Chapter Text
Things always seem different in the light of the day than they do in the dark.
Because things that get hidden in the shadows are suddenly very visible and can't be covered by the depth of nightly shadows.
As if they're put on display. And when you want to take them and shove them back under the couch the fancy museum alarm goes off. So you don't touch it. And it sits there. Omnipresent.
They hadn't talked about it really. They'd fallen asleep on the couch all tangled limbs afterwards.
It had been nice, being wrapped up in strong arms. Falling asleep together. But then...
They'd gotten up the next day avoiding talking and looking at each other really after detangling their limbs. Instead danced around each other awkwardly while getting dressed.
Steve had found a worn washed out gray Hawkins High swim team hoodie he put on instead of yesterday's shirt, pulled up the hood to hide the red bruised evidence of last nights happenings.
When Steve had looked at himself in the mirror, he'd gasped at the mess that had looked back at him, panic starting to rise in his chest again.
In the heat of the moment everything had seemed so easy, no second thoughts, no time to overthink or even be embarrassed.
When they'd eventually made their way upstairs they had told everyone that Steve had gotten sick last night, and pretty much spent most of it puking his guts up and Eddie stayed around to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit.
Most of them hadn't really looked like they believed them but shrugged it off in the end, not asking questions. Except Robin. She'd obviously looked right through the lies but pretended not to care in front of the others. They'd cleaned up most of yesterday's mess and then buggered off to Nancy's and Eddie's car to be taken home.
Neither the kids nor the rest of the group needed to know there had indeed been a lot of choking involved. Just definitely no choking on vomit.
Thinking about it makes Steve feel the heat rise back to his cheeks, as he sits in his empty living room now. Left alone with his thoughts.
And they were loud. Like a drill behind his eyes, migraine inducing thoughts. Spiraling.
Eddie hadn't even said goodbye. He'd just fled the scene like some criminal, the evidence of his crimes still lying on the pool table and the couch in the basement.
Steve kind of wants to barricade the door with police tape and preserve last night forever.
Instead he sits here, in his hoodie, the sleeves dragged down over his palms trying to hide from the world. He frees his tangled hair from the hood and absently drags a hand trough it as if that would freaking fix anything.
His fingers fall from his head to the collar of his hoodie, slipping beneath. Casually touching metal, warmed by his own body heat.
'Also, that necklace is definitely yours now and you're never taking it off.'
And so he hadn't. It sits there like a weighted anchor, like a cruel reminder. Like torture he'd invited in willingly. Not sure why. It had felt like a demand that he couldn't not follow.
Like he'd been marked, collared. Connected by an invisible thread and getting rid of the last
traces of last night just felt so inherently wrong.
Steve doesn't want to talk about it but he sure as shit does not want to forget about it either. Whatever that means.
Maybe Robin can help him figure it out.
Again.
The phone rings for forever it seems as Steve sits down with steaming hot cup of coffee on his bed. The blanket is loosely wrapped around his legs, not because he's cold but because he needs a layer of safety.
He's absently twirling the phone cord around his index finger and holding his mug with the other hand until there is a click in the connection and Robin's voice on the other end.
“Robin Buckley speaking?”
“Robbie-” Steve's voice cracks trying his best not to sob into the receiver. He drops the cord, plays with a lose threat on his sleeve in a self soothing manner instead.
“Oh Steve, what happened?” her concerned voice comes through. “Do I need to come back over? I can, Steve. Or I'll just listen. Whatever you need. I know something happened last night. I am sorry I didn't talk to you right away but I wanted to give you some space. I can grab my bike, come right over..?”
“Just listen, alright? I'm not sure I could look you in the face right now anyway.” He would probably faint from embarrassment.
“Why? You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean. Unless it's really explicit. Then maybe not. Wait- Is it? Did it turn explicit, dingus? Did you fuck?!” Her voice goes an octave higher than usual.
Steve is actually glad she can't see his red face, streaked with silent tears, eyes slightly swollen.
He clears his throat and pulls a hand over his face as he leans back against the headrest of his bed fumbling with his – not his- necklace like it's some kind of anti stress ball. He inhales.
“NO, we didn't fuck, Robin. But.. there was maybe a hand job involved and some very fucked up stuff that was totally consensual but still totally kinky and fucked up. And now we're not talking and I am freaking out and I don't know what to do because I really liked it and I kind of want to do that again but what if this was like a one time thing only for Eddie? And now I made it awkward by crossing that line and now whenever I look at him I'll have to think of the things he did to me and I can't ever look him in the eyes anymore and I am gonna die from embarrassment and horny and alone I can't do that, BIRDY. I just figured out I might like him. And now everything is fucked and I look like I got run over by a lawn mower! And I fucking never want these bruises to ever go away, okay?! ” He blurts out in one big exhale.
“Holy shit Steve. Hold on. That was lot. Like.. Okay, rewind for a second, Jesus. I never heard you ramble like that before. I always thought that was my job.”
There is a silence. Steve can practically hear the gears grinding on the other end.
“Okay, I really don't want to ask but I feel like I need more context and detail. Just try to protect my innocent ears as much as possible okay? What exactly happened after you fled the room?”
Steve chooses his worlds slowly, deliberately. Not giving away too much but he still fells like he need to get this off his chest.
“Well Eddie followed me to the basement and I was totally freaking out, like panic attack level freaking out so he comforted me and then one thing let to another and we kissed again and.. He really liked to take – the lead. I've never been manhandled like that, Rob. It was so hot. I'll spare you the details. Let's just say the fangs are actually bite proof and he's got very talented hands and- ” he swallows loudly. “- I think I might never come back from this. I'm a ruined man...”
“Oh, eww, okay. Yeah,no more details. So what happened afterwards?” she asked, genuinely invested.
“It was all fine, Rob. He took care of me, we cleaned up, cuddled on the fucking couch and fell asleep. And then this morning everything was awkward as hell! I don't know why! I feel like a stupid teenager! Also I really need to know what happened after I left the room yesterday. I felt so ashamed I just left everyone behind but I was losing my mind, Birdy! I didn't want to ruin the party, seriously!”
There's a loud sigh coming from Robin's end. Steve can practically see her frustrated face before him, how she drags a hand overs her face, pulling her skin into weird grimaces while she relieves tension in her muscles.
“Okay so. First of all. The rest of the group is fine, Steve. Argyle made some obnoxious joke, everyone was high off their asses anyway and drunk so they thought that's why the dare escalated the way it did. Nancy might a bit suspicious but I swear to you, no one is angry or disgusted or whatever you're thinking in your dingus brain, okay? Don't worry about it. That's nothing to concern yourself with.
But for the awkwardness between you do I don't really have an explanation. I mean- I guess Eddie might be panicking too? Like, it's scary as a gay guy in a small town and you are also really good friends and maybe he feels like he is he one that fucked it up now?”
“I told him I wanted this, so- I thought it was mutual?” Steve curls his fingers into a fist around his blanket. He feels like he's loosing his footing and is slowly drifting apart into pieces like a conglomerate of driftwood in the waves. Just hanging in limbo.
“Also, did he come out to you? How were you so sure he's gay?”
“He's literally flagging he's into kinky gay stuff with his bandana, Steve. Like, every day. It' this color coded signaling to other gay men, well. I think mostly men – now that I think of it, why have I never heard of women doing that? Should I do that? You think Vicky might get it? Well.. Probaby not. Anyway, irgnore that last part. Also I am sure everything you did was mutual!” Robin's reassuring voice cracks through the receiver. “Maybe in the light of day everything felt a little too real and- I mean maybe he thought what all of this could possibly mean and he freaked? Like, what do you think this means? Are you going to be fuck buddies now? What's the goal, Steve? I know you like him. Are you going to ask him on a date or what? Or do you feel it's weird now because of the intense dynamic of yesterday's- events?”
Flagging. Huh. He wonders what Eddie's black bandana really means now.
Also – a date?
Well that seems ridiculous for some reason. When he thinks of Eddie know he first thinks about the grip of hands around his throat, filthy worlds murmured into his ear, bruised lips and dark eyes. But that's only part of what this is and deep down he knows. As much as all of the sexual tension seems to be unnecessarily present in his mind right now, he also feels undeniably drawn to Eddie in a way that is not sexual at all. He likes his company, his silly jokes, his theatrics and his kind brown eyes. The small touches and the obvious fondness that radiates off of the other man. The way Eddie makes him blush but also the way he's so adorable with the kids, how he's so himself and so grounding. Oddly charming without wanting to be.
Steve can feel his chest tightening.
He is so gone for Eddie. Irrevocably gone.
Fucking. Shit.
Before Robin can think he fainted he tries collecting his thoughts and turns them into something that's true but also vague enough.
“Yeah, I think I really need to talk to him. Decide what this meant, where it's going and take it from there. I need a twenty hour nap first though, three liters of water and a bowl of pasta.”
“You do that dingus. I know the kids will be at the arcade with Eddie tomorrow. Maybe you can catch him after to sort this out? Try not to spiral to much okay? I love you. You got this. You survived much worse..”
“Love you too, Rob. I'll call you if there's news.”
The line disconnects and Steve is overwhelmed by silence and his thoughts again.
He finishes his coffee and leaves the mug on his bedside table. He pulls open the drawer below to rifle through his cassette tapes, flips he covers around, looking for something he's not sure he's even going to find. He doesn't feel like Queen, not like Talking Heads, tosses aside Bruce Springsteen. There it is. He grabs the tape at the very bottom that Dustin had left here shortly after Vecna. Just in case they ever needed a song again.
He puts the tape in and slowly drifts off while Dio's Rainbow In The Dark echoes through his bedroom on low volume.
The headache has faded to a soft throb behind his eyes, when Steve wakes up in the late afternoon.
Making itself known with every movement, like his brain is water swimming around and his skull is the pool edge it keeps pushing against.
Days after parties always feel like wasted days. You feel like crap. You lack sleep. You need a shower and then before you know it, the whole day is wasted by just trying to feel like a human again. So that's what he'll do. The nap had helped already, he feels less hungover and mainly hungry now.
Once he's dragged himself to the kitchen and had made some dinner which consist of a comically large bowl of pasta with some fancy pistachio pesto his mum had left in the pantry, he heads back up and goes straight for the shower in his en suit.
The house feels too large, too silent. He wishes the sterile furniture and questionable embroidered towels would offer some kind of comfort.
His brain is all over the place. Like a broken walkie-talkie, with the button jammed down, unable to stop sending. He's imagining conversations, scenarios of how things could go from here with Eddie. He shortly imagines them fighting and never talking after, regret in both their eyes. He imagines a version were he asks Eddie to be his boyfriend and he just laughs right in his face.
He imagines a version were they are indeed boyfriends, holding hands during a movie night.
He imagines kissing Eddie again. Because that had been mind blowing for sure. And Steve is convinced it's gonna be just as hot without the man's Halloween getup. All tongue and wild hands.
His mind involuntarily drift off to a pale scarred torso, hands clinging to him, digging into his skin in desperation. Eddie's deep voice painted with arousal. Steve thinks of a different turn of events.
He imagines himself as the one pushing Eddie onto his bed, pinning his slender wrist to the sheets, sitting on his tiny hips. He wants to feel him trying to wiggle free, Steve tightening his grip. Making Eddie feel delivered to him, eyes foggy with surrender. Wants to feel like he tamed the wild feral animal that is Eddie Munson.
He wants to see the man on his knees, browns eyes looking up at him as he sucks Steve's dick like it's his newest favorite hobby. And he wants to bury his hands in dark curls and push and force Eddie to take it however he chooses.
A frustrated groan fights his way to the surface and Steve can feel he's completely hard.
Guess he's fucked up both ways. Seems to be his thing somehow. Appreciating both. Men, women. Being dominated, having someone else submit.
It doesn't get better when he pulls his hoodie off and throws is thoughtlessly to the floor. His eyes turn to the large mirror over the sink and he can't keep himself from gasping.
He's not sure what he expected since he'd seen it in the basement mirror this morning already but for some reason it's even more shocking to him now. He leans closer to examine his skin.
He looks like someone beat him up.
And he likes that he does.
There is a big red bite mark right were his neck meets his shoulder. It looks like it had actually bled a bit, scabs visibly raised from the skin. It's surrounded by bruises all over his neck and chest. There is a scratch mark just below his throat where Eddie's nails had accidentally scratched him.
Steve checks his wrists and sees no mark of the bounds left. He can't help but feel almost disappointed somehow.
He stills for a second and then raises a hand timidly to one of the dark bruised. He touches it gently at first almost in awe. And then he digs blunt nails into it and a dull pain shoots through his shoulder. He can't stop from moaning.
Get your shit together, Steve he disciplines himself and drops his hand, strips the rest of his clothes off and steps into the shower to hopefully wash away some of the confusion and shame.
The heavy silver necklace stays on though. He pretends he's not allowed to take it off, want's Eddie to do it or not do it at all.
Maybe he'll get a fucking chain from the hardware store put it around Eddie's neck and attach a padlock to it.
Keep the key on a necklace for himself. Like they own each other.
What a messed up thought but Oh- wouldn't that be something?
He doesn't jerk off even though he really wants to. Thoroughly ignores the pulsing between his legs that demands touching and lets the hot spray from the shower relax his muscles instead.
He brushes his teeth after showering, dries is hair and shuffles back into his bedroom to pull a pair of boxers from a dresser and drops himself face first onto the mattress. He can't be bothered with a shirt. He can't even be bothered with pulling the blanket over himself.
Then he starts making a plan ad he drifts off to sleep again.
The plan is-
non existent.
The rough idea is to just get to the arcade once the kids and Eddie are done and then try to get him alone, sit him down and lay it all out there.
He'd walkied Dustin early in the morning and convinced him to call everyone else and have them take the bikes instead of riding in Eddie's van and just meet with the metalhead at the arcade.
He'd figured there is no point in cornering Eddie at his car when he has a herd of kids to take home.
So that problem is solved. But that's about it.
Steve's up, already survived a fashion crisis after asking himself 'What does one wear to have an emotional breakdown?'
He doesn't want to look like a try hard but he still wants to look good.
He'd eventually thrown on a soft green crew neck sweater and a pair of his darker blue Levis, rolled at the hem. Combines it with a nice deep brown leather belt and his vintage wrist watch. His hair is as perfect as ever after a good thirty minutes he'd spent drying and styling it. He's sure Robin would mock him for it. Not that he's ever going to tell her.
The second cup of coffee is currently sitting on the table in the living room while he paces around trying to come up with the right words to say before heading out in a bit.
Which is kind of silly in itself because Eddie never behaves like you'd expect so preparing words seems a little obsolete.
He feels like he's about to skydive without a parachute.
The impact is going to be brutal.
Screw preparations. He's going in blind.
Steve's a little sick in his stomach, way too twitchy and too hot when he finally arrives at the arcade.
The soft scarf that's wrapped around this bite marks and bruised skin feels like it's suffocating him. Not in a pleasant way.
He'd thrown over a soft brown leather jacket and is currently leaning against Eddie's van, trying his very best to look casual and collected.
Like he ended up here purely by accident.
Against Robin's better judgment, he's smoking a cigarette from a pack he'd found in the depth of his wardrobe this morning. The smoke hangs in the air as he blows it out, head tilted towards the ground were he drags his boots through the rubble of the parking lot.
There is a humidity in the air, it smells like wet leaves and autumn air.
He takes another eager drag from his bud and chokes on it the moment he hears the loud voice of Dustin yelling something incomprehensible as he stumbles out of the arcade, followed by Lucas, Mike and Will. The girls must've stayed at home.
For a second he wonders if it's to late to make a run for it and pretend he'd never been here.
But when Mike shouts “Ey, Steve. Why did you steal our Taxi, man?! Not cool!” He figures he's done for.
Before he can try and defend himself Henderson stops his friends from approaching and drags Mike away by the sleeve of his jacket while mumbling what sounds like some very ungodly insults under his breath. “Let's freaking go, guys.” he pressures. Then a little louder with his head turned back. “See you later Eddie!” Dustin gives a mock salute to where Eddie just appearss at the doors to the arcade. He looks slightly irritated but gives a salute back. “Later dipshits!”
Dustin herds his friends to were all their bikes are leaning against the building. Steve gets a few waves in his direction but not more. He's honestly a little impressed by Dustin giving him space and wonders if his little buddy knows maybe more than he's willing to admit. Steve hopes he's wrong about it but is thankful for the privacy anyway.
Eddies brown eyes grow narrow as they land on Steve. He walks over, feigning nonchalance.
“Didn't know you still smoke cigarettes?” he asks without greeting and stops right in front of him.
They could touch if one of them reached out.
It feels like too much and not enough.
“I don't.” Steve offers without further explanation. Drops the bud to the ground and puts it out with his boot.
“Uhm, sure. Okay.” There is a little head scratch moment and Eddie looks slightly uncertain for a second.
“So Henderson was being a snitch and didn't suddenly decide getting fresh air on his bike's the new non plus ultra?” Eddie fumbles with his cars keys he pulls from his leather jacket, almost drops them.
He's wearing his usual get up. Band shirt, distressed black jeans. He looks weirdly soft like this, in his regular clothes. Less- sophisticated and mean than yesterday.
Steve definitely does not miss the fangs. Nope.
Okay, maybe a tiny bit.
“Nah, I asked Dustin to. We should uhm- talk?” Steve offers with a slight frown.
He can feel cool metal against his throat as the breathes in deep and swallows.
Eddie looks at him like he'd just offered to beat him into a pulp instead. The metalhead scratches his neck. He's all teeth without really smiling. It looks more like someone forced him to look friendly at gun point.
If the definition of 'awkward tension' needed an illustration, they should use a picture of this exact moment.
Steve feels like his skin is too tight for his body.
There is a silence that feels just a little too long until Eddie finally sighs in surrender.
“Alright, get in Harrington. Let's go to my place first. Wayne's at work.”
He circumnavigates his van and opens the driver side door to ungracefully fall into his seat.
Harrington. Not Stevie, not sweetheart. Apparently they were back to last names.
It hurts a little if Steve's honest.
He follows suit, though and hastily opens the passenger door to climb in.
The van smells like Eddie. So much it's almost overwhelming. Steve wants to rub himself in the upholstery to preserve the smell in his clothes.
His heart is about to jump out of his chest. He's not sure which is more stressful. This or fighting a literal other dimensional dog with a nail bat.
Right now he'd say the former. Which in itself is a crazy thought.
Adjusting his seat belt, Steve looks over to Eddie. Who is trying his best to focus on anything but him and also fastens his seat belt. The man is so unusually quiet it's creepy.
Steve is used to Eddie's big theatrics, his grand gestures and silly speeches.
He is not used however, to this. And he doesn't know what to do with it.
A ring adorned hand turns the key in the ignition and the engine springs to life and with it so does the radio of the vehicle. The cassette continues from where it had stopped mid song at an unholy volume, drowning the whole vehicle in harsh guitar sounds.
The lyrics scream through the heavy air between them.
[...]
Can't get to sleep 'cause I hear you squealin'
Like a stuck little pig you love the feelin'
I wish you'd shut up 'cause I'm tryin' to sleep
I'm gonna gag you gonna push it down deep
Running out of breath
You're chokin' fast
You begin to sputter
You're not....
[…]
The music stops mid sentence.
The tape is aggressively ejected by Eddie and thrown forcefully over his shoulder into the back of the van like it's a live hand grenade.
It knocks into the metal and clatters onto the blankets and pillows that are littering the floor with a dull thud.
What. The. Fuck. Was that?! Steve's face is the color of a fire hydrant.
Eddie tries for a sheepish smile and bites his lower lip as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“Well. Guess it can't get any worse now.”