Chapter Text
Steve doesn’t know any of the details that came with the government sweeping in, the whole thing is a serious headache and he didn’t read any of the papers they wanted him to sign saying he wouldn’t talk about the big cover-up. He’s used to not talking about shit, it’s not like he planned on saying anything crazy. Robin and Nancy had both pored over theirs and both yelled at him for signing without doing the same, but he was tired and he didn’t know how to say it didn’t matter.
One thing mattered– Eddie was safe. Recovering from a hell of a lot, but having his name cleared did a lot for his mood, and by extension, the party’s.
And so that’s where Steve is now– attending a Corroded Coffin show, because Eddie is excited to play again. He hasn’t been allowed back at school, some bullshit about his own safety, so he’s had time to rest and recover during the days, but it’s also late enough in the year that Jeff and Gareth and Dave all feel good about blowing off homework or crawling into class half-asleep because they wanted to rock and roll all night.
He doesn’t really know what to expect– he still doesn’t know anything about heavy metal music, he mostly listens to top forty pop radio. He likes Duran Duran and Madonna and he really likes Pet Shop Boys and Elton John and Wham!, and the times he and Eddie have talked about music, the only real overlap they found was that they both like Queen, but Steve likes Jazz and Hot Space– and Eddie groaned out loud about Hot Space! Rolled his eyes even!-- and Eddie name dropped songs like Ogre Battle and Great King Rat, neither of which Steve has ever heard, from like their first album over a decade ago.
So, he doesn’t know if he’s actually going to like any of Eddie’s music. He thinks there’s probably a good chance he’ll hate it. But he doesn’t hate Eddie, and he finds he’s excited to go.
Dustin has begged Steve to take him with, but he doesn’t care how lax this place is about letting underage people in if they’re with the band, there’s no way they’re letting a fourteen year old kid into the bar. Robin, though… Robin and Nancy and Vickie and Jonathan all wind up coming along, so Steve doesn’t have to feel so alone.
Eddie had told them the place would be pretty empty, but it’s filling up when Steve and the girls grab a couple of the small tables up by the stage. Jonathan had a believable enough fake ID from out in California, and elected himself grabber of beers, though he hadn’t argued Steve and Vickie both throwing in some cash.
Steve is sharing a table with Robin and Vickie, and he’s not sure if they’re on a date he’s third-wheeling, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Robin wasn’t sure, herself. It’s a little awkward, being the only one without a date, but it’s easier to be the third wheel at Robin and Vickie’s table than Nancy and Jonathan’s– if they’re making things work, he’s genuinely happy for them, just… embarrassed about how he acted, when they were about to fight Vecna, how easily he’d let himself be convinced there was still something between them. He’s glad he told her some things… she was a big part of him becoming who he is, becoming better than he was. But that doesn’t mean they belong back together. It just means… it means even if they were bullshit, a lot of good came out of them knowing each other. And if he’s really lucky, they can still be friends now.
“Your friend really undersold the crowd.” Vickie giggles, all nervous excitement as she scoots her chair in as close to Robin’s as possible.
“I don’t think he did.” Nancy looks around at the crowd. “I don’t think this is all the usual crowd. I count three reporters, for starters. Only one local.”
“I mean… he has been in the news.” Robin nods. “Not exactly surprising if someone somewhere found out his band plays local gigs. But most of these guys aren’t reporters.”
No, most of the crowd is definitely there for the music, guys who dress like Eddie and his bandmates, denim and leather and shirts advertising bands Steve only knows from Eddie’s pins and patches. But as with the reporters, Steve guesses most of them come from out of town. If they were local, they’d have come out before, if only because there’s only so much live music in Hawkins and not much of it is metal.
Eddie doesn’t falter for long, seeing the crowd. If it’s not what he expected, he doesn’t let it show, just steps up to the edge of the stage, looking straight down to where Steve sits, directly in front of– below– him. Shoots him a broad wink and a cocky grin before facing the crowd at large.
“Hello, Hawkins!” He hollers, as his bandmates tune up and get ready to rock. “We are Corroded Coffin, and we’ll be covering all the hits for you tonight! I hope you’re ready for one hell of a night, because we intend to rock you to the core!”
There are scattered whoops and cheers, though none so loud as their little group at the front, Jonathan hurrying to join them with his arms full of beer bottles, whistling to make up for his inability to clap.
“Love’s got me by the ass again, I’ve been in love since I don’t know when…” Eddie starts, and apparently it’s a song that some of the crowd knows, even if Steve doesn’t, there’s a polite second round of cheering when people recognize it.
It’s… loud, definitely, and it’s fast, but something about it is electrifying. That it’s live, that it’s so different from what he’s supposed to like, to do…
That Eddie is just good, and Steve doesn’t have to know anything about music to see that.
They do a couple songs that mean nothing to Steve but seem to really get the crowd going– at least, the portion of the crowd that’s there for heavy metal. One of the songs is like eight or nine minutes long on its own and Robin looks impressed, which is all Steve figures he needs to know, because whatever she thinks about metal, she knows about playing an instrument, and Steve figures even if two instruments are super different she’d know if something was hard to do and done right. And Eddie growls his way through one where the lyrics are like… ninety percent just ‘breaking the law’, which strikes Steve as ironic, but again, the crowd goes wild.
And then he plays the only song of the night Steve’s ever heard, which he never had an opinion on before, but he’s loving it now, Eddie strutting and prancing his way across the miniscule stage with his guitar– and Dustin told no lies, it’s a really cool guitar. And while the band wails through the second chorus, Eddie leaps through the air, hair flying around him, landing square on Steve’s table and nearly upsetting a mercifully empty beer.
“Well you think we have a lazy time, you should know better. I don’t know why, I don’t know why…” And he kicks one foot up to rest on the back of Steve’s chair, ankle practically hooked around his shoulder, Steve’s looking right up into his guitar, at the rocking of his hips and the frenetic work of his fingers, his rings glinting in the red and purple lights of the bar’s stage area. “So you say I got a dirty mind? I’m a mean go-getter, and I don’t know why, I don’t know why anymore, oh…”
And Steve is hard, he’s fucking hard faster than he’s been since middle school, and like the song says, he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s a totally normal thing that happens to some guys when they listen to really loud live music, maybe there’s something about the… sound vibrations, or something, and he’s just sensitive. It’s not like there’s anybody he can ask, anyone he can talk to about the fact that he’s rock hard sitting between Eddie Munson’s thighs.
And then he’s springing back over to the stage, and Steve is very definitely rocked to his core.
It takes him longer than he’d like, for his dick to go back down. He’d kind of hoped the lack of anything for it to reasonably react to would work in his favor, or maybe the embarrassment of being in a public place, even if the table hid everything, but it’s going strong, and there’s nothing he can do but claim he wants to sit around a while longer before he drives.
Robin knows it’s bullshit, of course, knows after one watery beer and the time they’ve already spent there, he’s good– but she doesn’t know why it’s bullshit, and that’s all that matters. He contemplates shifting his jacket to his lap, whether he can carry it out in front of him without anyone noticing. It’s a warm enough night.
“So what did you guys all think?” He asks, not sure what kind of response he’s hoping for. It’s not like Jonathan is going to chuckle and nod and say ‘pretty good, it gave me a boner which is a normal thing to have happen at a concert’.
“Pretty good, I guess.” Jonathan nods, not mentioning dicks at all. “I mean it’s not exactly my scene, but they know how to play. And, uh… Nancy told me this is the guy who…”
He trails off. Has to, because they’re in a crowded bar and also Vickie is right there with them.
“He saved that boy during the earthquake, right?” She nods. “And Robin told me he helped find Chrissy’s real murderer? The one chasing those kids?”
“Yeah.” Steve manages to smile, mostly because he can imagine Dustin’s outrage at his media portrayal as the child saved by the heroic wrongfully-accused town outcast. There’s not a lot that’s easy to smile about when he thinks about that night, and how many of the people he cares about were hurt or nearly killed… but they made it through, and Eddie…
Eddie’s name isn’t just cleared, he’s a fucking hero, and the whole town might not accept it but that’s the story that all official channel are running with, and somehow, he’s also one of the people Steve cares about, so… seeing him get that, it feels good.
They see the band outside, when they do leave, huddled around Eddie’s open van passing a cigarette around and staring at an unloaded amp.
“I carried it, you lift it.” Jeff says.
“I took it in, you were supposed to take it out.” Gareth argues. “Loading the van is part of taking out.”
“I pulled something helping load your drums, so…” Dave raises his hands.
“Oh, you pulled something.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’m the one who almost died over spring break, gentlemen, doctor’s gonna chew my ass out if I try and lift anything that heavy.”
“I got you.” Steve breaks away from Robin’s side, weaves between them to lift the amp up and place it carefully in among the old blankets surrounding the equipment in the van. “There you go.”
“Not getting over that any time soon.” Jeff points at Steve, though there’s no animosity in it. “You hanging out with King Steve.”
“Steve’s cool.” Eddie practically skips the step and a half across the loose circle around the back of the van, that brings him right into Steve’s space, plucking the cigarette from his lips and offering it up.
Steve hasn’t smoked in a while, never much got into the habit outside of doing it at parties if other people were, but when Eddie offers, he accepts, just for a drag, half-familiar in his lungs.
“What did you think?” He asks, when Steve passes the cigarette back. “Like the show?”
“A normal amount!” Steve blurts out, and Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Uh, good, it was good. You guys really rocked.”
“Well, thank you, King Steve.” Eddie grins, the nickname warmer and kinder falling from his lips, and he takes a drag and blows out a plume of blue-white smoke before passing the cigarette off to a bandmate, his eyes never leaving Steve’s, not even when he’d leaned back to avoid blowing smoke directly into his face. “And thank you for the assistance. You ever think about becoming a roadie?”
“Never thought about becoming anything.” He shrugs.
“Well, if you wanna use those strong arms of yours for anything useful, we’re booked the rest of the weekend.” Eddie runs his tongue over the hard, sharp edge of his teeth, and Steve’s stomach turns itself inside out. “Turns out all that free publicity from being wanted for murder and accused of devil worship really draws a crowd, management says we’re good for business.”
“If this many people came out on a Thursday night, think about Saturday.” Gareth nods.
“Yeah. You usually play on a school night?”
“First period on Friday’s a small price to pay for rock and roll.” Dave beams.
“Besides… most of us are set to graduate.”
“Fuck graduating, Eddie’s done senior year enough for both of us.” Gareth says. “If the band starts getting paid, I’m dropping out.”
“Yeah, speaking of– they letting you walk?”
“No.” Eddie snorts. “Scared of me. Nah, I’m getting my diploma in the mail. But I’m getting it.”
“Well, you earned it. Um… and maybe I’ll swing by again. Help you move your shit around. No other plans, so… Tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow and Saturday. Hideout wanted to lock us down before the Tap Room could ask–”
“Tap Room sucks!” Jeff bellows, grinning bright under the sodium arc lamp. “I wouldn’t play that shithole if they did pay me!”
“Anyway, we’ll, uh, let you get back to the ladies.” Eddie tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, looking past his bandmates to wave to Robin, a cute little waggle of ringed fingers and a playful grin from behind even more hair. “But maybe next time, big boy.”
“Next time.” Steve promises, dizzy as he jogs to catch up with Robin and Vickie, to head to his own car at the far end of the lot. He feels elated, the high of a night out with his friends, with the live music, with it not being awkward after all to third wheel– fifth wheel?-- the others, even with one of them being his ex girlfriend.
At home, lying in bed, he gives himself some attention, palms himself and feels his dick spring back to life. He doesn’t bother with digging a magazine out– he has a couple, but they’ve never added enough to the experience to justify pulling them out when his own hand is enough. He’s enjoyed reading them, though the idea of trying to defend the articles makes him want to die of embarrassment. But for this… he doesn’t really get the point. Having to juggle a magazine one-handed and trying not to make a mess on the pages never sounded like a good time to him.
Instead he closes his eyes, and thinks about the last time he had sex– only to give that up, because it hadn’t been good. She’d liked it fine– he made sure of that. And he came, which is all anyone can ask for, it just… wasn’t special. She’d been a bad kisser, and there wasn’t any romance to it, and he gets more out of remembering his last masturbation session than his last time with a girl, which is sad, but…
Well, last time he’d taken care of himself had just been really good. He’s been doing it long enough he ought to know what he likes, nothing weird about that. He’d put on music and he’d taken some ‘me time’, used the really nice-smelling lotion and it was just… and there was no pressure! With a girl, there’s pressure to make sure a whole other person gets off, no surprise it’s more relaxing to just stroke off.
So he doesn’t think about… any of the girls he’s been with since Nancy. He doesn’t think about Nancy. He thinks about some chick he’d seen on TV, for a little bit, but that fantasy fizzles out pretty quickly, and then…
And then he’s thinking about Eddie.
His hand stutters to a stop. He removes it from his throbbing dick– which would really rather have his hand keep going.
It’s not like he pictures kissing Eddie, or Eddie naked, he doesn’t form any particular thought or image about Eddie, it’s just that Eddie popped into his head, maybe because earlier he got hard at his show.
Which was weird.
Just, the thought of Eddie in some dressing room, though he’s pretty sure the Hideout doesn’t have a dressing room. And maybe if he fleshes the thought out, it won’t be weird– not if he’s not touching his dick while he’s thinking it.
Just… Eddie. Dressed in the same leather jacket and shredded black jeans he’d worn that night, and all the rings and chains. Normal Eddie. He’d be perched on the little dressing room vanity, talking about nothing or anything, laughing. They usually found things to laugh about when they talked, even if Steve felt like he only ever understood half of what Eddie said. He’d be trying to explain Mordor again, hands dancing expressively through the air, eyes sparkling when Steve proclaimed his continued ignorance.
Steve pictures himself there, in a rickety wooden chair meant to pull up to the vanity, but Eddie hadn’t needed the chair, or the mirror at his back.
Eddie’s leg kicked up alongside Steve’s shoulder, his foot on the back of the chair, torn denim straining around his thighs, and Steve’s body is begging for relief, for release. In his mind’s eye, he’s the one to fall to his knees, he tangles one hand in his hair and pretends.
Pretends it’s Eddie who pulls him closer, who works his belt open and his fly down and lays his own thickening cock on Steve’s tongue, slides deeper past his lips. And it’s okay because it’s just the energy before a performance, something he needs to burn through to center himself, and Steve would understand, would say sometimes these things just happen, even though nothing like this has ever happened to him before.
He used to think about it, sometimes, the stray, unavoidable thoughts every guy gets in the locker room before a swim meet, when you’re careful to keep your eyes to yourself, but you’re worked up about the competition and you’re just aware, that you’re surrounded by other guys who all feel the same, other guys who are all at the top of their own game, who are all just as fit and just as amped up, and it’s okay if you get a little confused when you catch a glimpse of the legs on the guy next to you, smooth like a girl’s, and you’re just running too hot to not get a little… you know, a smooth leg is a smooth leg, and it’s not like you’re looking, so if a glimpse is too brief to really get a good enough look to think about how he’s a guy, how his legs don’t look anything like a girl’s even smooth… you just have thoughts sometimes, that you can’t help.
He had a dream once about it. About the locker room before a swim meet. About a guy from another school who would make him… like he hadn’t had a choice, something about the way he was told to, he just didn’t have a choice. Like in the dream he watched himself do it, it wasn’t because he decided to. This isn’t a dream, but it feels the same, like he’s not driving his own imagination anymore, and Eddie is cool and imperious driving him to his knees, but then his smile is just normal, just Eddie, playful and kind like he’s not pulling Steve’s hair and fucking his mouth.
Like it’s just a normal thing friends do, sometimes.
He doesn’t mean to start touching himself again while he’s thinking about Eddie, but it’s something he can feel guilty about later, because right now he needs to come, he needs it so fucking bad he could cry.
And it’s okay, he thinks, because he’s not thinking about Eddie blowing him, which would be weird and wrong.
He still comes with Eddie’s name on his lips.