to get you off to get you to waive this month's rent for me?” 

Eddie’s frozen, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, hand still held mid-air. “What?” he asks, voice cracking. 

“Yeah, that’s what you were offering, isn’t it? You said there was one thing I could do, and I’ve seen enough pornos to know what you were getting at.” 

“That’s not-” Eddie clears his throat, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jumpsuit and rocking back on his heels. “There’s no way you’re gay, Harrington.”

“Well, no, but I’m bisexual.” 

Steve had only fully realized it a couple of years ago, and has admitted it to only Robin, but it got to a point where he could no longer deny that he was into men. He hasn’t really had time to explore that side of himself, considering everything else going on in their lives, and he’s never actually been with another guy in any capacity, but there’s no time like the present.

Not that having an attraction to men would really matter, in this case. He’d do just about anything right now to avoid losing his apartment, regardless of whether he was into it or not. 

He didn’t know that Eddie was into guys, but it’s not like anyone would be brave enough to run around shouting out their queerness in a town like this. You’d get your ass kicked, at best. The black bandana he wears in his back pocket does make a little more sense now. Steve thought he just kept it on hand to clean his hands during repairs or whatever, but the color and placement did always seem very deliberate. 

He doesn’t actually know what any of the colors mean, or the meaning of wearing it on the left instead of the right, but none of that seems particularly important right now. 

“So, yeah. How many times would I have to get you off in order to take care of this month's rent?”

Eddie mumbles something that he doesn’t quite catch, Steve’s left ear hasn’t worked right ever since Billy Hargrove broke a plate over his head, rubbing his hands over his face before blowing out a harsh breath, expression blank when he lowers his hands. 

“Let’s call it once a week. You get me off, and I’ll waive one week's worth of rent. You do it for a month,” Eddie shrugs, giving Steve a look that makes his stomach squirm. “Then you get a free month worth of rent.”

“Okay.” Steve nods, mind racing with the possibilities, voice coming out surprisingly steady considering what they’re discussing. “And could that be, uh, a long standing arrangement?”

Eddie blinks hard, shaking his head a little. “Why don’t we work off this month and I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” He and Eddie stare at each other for a long, tense moment. “So, um. Now? Does that work for you, for this week?”

“Okay,” Eddie rasps, looking like Steve’s just pulled the rug out from beneath his feet. 

“Cool. Right. Um,” Steve rubs at his eye again, the ache becoming more persistent, mentally pleading with his brain to hold off on the migraine just a little while longer. “What, uh. What do you want?”

He’ll do just about anything Eddie wants him to, even if it’s weird. Even if it might hurt. There isn’t much he could ask for that would outweigh the benefit of having this burden taken off his shoulders. Part of his mind is already thinking about which bills he can pay off with the money he was supposed to put towards rent. 

“Blowjob?” Eddie asks, looking dumbfounded when Steve smiles and nods. “Okay. Uh, right here?”

Steve thinks about dropping to his knees in the kitchen, thinks about how unforgiving the linoleum will be on his joints. “Couch?” 

Eddie nods, pausing to kick off his dirty sneakers before making his way over to the couch, slowly lowering himself to sit on it. Steve trails behind slowly, taking a moment to study the man he’s about to suck off for the very first time. The very first man he’s about to have a sexual experience with.

Eddie Munson isn’t a bad looking dude, in all reality. 

He’s handsome, in a non conventional way. Long, curly hair held up in a loose knot at the back of his head, pale skin, plush lips, a hint of dark stubble along his jaw. Steve knows he has tattoos, has seen little glimpses of them along his wiry arms when Eddie’s shucked off the top half of his jumpsuit and tied it around his waist, and can’t help but to wonder how many lurk beneath his clothes. There’s a necklace resting at the base of his throat, a guitar pick held on a thin chain, and Steve’s eyes snag on it for a moment, heart pounding when he imagines pressing a kiss into the hollow beneath his jaw. 

He even smells good, Steve muses, dropping to his knees on the floor between Eddie’s spread legs, a little curl of pleasure blooming in his stomach at the way Eddie’s mouth falls open, lashes fluttering. He’d expected him to smell a little gross, for some reason, but he smells clean and masculine, cologne that he doesn’t recognize and the scent of tobacco clinging to his clothes, just a hint of sweat underneath that’s not as unattractive as he thought it would be. 

“Do you wanna-” He reaches out, tugging at the pant leg of Eddie’s jumpsuit. 

“Yeah.” Eddie unzips the navy jumpsuit all the way down, pulling his arms free and lifting his hips as he shoves at the material until it’s pooled around his ankles. Eddie reaches for the waistband of his boxers, an enticing bulge already visible through the dark fabric, when he pauses. “Do you have a condom?”

“Oh, shit, yeah. One second.” Steve clambers up, hurrying to the bathroom and rifling through the medicine cabinet, finding the little box of condoms he shoved in there after a very awkward conversation with Max when she started dating Lucas again. 

He can’t believe he almost forgot.

He’s always harping on the kids about being safe, and he’s seen the news, he knows what a risk it is to fuck around with someone without protection. According to Robin the transmission rate through oral is low, but he’s not enough of an idiot to think that means non-existent. He’s grateful that Eddie thought to ask. 

He tears a condom off the strip, shuddering when he realizes that the box was already open, but that was the entire reason he bought the fucking things, so at least he knows that Max took his talk to heart, even if the idea of her having sex makes him vaguely queasy. He hurries back to the living room, coming to an abrupt stop the second he exits the hall. 

Eddie has pushed his boxers down around his ankles with his jumpsuit, head tilted back against the sofa cushions, black t-shirt rucked up enough that Steve can see the trail of dark hair that leads from his belly button down. Eddie’s eyes are closed, fist slowly stroking up and down his length. 

His dick is big. Not quite as long as his own, but thicker, girthier. It curves up towards his stomach a little, head pink and shiny where it peeks out from the top of his fist.

It’s pretty, which is insane, knocks him sideways a little. He’s never gotten a good look at another guy's dick before, outside of little glimpses in the locker room where he forced himself not to look. He’s seen them in porn and skin mags, knew conceptually that he liked men, but his mouth fills with drool at the sight of Eddie’s pretty, pretty cock, head spinning a little as a rush of arousal courses through him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, falling back to his knees between Eddie’s legs, hitting the carpet with a little thud. Eddie’s eyes open, heavy-lidded and a little dazed, licking his lips as Steve fumbles to open the condom with shaky hands. He eventually has to tear it open with his teeth, slowly reaching out as Eddie takes his own hand away. 

The first brush of his fingertips against Eddie’s flesh have a sound falling from his mouth that he refuses to acknowledge as a moan. The skin is soft and hot, his cock hard and wet at the tip, and it feels so, so good in his hand when he wraps his fingers around it properly. Eddie lets out a harsh breath when he drags his hand down towards the base, and Steve instantly feels his body heat up in response. 

He holds Eddie’s cock steady with one hand, using his other to fit the condom over the flushed, flared head, feeling oddly clumsy as he does it. Maybe because he’s only ever done this to himself, or maybe because Eddie is a man, and he’s about to suck his dick, which has Steve’s already frantic heart rate kicking up a notch. 

He presses a thumb to the underside of the head, to that little ridge of skin that he can never remember the name of but knows that it feels good when touched, massaging it as he rolls the condom down Eddie’s length, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. 

He has no idea what he’s doing. He’s never sucked a dick before. Hell, he’s never even kissed another guy before. He opens his mouth to voice his concerns, glancing up at Eddie who is watching him with predatory focus, pupils blown, and bites down on his lower lip instead. 

There’s no way in hell he’s giving Eddie the opportunity to back out of this. He has a dick, he knows what feels good when someone sucks him off, and he’s always liked going down on girls. Some of those skills have to be transferable. Besides, he’s always been good at figuring shit out on the fly. 

He leans in, panting a little, holding Eddie’s eye as he hangs his tongue out from between his lips, licking over the head of his dick like a lollipop. Eddie’s immediate groan is gratifying, so he does it again, dragging his tongue down towards the base and up again. Eddie groans again, head falling back, and it gives him the confidence to close his lips around the head. 

He tongues at the slit through the thin layer of the condom, watching as Eddie shivers and wishing that he could taste him. The latex is off putting, a chemical flavor filling his mouth instead of the taste of skin he desires, the little pulse of fluid he can feel even through the condom. He’s tasted his own come before, curious after jerking off, and he liked it, bitter and salty. He bets Eddie’s would taste even better.

He suckles at the tip before he works up the courage to bob his head, lips sticking to the condom until his spit slicks the way. He pulls up, wrapping his tongue around the head before sinking down again.

Girls always made this shit look easy when they gave him head, but it turns out there’s a lot more coordination involved than he realized. He concentrates on trying to start a rhythm, careful to keep his lips tucked over his teeth. He tries to get his hand involved, stroking up towards where his lips are wrapped around Eddie’s cock, quickly getting out of time with himself and managing to smack himself in the lips on his next stroke upwards. 

It reminds him a little bit of that thing from grade school where someone would tell him to pat his head and rub your stomach at the same time. He was never very good at that.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes out above him, muscles tensing in his stomach where his shirt has ridden up, and Steve takes that as a sign that he must be doing something right. He lets his head bob a little lower, Eddie’s cock sliding hotly across his tongue as he shudders, his own pressing uncomfortably against the inside of his zipper. 

He watches as Eddie’s hand twitches on the couch cushion a few times, creeping towards him before Eddie yanks it back, clenching it into a fist next to his thigh. Steve reaches out, fumbling for his hand and pressing it to his head, letting out a little moan when Eddie’s fingers weave through his hair, rings catching and tugging in a way that sends sparks down his spine. 

He always did love when girls would pull his hair when he was eating them out.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, tightening his grip a little more, not forcing his movements but providing a heavy weight for him to work against. “Is that good?” Steve moans again, mouth full, a rumbling noise escaping Eddie’s throat. “Tap my leg once for yes, twice for no.”

Steve taps the fingers of his free hand against Eddie’s knee before sliding his hand up and gripping his thigh, rubbing his palm against the coarse hair there. It feels good, everything feels so good, his hips twitching in a desperate bid for friction. He thinks about dropping his hand, touching himself, but that would mean taking his hand off Eddie’s thigh, and he really doesn’t want to. 

Eddie’s cock brushes against his soft palate, barely even halfway in his mouth, and Steve wants more, wants it deeper. He takes a deep breath before moving his mouth down, the head brushing the back of his throat a little.

He gags softly, swallows it down, head spinning when he does it again and realizes he likes it. His eyes start to water, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes and spilling as he forces Eddie’s cock down his throat, brain panicking at the intrusion for a single moment until he draws back, taking in a gasping breath through his nose and doing it again. 

“Fuck, Steve.” Eddie sounds wrecked, voice cracking as he reaches up to thumb at the corner of his mouth, where his lips are stretched wide around his cock, sweeping up and rubbing through the wetness on his cheek. “Shit, baby. You look so good with a cock in your mouth.”

Steve whines, eyes crossing, nervous system lighting up and making him go all hazy, the word baby running on a loop in his mind. He pushes his mouth even lower, feeling like he’s really figured this thing out now, his tight hold around the base of Eddie’s cock getting in the way of forcing more of him into his mouth. He draws his hand away, letting his fingers trail over the sharp line of Eddie’s hip bone and the guitar he has tattooed there before dragging them down to cup Eddie’s balls, rolling them in his palm.

Eddie grunts out a curse, hand tightening in his hair, hips starting to twitch up in aborted little thrusts. Steve taps his fingers against Eddie’s thigh, yes, waiting a few seconds before doing it again, the tip of his nose now brushing the thick pubic hair at the base of his cock. 

“Yes what?” Eddie asks, voice gravelly and deep, fuck, Steve’s so hard that it hurts. “What do you want, Steve?” He reaches up blindly, feeling around until he finds Eddie’s wrist, wrapping his fingers around it and tugging down, forcing Eddie’s hand to move his head lower. Eddie moans, pulling him up and pushing him down again. “You want me to fuck your mouth?”

Yes, yes, yes. Steve wants it so badly he feels stupid with it. 

Eddie groans, one hand in his hair and the other coming up to cradle his jaw, thumb pressing down over his pulse point. “Give me two taps, baby. Show me what you’ll do if you want me to stop.” Steve taps twice against Eddie’s leg, panting hard through his nose, drool spilling from the corners of his mouth and running down the outside of the condom, soaking into the dark hair of Eddie’s crotch and making a mess. 

“Fuck,” Eddie bites out, hands holding his head in place as he starts to thrust up into his mouth.

It’s good. It’s so goddamn good that Steve’s brain sort of turns to mush, all thoughts fleeing his head. Eddie’s cock feels like a brand in his mouth, so fucking hot against his tongue, warming him from the inside out as it pushes down his throat. 

“Oh, good boy,” Eddie sighs, thumb rubbing through the tears still spilling down his cheeks, his mind whiting out for a moment in pure pleasure. Good boy, holy fucking shit. “Good boy, letting me use your mouth like this. You feel so good, baby, so good.”

Steve lets his eyes slide closed, body tingling, jaw aching in a way that feels terrific as Eddie keeps fucking his mouth, repeatedly bullying his way into the soft clutch of his throat. A sort of haze settles over him, his entire focus on the back and forth of Eddie’s cock, gasping in a breath whenever he has a chance, having totally given up on trying to swallow any of his drool and letting it make a mess of them both. 

He’s pretty sure he’s making a lot of noises. Whining and whimpering and moaning around the cock in his mouth, the wet smack of spit and harsh breaths, the occasional soft gag, groaning whenever Eddie gives his hair a particularly sharp tug, and he’d probably be embarrassed by all of that if this wasn’t the hottest sexual experience of his fucking life. 

“I’m gonna come,” Eddie grits out, fucking his mouth hard, his nose bumping into Eddie’s pelvis every time he drags him down. He can feel his cock pulsing in his throat, moaning loudly as Eddie curses, barely having the mental capacity to tap once against Eddie’s leg, yes. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Eddie yanks him down with a grunt and keeps him there, grinding up into his mouth as his cock kicks and twitches inside of his tongue. Steve garbles out a whine and tries to suck, swallowing around it, wishing he could taste Eddie’s release other than the taste of his own spit. 

He gasps for air when Eddie pulls him off, vision full of stars and head swimming when he opens his eyes. Eddie’s cock is hovering in front of his face, still a little hard, condom swollen and white at the end. Steve really wants to get his mouth back on it. Instead he drops his forehead to Eddie’s thigh, panting for breath as he drops his hand to where he’s tenting his jeans.

“Can I-”

“Yeah, baby.” Eddie strokes a hand through his hair, trailing down to brush his thumb over Steve’s lower lip, letting out a little growl when he licks it into his mouth. “Touch yourself, let me see.”

Steve lets out a breathy moan, fighting against his button and zipper, sucking on Eddie’s thumb all the while. He finally manages to free his cock, yanking it through the flap of his boxers and crying out the second he touches it. 

He isn’t sure he’s ever been this turned on before. 

He wraps his fingers around himself and starts jerking off, skin slicked by the pre-come he’s been steadily weeping since the second he dropped to his knees, knowing that he’s going to come so quickly that it’s embarrassing. 

Eddie’s hand pets over his head, thumb still tucked into his mouth and pressing down on the center of his tongue, fingers gently weaving through his hair before they tighten harshly, the grip just barely managing to stay on the right side of being too much as Eddie tugs his head up.

Eddie’s eyes are dark, nearly black in the dim light of his apartment, radiating so much hunger that Steve can feel his balls draw up, heat racing up his spine. 

“Please,” he whines around the thumb in his mouth, unsure of what he’s even asking for, but Eddie seems to understand, nodding as his eyes flick down to Steve’s cock, tongue flashing out to swipe along his lower lip.

“You can come, Steve,” Eddie says, hooking his thumb behind Steve’s teeth and pulling him up a little, until their faces are only a few inches apart, his breath brushing over his lips when he speaks. “Come on, baby, make yourself come for me.”

The urge to lean in a little more and press their lips together is nearly overwhelming. Steve whimpers, staring into Eddie’s big brown eyes, crying out when everything stretches tight and then snaps. He barely has the sense to point his cock up towards his chest before everything whites out, a bitten off little scream falling from between his gritted teeth. 

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs, stroking his hair as Steve shakes and whines, painting his t-shirt and neck and chin with come. “Good boy, Stevie, that’s it.”

He feels like he’s been reborn when it finally ends, collapsing back onto his heels as he tries to catch his breath. He feels shaky and sweaty, pressing a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s thumb when it slips from his mouth, leaning into the other man’s touch when it ghosts over the side of his face.

“S’good?” he asks, once he remembers how to form words, voice slurring as he opens his eyes. “Was that good?”

“Yeah, Steve.” Eddie’s brows slowly draw together, lips tugging down at the corners as he looks at him, blissed out expression clouding with some emotion he can’t quite place. “It was really, really good.”

“Good.” Steve gives him a smile that feels a little wobbly, breath catching in his throat. “Was I good?”

“Oh,” Eddie whispers, cursing softly before he reaches down and removes the condom, wincing a little as he does it, tying it in a knot and dropping it on the floor as he reaches for his boxers, pulling them and the lower half of the jumpsuit back into place. Steve can feel his lower lip trembling as Eddie touches his face, cupping his cheeks in his palms. “Yeah, baby. You were so, so good for me. You did so well.”

Steve closes his eyes, confused as to why his chest feels like it’s caving in on itself, stomach twisting as Eddie gently works his shirt overhead, using part of it to wipe his cheeks and chin before cleaning away the jizz cooling on his skin. 

“C’mere?” Eddie asks softly, voice quiet, and he opens his eyes to see Eddie holding his hands out towards him. Steve places his shaking hands over Eddie's, shuddering when his calloused fingers close around his own and give a little squeeze. “C’mere, baby, I’m worried you’re dropping.” 

Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he nods anyway, letting Eddie pull him up to straddle his lap, tucking his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck when quietly he directs him there. He blinks heavily, breathing shallowly as Eddie croons soft praise in his ear, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other rubs soothingly up and down the length of his spine. 

“Shh, you’re okay,” Eddie whispers when he sniffles wetly. “It’s okay, everything's okay.” Steve feels himself relaxing slowly, tension melting from his muscles, going limp until he’s basically draped over Eddie, arms hanging loosely around Eddie’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Steve mumbles, voice crackling horribly as he becomes aware of the burn in his throat, like he’s coming down with the flu, wincing as he swallows. “I liked it.”

Eddie goes tense beneath him, hand pausing until Steve whines at him to keep rubbing his back. He feels like a cat, arching into his touch and almost purring with how content he is. He isn’t sure the last time he felt this at ease, warm and comfortable and held.

He doesn’t realize he’s started to doze off until he hears the rumble of Eddie speaking, jerking a little as he startles awake. “Sorry, what? Did you say something?”

“I said I should probably get going soon,” Eddie whispers, something brushing against the top of his hair before he nudges the side of Steve’s head with his own, prompting him to sit up a little. Eddie’s eyes flick between his, lips turning down in a slight frown as he reaches up, brushing his thumb along Steve’s lower lip. “Do you want me to help you into bed?”

“Please.”

He feels drunk as Eddie carefully helps him stand, pulling his boxers into place and pushing his jeans down low enough that Steve can step out of them, and it really says a lot about his mental state that he didn’t even realize his dick was hanging out this entire time. He blinks muzzily as Eddie wraps an arm around his waist, stumbling down the hall with his eyes half open, tucking his face back into Eddie’s neck where he feels like it belongs. 

He flops down onto his bed when they get there, bouncing a little before immediately rolling himself in his comforter. He looks up, watching as Eddie scrunches his lips to the side and ducks back out the door, unbearably sad for reasons he can’t quite describe. He feels a little better though when Eddie returns just a few moments later, a glass of water held in his hand. 

He perches on the side of the bed and helps him drink, one hand cupping the back of his head, putting the glass on his nightstand when he’s had enough. Eddie looks down at him, combing gentle fingers through his hair, and Steve doesn’t want him to leave yet. 

“Stay?” he asks, reaching up and holding Eddie’s wrist, feels his jackrabbit pulse beneath his fingertips. “Just for a little bit. Please?”

“Okay.” Eddie nudges him to the side, crawling onto the mattress and wrapping his arms around the Steve shaped blob of blankets. “Is this alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, wiggling closer and pressing his nose against Eddie’s throat, breathing in a mouthful of his scent before pressing a barely kiss there beneath his jaw. “Thank you.”

Eddie goes tense once again, voice shaky when he speaks. “Please don’t thank me.”

Why not, Steve wants to ask, but he was hardly holding onto consciousness as it was, and he can’t really remember how to make his mouth form words. He squirms a little closer to Eddie, close enough that he can feel when he inhales, the air ruffling his hair with every exhale. He lays there in a half-doze, mind sluggishly catching up to the events of the night. 

He falls asleep before he can think to ask Eddie when he wants to do this again.

Steve wakes in a panic when the front door slams open, a clatter and a curse echoing down the hall, sunlight streaming through his bedroom windows. 

“Steve, I’m home,” Max calls out, one of many voices now breaking the silence of the previously empty apartment, and he flops back against his pillows with a groan. “I brought the idiots with me-”

“Hey,” someone whines, probably Dustin, but it’s hard to tell over the chatter and noise. 

“Will you make us pancakes?”

“I want waffles,” El says, the freezer door clunking open. “Why doesn’t Steve buy Eggos?”

“Cause he’s poor now,” Mike says, the sound of flesh hitting flesh ringing out. “Hey, what the fuck was that for?”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he shouts, pressing his hands into his eyes and tuning out their bickering, rolling over into the empty spot beside him, pillow smelling faintly of whatever cologne Eddie uses.

He’s a little disappointed that Eddie left, even though Steve only asked that he stay for a bit, but he’s also really grateful that he took off before the kids showed up. They don’t even know that he’s into guys, not that he thinks any of them would have an issue with it, but discovering him in bed with the building’s maintenance guy is probably not the way to break the news to them. 

Trading sexual favors for rent is a whole other can of worms that he hopes they never find out about. Oh fuck, he has to call Robin. She’s gonna flip her shit when he tells her what happened.

“What are you doing?” Max asks, much closer now, and he raises his head to see her standing in the doorway to his room, her black glasses pushed up to the top of her head. “Why are you still in bed? It’s nearly noon.”

“Am I not allowed to sleep in anymore?” he asks, pushing himself up and scrubbing a hand through his hair. His jaw cracks as he yawns, patting the bed beside him. Max huffs and throws herself down next to him, her glasses landing on the floor with a clatter. He’s really glad they went with the plastic ones instead of glass, since she can’t actually see through them. “Did you guys have fun last night?”

“Yeah, we did.” She stretches her arms over head, pointing her toes until her hip cracks. “El let me paint her nails. She said I only did sort of bad this time. Are you gonna come make us pancakes? We’re hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, I just-” He freezes, body going cold.

He was going over his finances last night when Eddie showed up at his door. He left all of his bank statements and credit card bills scattered across the kitchen table. He didn’t clean up at all last night. Oh goddamn it, the condom.

“Pancakes, coming up!” he squeaks out, crawling over Max and practically throwing himself out of bed, tripping over his bare feet as he stumbles into the main room, panting wildly.

His eyes flash to the floor in front of the couch, ignoring Lucas and Mike’s questioning looks, heaving a sigh of relief when everything seems to be in order. He glances towards the kitchen and physically wilts when he sees that the table has been cleaned. 

He wanders a little closer, rubbing a hand over his face when he sees the shoebox he keeps all of his finance stuff in tucked next to the microwave, and a quick glance inside reveals everything that he stupidly left out last night. 

“Dude,” Dustin says, sitting with Will and El at the table, mouth hanging open as they all stare at him. “Where the fuck are your pants?”

“Do you want pancakes or not?” he snaps, glancing down at himself and cringing when he realizes that he’s dressed in only his boxers, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Give me five fucking minutes, I just woke up.”

Steve squeezes Max’s shoulder as he passes her on the way back to his room, digging around in the basket of clean laundry that he’s been meaning to put away for days, and it’s only as he’s shrugging a clean t-shirt overhead that he notices the little scrap of paper leaning against his bedside lamp. He stands there for a moment, mouth hanging open as he stares at it, before he wanders close enough to read the messy writing scribbled across it. 

My apartment, next week, same time?

Something in Steve’s chest flutters as he reaches out to touch the edge of the paper, stomach going tight, letting out an incredulous laugh when he realizes that they’re safe from getting evicted for another week. He huffs out a breath, lips spreading into a smile so wide that it makes his cheeks ache, and pulls on a pair of jeans before he goes to make his kids some pancakes.