Work Text:
No Diggity by Blackstreet and Dr. Dre
Baby got 'em up open all over town
Strictly biz, she don't play around
“People who have weddings on the fourth should be shot,” Robin decides, watching as people start to fill up the patio. Technically there is another bar out there and technically one of them could go out and man it, but since Nancy hasn’t explicitly told them to do so, Robin and Steve are both content to hang out in the air conditioning.
“I agree,” Steve says, sweeping the sliced strawberries into a pitcher. It’s the seventh they’ve made, a signature drink that guests actually want, and while Steve was happy enough to make a couple pitchers at six in the evening, he’s a little over it now. All the fruit within is hand chopped, which is hard to accomplish when you’ve only got two sets of hands and a constant flow of people needing drinks. “Also this is the last of it, so we’re officially done with the cougar juice after this pitcher is gone.”
Robin smacks him in the arm. “Shut up, it’s sangria you idiot. You drink it.”
Steve scoffs, giving the pitcher a good stir. “I drink red wine sangria, which is superior, as you know.”
There are more people outside now than inside, preparing for the fireworks display that Steve assumes will be killer. Mayor Kline is on his third marriage but according to Nancy, he’s spared no expense in an effort to make people forget about that.
The dance floor has cleared, only a few people lingering. The music is different from what’s been playing all night, the sort of thing you might hear at a club in Indy instead of a golf course wedding in Hawkins.
Not that Steve’s complaining; wedding playlists are filled with earworms and oldies and have, at this point, basically become white noise.
“He’s playing Blackstreet?” Steve asks, looking around for Nancy. “She’ll scalp him for that.”
Robin shrugs. “At least he has taste.”
“Dude, I love this song, I just think it’s a controversial move for a Hawkins wedding.”
Steve glances across the room to the DJ table, where Eddie is bobbing along to the beat. He’s got his long hair pulled half-up, and pieces have come loose around his temples, stuck there with sweat. For once, he’s in a white button up instead of his customary black, and Steve imagines he can see the faint shadow of tattoos beneath it.
In contrast, Steve’s hair is deflated and slicked back with sweat, and he’s got half a jug of orange juice drying sticky on his slacks from a mishap earlier.
The cause of the mishap wanders over all pink in the cheeks, blinking up at Robin like she’s personally hung the stars in the sky. Once again, Robin fumbles the thing in her hand—a corkscrew—which Steve actually catches this time.
“Do you want a drink?” Robin asks before Chrissy can say anything, slapping Steve in the chest without looking at him. “Steve-o here just made a fresh jug of sangria. Can’t speak for how it tastes but, y’know, it’s wine and juice and fruit, and—uh, and—”
“Sprite,” Steve supplies, watching Robin crash and burn. Thankfully, Chrissy is tipsy and clearly not seeing the same thing.
“And sprite!” Robin agrees, nodding. “Very delicious.”
Chrissy laughs, covering her mouth with a hand. “Robin, I’ve been drinking that all night!”
Robin stares at her for a beat, then blinks. “Uh huh! You sure have. Another?”
“Another,” Chrissy agrees, startling slightly when the first firework goes off. “Oh! Wow. Those—”
“Are unnecessary?” Robin asks.
“Are indicators of an inferiority complex?” Steve suggests.
Chrissy eyes both of them, her smile sly. “I was going to say pretty, but probably both of those things too. You know, I think I prefer working weddings to attending them. The arrangements on the tables are horrific.”
Steve doesn’t know shit about flowers, but he does think the centerpieces are unusually ostentatious and ugly. Chrissy is always Nancy’s go-to florist for weddings she’s planning, but Kline insisted on using someone different since Chrissy would be attending with her family. Steve much prefers her elegant, simple arrangements to whatever those things are.
“Yeah yours are always gorgeous. I stole one from the wedding at the beginning of May.” Robin isn’t looking at Chrissy as she says it, intent on pouring a glass of sangria. She misses the way Chrissy’s face softens, but Steve catches it and hides his smile as he turns away. These two have been doing this dance for many a wedding season, but it’s only recently that Chrissy has unburdened herself by dumping Jason Carver.
Robin, chickenshit that she is, won’t take the leap and ask Chrissy out, but Steve’s getting to a point where he might just do it for her. There’s only so many longing looks he can witness, y’know.
“Can I get water, too, please? I’ll bring it over to Eddie.”
Steve glances up, catches Eddie watching them, then looks away, fumbling for a glass. He fills it quickly with water, sliding it across the bar to Chrissy. “Tell him we’re not at a rave,” Steve says, smiling sweetly.
Chrissy laughs, a loud bark that she immediately tries to smother with her hand. “Oh, he’s going to hate that. I’ll tell him for sure.”
“I think he’s doing a wonderful job,” Robin says, overloud and too eager. She socks Steve in the arm, shaking her head. “Steve’s just bitter he can’t be on the dancefloor right now. This guy loves a boogie.”
A boogie? Good god, it’s like he’s taught her nothing. Deciding to save the day, Steve slings an arm around her shoulders and gives both of them a little shake. “We both do. You go give Eddie that water, Chris. He looks thirsty.”
She eyes them both with a smile, shaking her head. “I’ll leave you guys to it. Hopefully this place clears out after the fireworks finish—I know that’s when we’re planning to leave.”
“Here’s hopin’!” Steve calls, still holding Robin against his side. “Have a good night, Chrissy.”
They watch as she picks her way across the dance floor toward the DJ booth, where Eddie is still dancing along to the beat.
“Watching you fumble her at every wedding is incredible,” Steve tells Robin, smacking a kiss to her temple. She swats him again, groaning. “Seriously, it’s like, gotta be a record at this point, right? Chrissy’s a nice girl, and probably new to girls; she’s not gonna come out and tell you she wants to date you, Robin.”
Robin scoffs, beginning to clear up the working counter. “Yeah, okay big mouth. Are you going to have slutty wedding sex with him again?” Robin asks, jerking her chin towards the DJ booth. “I mean, I know you are, but I’m wondering if you’re aware of it yet.”
“That’s uncalled for!” Steve argues. “And for your information, he sucked my dick during speeches.”
Robin throws a towel at him, eyes widening. “Shut your mouth! He did not!”
Steve shrugs, leaning back against the bar. He did not actually suck Steve’s dick during speeches, but he spoke in length about wanting to when they were outside escaping the droning monotony of them. Whispered it into Steve’s ear in a shadowy alcove where anyone could have stumbled across them, massaging his hand across the bulge in Steve’s slacks the entire time.
“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. If you’re gonna be judgy, you don’t get to know.”
“Pot, this is the kettle!” Robin drops her hands to her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. “I think you’re fibbing. You came back all flustered, but not in a post-orgasm way.”
Steve snorts out a laugh. It’s ridiculous that they know each other well enough to recognize those sorts of things, but Steve wouldn’t trade it for the world. “Okay, no. But he wanted to, and that counts. I’m not always the one initiating things here!”
The last of the fireworks go off outside, illuminating the hall and startling both of them. They both glare towards the patio, where people are cheering now. Hopefully Chrissy was right and they start to head out; Steve is tired and ready to sleep tomorrow away.
The music changes back to what was playing earlier as people start to filter back inside, and Steve finds himself looking back over at Eddie, alone now. Whatever energy he had before is gone now, and he looks bored, staring out at the crowd. Most people have begun to collect their things; Kline and his new bride must have left while they were all on the patio, which explains the cheering. Thankfully, nobody seems inclined to continue the party.
Steve catches Eddie’s eye across the room. He tilts his head in question, and Steve bites his lip, nodding slightly. Slutty wedding sex is the best, man.
“Ew,” Robin sighs, drawing his attention back to her. “I’ll ask Nance for a ride home. I’m sure she’ll want to vent, anyway.”
Steve can’t even muster up the energy to feel bad. He smiles slightly, pulling her in for a one-armed hug. “You’re the best, you know that?”
“Yeah, yeah, dummy. Just be quiet when you come in tonight.”
Macarena by Los Del Río
Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena
Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría y cosa buena
“Is this for me?” Eddie asks, pressing his fingers to the base of the plug in Steve’s ass. Normally, Steve would say something shitty, but the awe in Eddie’s voice has him shutting up instead. He bites down on his lip, glad he’s facing the wall.
“Mhm,” he hums, angling his hips back. He blinks, and just barely resists reaching up to slap himself. “C’mon, this song isn’t gonna last forever.”
Snorting, Eddie teases the plug, pulling on it without any real intent. “My apprentice is running things just fine, Stevie. Now shut up and lemme look at your princess parts. You did prep ‘em ever so nicely for me, didn’t ya?”
Steve groans, letting his head fall against the wall. That should not be hot, and yet his dick gives a little kick where it’s still trapped in his briefs. Robin told him to be gone for twenty minutes and not a second longer, and as much as Steve would like to be admired and petted at, there is a reason why he prepped before the wedding.
The thing is, he didn’t even know if he would see Eddie tonight, but with the way the season’s been going it was fairly likely. Steve has worked four weddings so far, one each weekend of July, and there’s only been one that Eddie didn’t DJ.
(And if it was dull, filled with boring slow songs and outdated dance hits, that’s between Steve and Robin on the car ride home.)
As much as Steve gives him shit, he really is good at his job. Good enough, it seems, that he brought along Nancy’s little brother (probably the true object of her ire towards Eddie) to learn the ropes. Currently, Mike is on his own at the makeshift DJ booth, playing what Steve assumes is a preapproved list of songs while Eddie plays with Steve.
The stars are practically aligned, aren’t they?
“Okay, okay,” Eddie whispers, low enough that it’s probably not meant to be overheard. Unfortunately for him, a brief pause in the beat makes it pretty hard to ignore. “I have ten minutes.”
Steve glances at his watch. “I have twelve. Let’s go, I wanna sneak a cig before I’m due back at the bar.”
Eddie huffs out a laugh, humid at the nape of Steve’s neck. “Not much of a romantic, are you?”
“The base of the plug is shaped like a heart, isn’t it? I’m plenty romantic, honey.”
Eddie places his teeth very gently at the top of Steve’s spine, then begins to pull the plug free. “Guess so,” he murmurs, placing a wet kiss against his skin. “You could almost convince a guy you like him.”
Steve doesn’t have a witty response to that one; instead, he’s worried about the noises building in his throat as Eddie pulls the plug free. It’s been in there long enough that it hurts a little as Eddie pulls it free, but Steve likes the ache and Eddie soothes it by spreading Steve’s cheeks and spitting.
Thank god they’re in the private employee washroom in the basement of the hall and not in the public stalls upstairs. Most of the catering staff is gone for the evening and the only people who would come down here are Steve’s friends, so he doesn’t feel as guilty about the whine escaping his clenched teeth as he should.
“Yeah, thought you might like that,” Eddie murmurs, pressing two fingers to the pucker of Steve’s hole. He presses in, and Steve welcomes him easily. “Fuck, it’s really hot that you prepped.”
“It’d be even hotter if you stuck your dick in me,” Steve says, adjusting his stance. His briefs and slacks are tucked up under the swell of his ass, limiting his ability to spread his legs (but probably framing his ass really nicely). He doesn’t want to start begging, but he’s kind of on a time crunch here.
He arches his back more, wiggling his ass. Eddie’s still lazily moving two fingers inside him, his spit no longer doing much to ease the glide. “I have lube in my pocket,” Steve prompts, to which Eddie snorts out a laugh.
“I have some too. You’re not the only one who was looking forward to tonight.”
Eddie steps away from him then, and Steve can hear him fumbling for the sachet of lube he must have hidden—somewhere.
Steve flushes at Eddie’s words, at his own eagerness being so plain to see. He really was looking forward to tonight, is glad to be in this humid room while Eddie fumbles with the lube, and that—it’s different from how Steve felt three weddings before. Hooking up with Eddie is fun, yeah, but it’s like...just something to do. A one off every once in a while. Spontaneous.
Or it should be. Steve should probably be a little concerned over the fact that it isn’t.
Maybe Eddie can sense that he’s thinking too hard, because one second he’s swearing under his breath and the beat of the music thumping through the ceiling above them, and the next he’s slicking his cock and pressing up behind Steve.
“Missed you last weekend,” Eddie whispers, kissing the thin skin beneath Steve’s ear. “I worked some fancy pants bash up in Greenwood, some cousin of Jeff’s that needed a DJ last minute. The bartender kept giving me flat Pepsi.”
“Dickhead,” Steve gasps out, pressing his forehead against the back of his hand. One second Eddie’s dragging the head of his cock along Steve’s crack, and the next he’s pushing in, no hesitation. It burns slightly, a bigger stretch than the plug, but Eddie’s added what feels like the whole sachet of lube to his cock so it isn’t bad.
They both groan as Eddie inches his way inside. The wedding, their jobs—it all feels miles away, the world suddenly narrowing down to this tiny, weird smelling bathroom. Steve’s breathing feels especially loud, and the only comfort he has is that Eddie’s is the same, humid against the side of his face.
There’s this moment—a lapse of judgement or a fit of madness, Steve will think later—where they both turn at the same time, lips catching as Eddie bottoms out.
And it’s weird, right, to think that the first time they’ve ever kissed isn’t the first time they’ve hooked up, but here they are.
The angle is awkward, but Steve is a good kisser and Eddie is too, apparently, so they make up for it that way. Eddie’s mouth is soft and wet against Steve’s, strangely tentative considering his dick is in Steve’s ass. Part of Steve would like to turn around, wrap a leg around Eddie’s waist and get fucked face-to-face so they can keep kissing, but that’s a lot of work and they’re on a time limit.
So he turns, breaking the kiss. His face feels hot, his insides all shuddery. Clearing his throat, he says, “Get this show on the road, would ya?”
Steve can’t see what Eddie’s face looks like, but he can imagine based on the beat of silence. Still, he must realize that time is ticking, because he starts to pull out, then fucks back in quickly. From there the pace is punishing, one of Eddie’s big hands low on Steve’s belly, the other bracing himself against the wall.
Whatever strangeness overcame them is gone, lost in the friction and heat. He definitely won’t take long to finish; the plug from earlier had him horny most of the afternoon, and the second he clocked Eddie in his black button up, sleeves rolled to show off the tattoos on his forearms, he knew he’d need to take care of the problem before the end of the night.
“Oh my sweet fuck, is he playing Macarena?” Eddie gasps, gripping Steve hard by the hips. The words are hissed against the side of his throat, and Steve cringes away, giggling slightly at the ticklish feeling. Good grief, giggling. He’ll have to redact that when he tells Robin about this on the ride home. “It’s literally on my do not play list!”
“Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up!” Steve grunts, pushing back against the grip at his hips, chasing his own pleasure. “Time limit!”
Steve snorts out a laugh when he finally hears the music, brain catching up on what Eddie’s said. “Mike’s screwing with you,” he realizes, panting heavily. “I think your time is up.”
Eddie growls something disparaging about Wheelers, increasing his pace. He’s plastered along Steve’s back, hands roaming, clearly trying to hurry things along. Normally, Steve would be a little bitchy about that, but his own time is disappearing before his eyes and he definitely isn’t going to be able to sneak a smoke now. Maybe Robin will be nice about him being late.
Probably not, but it’s nice to dream.
Eddie’s thrusts grow more and more erratic, and Steve’s own orgasm begins to creep up on him.
“You gotta catch it,” Steve mumbles, turning his face so Eddie can hear him. He gets kisses along his cheek and the corner of his mouth, wet sloppy things that indicate Eddie has not actually understood him, considering there’s been no downward motion of his hands. “Eddie.”
“Huh?” Eddie asks, licking at the hinge of Steve’s jaw. “Yeah, m’close, shut up.”
“No!” Steve whines, grabbing his right wrist and directing it into the open front of his slacks. Eddie’s dumb fingers reach the band of his underwear, but don’t go inside. “Catch my jizz. I can’t cum in my pants, man.”
“Catch your own jizz,” Eddie grumbles, but he’s reaching into Steve’s briefs, touching his poor, neglected cock. He gives Steve a couple firm strokes, then cups his hand around the tip. “This okay for you, baby? Want me to catch it here and do what, exactly?”
Whatever Steve says next comes out incomprehensible, spilling between his bitten lips as his hips jerk forward. He fills Eddie’s cupped palm with cum, gasping at the way Eddie’s thumb massages just beneath the head of his cock. He shudders, clenching down on Eddie’s cock, and isn’t surprised when Eddie groans, sinking his teeth into Steve’s shirt-clad shoulder.
Steve figures that will be it. They’ll pull up their pants, buckle their belts, and stagger their exit from the washroom, head into the last hour and a half of the night before going their separate ways.
Instead, they part only long enough for Eddie to take his hand from Steve’s briefs. Steve expects him to go to the sink, rinse it off, but instead, Eddie holds it up to his face and orders, “Clean me off.”
Steve’s vision goes a little fuzzy. His knees briefly shiver. Cum coats Eddie’s hand in streaks of pearlescence, and Steve doesn’t think before he leans in, dragging his tongue from the centre of Eddie’s palm, up to the tip of his middle finger.
When he chances a look at Eddie, he catches surprise on his face, like he was surprised Steve did it. Unfortunately, Steve will never, ever be a chicken.
He does his job fairly well, he thinks, and Eddie must agree. “Yeah, that’s it,” Eddie breathes, crooking his finger and sinking it into Steve’s mouth, letting Steve suck at his own cum. “Fuck, honey.”
All cleaned up, Eddie pulls his fingers from Steve’s mouth and steps back, reaching for the plug he tucked into Steve’s pocket. “You want this back?”
“Uh huh,” Steve says, blinking at the wall. He shudders when Eddie presses the plug against his hole, biting down on his lip. Later, in the shower, he’s gonna pull it out and still have Eddie’s cum in him, and that—that’s hotter than it should be, probably.
Macarena is still playing, though Steve can hear that it’s nearing the end. Eddie sighs, pulling Steve’s pants up over his ass, and gives him a little pat. Several seconds go by where they dress themselves and wash their hands in silence, not making eye contact, and then Eddie steps away, toward the door, and whatever ease they had earlier vanishes, replaced by an awkward goodbye. “Alright, off I go to save the night. Thanks for a good time, Harrington. ‘Til the next wedding.”
Steve snorts, leaning back against the sink. He’ll wait a few seconds before he follows, just to be safe. He wiggles his fingers in a little wave. “Don’t miss me too much.”
“You got it,” Eddie says, giving a jaunty little salute.
Kiss from a Rose by Seal
You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain, baby
To me, you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny
The Barnes wedding ends much earlier than intended when the bride’s paramour arrives.
It’s the most fun any of them have ever had at a wedding, Steve is pretty sure.
There is yelling! There is screaming! There are floods of tears! It only takes about half an hour before the place is cleared out and everyone working the event is released for the evening. So, like any normal person would, Steve steals beers from behind the bar and posts up in the parking lot to watch any lingering drama.
He still has camping chairs in his trunk from a bonfire at Dustin’s earlier in the week, so Steve unfolds them along the side of his car, and sinks gratefully into one. It’s a lovely, warm evening, and the bride is getting into another man’s car.
“Fucking crazy,” Steve sighs, tapping his beer bottle against Robin’s. “I genuinely don’t think anything will ever top this.”
“Tonight has been a treat,” Robin agrees. “Expensive beers, live singing from Steve’s fuck buddy, and drama I’ll tell my kids about one day.”
“This is unethical,” Nancy says, peering around the side of Steve’s car, fists on her hips. “Also—secret—are you hooking up with Eddie!?”
This last question is directed at Steve, who sips his beer in lieu of answering. Nancy doesn’t like that; she turns away from the last tendrils of drama happening to narrow her eyes at Steve. She looks a little wired from all the chaos, and Steve knows all her carefully laid plans for the day have gone up in (hopefully paid for) smoke, so he throws her a bone. “To be fair, it hasn’t been much of a secret.”
Nancy’s mouth opens, her brows furrowing, and then it closes, and she looks off into the distance, considering. They really haven’t been as slick as they should have been, but when Nancy is working a wedding, she’s all in. Unless you’re fucking up your job and therefore making hers harder, she doesn’t pay you any mind.
“Steve, would you compare hooking up with Eddie to a kiss from a rose on the grey?” Jonathan asks, breaking the silence. Steve is a little grateful for it, even as a blush burns at his cheeks.
“Actually yeah, would you say your rose is in bloom?” Robin inquires, peering at him.
“I hope not,” Steve says. “I’d probably need a doctor.”
Nancy sighs, reaching a hand out for a beer, which Steve dutifully provides. “I thought you had better taste.”
Robin spits beer everywhere in the performance of a lifetime. “Sorry, you thought Steve had better taste? Nancy, you’re the outlier here, okay? Steve’s taste is—is—it’s diabolical! Steve’s type is two feet and a heartbeat.”
“That’s the shoelace express,” Steve points out, tipping his beer back. He burps, then swaps his empty bottle for a full one.
Robin guffaws. “Okay, but still! Steve’s requirement for a partner is: did they say yes? Excellent. That’s it. At a wedding in February—no, no, let me tell them!—AT A WEDDING IN February, he was talking to some older woman at the bar, who could have been his grandmother. Which—different strokes, sure, but she was so nasty, and she kept saying how he reminded her of her son. And then—”
“I will kill you!” Steve cries, leaning across to her chair in an attempt to cover her mouth. “I was in a dry spell!”
“He fucked the mom! He took her out to his car and fucked her like they were teenagers! And I am 93% sure he called her mommy—”
“Why only 93%?” Nancy asks.
“Well come on, no shit,” Jonathan says. “Look at him.”
Betrayal sure stings. Steve gives up on stopping Robin, slumping into his seat. He definitely deserves this for numerous reasons (he used all the hot water this afternoon, farted in the car on the way over to the venue, and absolutely ate her leftovers, though she doesn’t know that last bit yet), but it’s not any less painful.
And to make matters incredibly worse, Eddie saunters up with all his gear. The only saving grace there is that he’s entirely focused on the happenings by the entrance of the venue and misses the dumb shit Robin’s saying about him.
Except, of course, she says, “Now he’s hooking up with Seal, so...”
Eddie startles, turning to look at all of them. He smiles awkwardly, putting down his gear and leaning against his van, which Steve realizes he’s parked beside. “You told the kids already? I thought we’d do that together, sweetheart.”
“Ah, you know them,” Steve says, shrugging to hide how hot his face feels. Eddie smiles at him. “They’re impossible when they get their teeth into something.”
Robin ignores the dig. “Eddie, welcome! I thought for sure you imploded after that stunning rendition of Kiss From A Rose, but here you are. Thank goodness.”
“Shut up,” Eddie groans, dragging his hands over his face. “That was all Wheeler’s fault. She told them I sing.”
“You do,” Nancy points out, hiding her smirk behind her beer. “It was beautiful. And the other guy they hired quit, which we all should have done, apparently.”
Eddie performs a silly little bow, grabbing Nancy’s hand and peppering it with kisses. This wedding season must have softened her towards Eddie, because she doesn’t bludgeon him to death with her half-empty beer. Instead, she flicks him in the nose and asks, “What took you so long to pack up?”
“Well, the groom’s mom wanted a shoulder to cry on and I was more than happy to oblige when she started spilling her guts.”
They all blink at him, then lean forward almost in unison. “Go on,” Robin offers.
“Beer me,” Eddie says.
A beer is handed to him, and without further ado, Eddie launches into his story. Steve sits back in his chair and listens, pleasantly warm from the fading sun and the beer in his hand. The kids talk about Eddie sometimes when they tell Steve about their DnD sessions, going on and on about what a great storyteller he is.
They’re right, clearly. Eddie leans into the story like he’s on a stage, drawing all of them into this sordid love affair. Steve watches his hands move and his face change and can’t look away, not even for a second, which would be embarrassing if everyone else wasn’t doing the exact same thing. He finds himself laughing loudly, hooked on every word. If he were to analyze it closely, Steve would probably label it a Problem.
Thankfully, he’s not looking at it closely.
By the time Eddie is finished, everyone from the wedding has left, and it’s just the five of them loitering in the parking lot. There’s talk of going to The Hideout for another drink, and if Steve waits for Eddie to confirm his attendance, that’s nobody’s business but his.
They toss the chairs into the back of Steve’s car, and clean up the rest of their gear. Robin says, “I’m gonna head over with Nance and Jonathan; they’re stopping at the corner store and I need treats if I have to listen to whatever they think passes for live music at The Hideout.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss. Buckley,” Eddie says, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders. He leans forward into her space, dragging Steve with him. “But I occasionally grace that tiny stage with my big, big presence.”
“I’m surprised they let Seal impersonators perform,” Robin says, feigning shock. She starts shimmying backwards, bringing an imaginary microphone to her mouth. “Ba-ya-ya, ba-da-da-da-da-da, ba-ya-ya—”
“The bus is leaving!” Nancy calls through her open window, slapping the side of Jonathan’s car. “Let’s go!”
Robin dives into the backseat of Jonathan’s car, and off they go, leaving Eddie and Steve in the fading twilight.
It’s weird, being here like this. Steve has hooked up with Eddie at weddings before, but that was always in the heat of the moment; a whisper or a look exchanged, a meeting in some dark spot of the venue. This all started last summer, when Eddie returned home from Chicago and started working the wedding circuit. Never in Steve’s life would he have thought about hooking up with Eddie Munson from high school, super senior and fucking nerd, but that was before Barb, and Nancy, and the kids. And, apparently, before Eddie grew into all of—that.
He wouldn’t say they were friends now or anything—they don’t hang out beyond the weddings they work—but they’re definitely more friendly than they were last July, and Steve isn’t angry about it.
“You’re gonna go?” Steve asks, turning toward Eddie. He’s still tucked under his arm, so it brings their faces close together, a strange sort of intimacy.
“I’m thinking about it,” Eddie nods, eyes flickering over Steve’s face, then the parking lot around them. Steve doesn’t have to look to know that it’s empty, now.
Slowly, Eddie starts to walk him backward until his back hits the side of his car. The arm leaves his shoulder to slide down his chest, curling into the waistband of his slacks. Eddie hasn’t looked away from Steve’s face, which makes the movement of his hands—now pulling at Steve’s belt—all the more intense.
There’s something curious on Eddie’s face, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he tilts his head to the side. “Are you in a hurry to get there?”
“No,” Steve whispers, swallowing loudly in the quiet of the parking lot. He tilts his hips, giving Eddie easier access to pull them down over his hips. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well,” Eddie whispers, leaning close enough that his breath brushes against Steve’s cheek. “Last time we saw each other, you had to rush off like Cinderella at midnight and I didn’t get the chance to return the favor, did I?”
Last time had been a rushed affair for sure; Steve had disappeared during clean up to follow Eddie out to his van, shove him into the back amongst a guitar case and all his equipment, and suck his soul out through his dick. It’d been sloppy and quick and Steve had pulled Eddie’s mouth open and spat his cum inside. Before Eddie could do more than ask, “What the fuck?” around a mouthful of his own spunk, Steve had slithered out of the van and sprinted back into the venue.
It’d been a busy couple of weekends where no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t figure out a way to sneak off. Was it fucked up that Steve was more focused on getting Eddie off than himself? Sure. But when he’d jerked off in the shower with the taste of Eddie still in his mouth, it hadn’t felt like much of a loss.
Steve’s pretty sure he’s about to be paid back, which is nice. “My fairy godmother would have strangled me if I’d made her wait any longer,” Steve says, swallowing thickly. All he can hear is his own heartbeat and the steady buzz of cicadas.
Eddie bites at Steve’s jaw, and his chuckle washes down the line of Steve’s throat. He shivers, despite the warm evening air, and tilts his head back in invitation. “Well she’s not here now, is she?”
No, she is not.
Steve’s eyes flutter shut as Eddie closes his teeth over the tendon in his neck, biting down hard enough that Steve wonders if he’ll have a mark there later. Something he can reach up and press his fingers into, a reminder that whatever this is with Eddie, it’s real.
And that’s a scary thought, so he reaches out blindly for Eddie’s crotch as a distraction. He grins at what he finds, says, “You been looking forward to this?”
“Uh huh,” Eddie murmurs, sucking at the apple of Steve’ throat. At Steve’s gasp, he bites down on that too, which—fucking Jesus. Who does that? Why is that so hot?
With each interaction he has with Eddie, Steve’s pretty sure he’s been having vanilla sex all his life. He wants to do nasty things to Eddie, and wants Eddie to do nasty things to him. With the few boys Steve has been with, everything has been either fast and quick at a club. Nice, for sure, but not the sort of thing you experiment with. With girls, Steve was always focused on getting them off, on making sure they were having a good time, which didn’t really leave a lot for him.
Even though things have been quick and dirty with Eddie, Steve has never left feeling like he missed out on something. He’s left wanting more, but not because he was disappointed with Eddie.
Again, dangerous thinking.
Steve starts to massage his hand against the bulge in Eddie’s slacks, gasping again when Eddie knocks his hand away and pins it to the car. “What...?”
“This is about you, sweet thing. All you need to do is lean back and relax,” Eddie whispers into the hollow of Steve’s throat.
And then he’s gone, dropping to his knees in front of Steve’s tented briefs. Steve can’t see his eyes like this, not with his fringe in the way, but he can see the way Eddie leans forward, dragging the tip of his nose along the curve of Steve’s cock.
His hair is down tonight, which is unusual. Eddie might be the preferred DJ in Roane County these days, but a lot of people still remember him from his high school days. They see his long hair, his piercings, his tattoos, and they think: wrong. They think: dangerous.
And so Eddie makes himself palatable enough to not be offensive in the background of wedding photos, but not so palatable that he becomes something else entirely. Or that’s what Robin thinks, anyway; Steve made one comment about how often he wears his hair up these days and got an entire after school special about it.
At any rate, Steve is glad he wore it down today, because it means he can thread his fingers through it. Despite Steve’s (probably uncharitable) thoughts, Eddie’s hair is actually soft. At the nape, it’s damp with sweat, and so Steve does him a solid and lifts it up, wrapping the length of it in his fist. “You all talk, down there?” Steve asks, gathering himself back up. Too many silly thoughts rattling around in his head; this is why it’s better when Steve doesn’t have time to think.
He’s pretty sure he’s following the rules of whatever game they’re playing, but Eddie leans back on his heels, dislodging Steve’s hand with a smack of his own.
“Do I need to hold you down?” Eddie asks, arching a brow up at him. “I kind of thought you’d be a good boy, but maybe I’m wrong.”
Steve’s mouth is dry, his throat clicking as he swallows. He feels silly, and aroused, and kind of excited for whatever comes next, which is a weird mix churning beneath his breast. “No,” he insists, a little too quickly. “I can be good.”
“Then keep your hands to yourself,” Eddie says, leaning back in and dragging the flat of his tongue over Steve’s covered cock. “I can gag myself just fine on this thing without your hands helping me along.”
Steve presses his hands flat to the car on either side of him, blinking up at the sky. It’s still light with the faded day, giving him nothing to focus on. No stars, no clouds, not even a fucking swarm of gnats for him to wince at.
“Look at me.”
He does, shaking his head as he tips it down. Fuck, is he okay?
Eddie is smiling up at him, cheek resting on Steve’s thigh. “There’s a good boy. Can you watch while I suck you off?”
“Sure,” Steve says, clearing his throat. He tucks his hands beneath his ass, leaning back on them. The pressure is nice, and a little grounding, and he’s grateful to have something to focus on. “Can I talk?”
“Only if it’s to tell me what a good job I’m doing,” Eddie says primly. Steve huffs out a laugh. “Seriously, though. If there’s anything you don’t like, just tell me, okay?”
Steve nods. “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay,” Eddie mimics, pressing a kiss to his clothed cock. “Let’s get this party started.”
Is it weird that Steve starts to settle the second Eddie reveals his weeping cock? Probably. Steve’s not qualified to deal with those thoughts, though, so he ignores them. It’s easy, too, when Eddie presses his cock up against his belly, then drags his tongue from the root to tip.
It’s a struggle to keep his hands to himself, but Steve manages admirably. It helps that he’s allowed to talk, probably, and although he doesn’t say much of substance, being able to run his mouth has always been something Steve was good at.
“You’re so good at this,” Steve pants, biting down on his lip as Eddie takes him in. The first couple of times are shallow, wet things; more Eddie licking at his cock and sucking around the tip than trying anything really impressive. Each time he pulls back, Steve gets a chance to stare down at how red and wet he is, which is certainly hurrying along the process. “Like you were made for it.”
“Oh yeah?” Eddie asks, leaving sloppy wet kisses along his shaft. “Made to suck cock? Or made to suck you?”
“Me,” Steve insists, arching his hips closer to Eddie’s face. Not technically breaking the rules, but he’s desperate to sink back into the warm, wet heat of his mouth. “Obviously.”
“Don’t be a brat.” Eddie bares his teeth, setting them gently against Steve’s shaft. A shiver rattles down his spine, but it’s not bad. He’s felt Eddie’s teeth before when fucking his throat, but this is intentional and kind of mean, and not like anything he’s ever felt before.
Steve swallows, then pulls on every ounce of cool he once (sort of) had: “Then quit being a tease and suck my cock.”
Eddie’s eyes glitter, the brown so dark Steve can’t tell what is pupil and what is iris. The world is deepening around them, turning Eddie into something of shadow and—
“Please suck my dick,” Steve says, a little desperate. “I’m writing poetry in my fucking head about it.”
He feels the huff of Eddie’s laughter more than he hears it, and seconds later, his mouth is on Steve with real intent. No more teasing, no more slow, lazy sucks; he steadily swallows Steve’s cock down until the tip of his nose is brushing against Steve’s pubes.
Being buried in someone’s throat will never, ever get old. Probably because it happens so rarely, but fuck if Steve doesn’t absolutely love the way Eddie swallows around him, how his breath feels as it punches out of Eddie’s nostrils, or the slick way his tongue drags along the bottom of Steve’s shaft when he pulls back. Eddie’s a fucking superstar at this, never lets Steve’s cock fall from his mouth even as he’s catching his breath.
Doesn’t give Steve a chance to catch his breath either, really.
The whole affair probably lasts something like ten minutes from start to finish, but by the time Steve cums down Eddie’s throat, it feels like hours have passed. His knees turn to jelly and he slides down the side of his car, grateful Eddie never pulled the ass of his briefs down.
He ends up sitting with his legs spread on either side of Eddie, who has fallen back onto his own ass and is currently wiping his mouth with a forearm. His lips are red and swollen, eyes wet in the darkness.
Fucking gorgeous. If Steve had a voice, he might even be crazy enough to tell him that.
Wonderwall by Oasis
There are many things that I would
Like to say to you
But I don’t know how
“We’re going straight to hell,” Eddie gasps delightedly, allowing himself to be shoved onto the piano bench. Steve watches as his elbow bangs into the uncovered keys behind him, a loud, discordant noise echoing through the empty church. Hopefully whatever music Eddie left playing downstairs is loud enough that nobody heard that.
They are going to hell, but Steve can’t really come up with a reason to be sad about it. All he’s thinking about right now is pulling Eddie’s pants down around his ankles and fucking him within an inch of his life in the choir of Hawkins’ biggest Catholic church. Steve bruised his knees on those pews down there, back when his dad was still trying to be a family guy.
Who knew Oasis covers could inspire such blasphemy? Certainly not Steve. He doesn’t even like Wonderwall.
But Eddie had made pretty serious eye contact with him while he strummed at his guitar, and although they only saw each other the weekend previous, Steve’s been chomping at the bit to see him again. I feel insatiable, he’d told Robin on Thursday, draped across her bed while she folded laundry.
You sound insufferable, Robin had replied, tossing balled up socks at his face. You know you can see him outside of work, right?
Solid advice, to be sure, but no, actually, they cannot. That’s not how it works, this thing he has with Eddie. They are slutty wedding hookup friends, and if Steve’s damaged brain wants to bark out a protest every once in a while, that’s no one’s business.
It’s barking like crazy right now as Eddie spreads his legs and palms his cock through his slacks, giving Steve a once over. “Want me to sing to you, baby?”
Eddie is the insufferable one, Steve thinks, reaching for his collar. He uses that hand to haul him in close, while his other comes down on the keys, sending another discordant thrum throughout the empty church. Faintly, he can hear the sound of Elton John, so he figures they’re safe.
He swallows Eddie’s gasp, sucking it into his own lungs to keep for later, to remember and listen to when he’s stripping his cock in the shower after the wedding. To cradle in his mouth throughout the week until they meet at the next wedding.
Summer is ticking by, faster than it should be. A year ago, Steve would have been grateful to not have every day of his weekend taken up by wedding events. Now, he thinks about seeing Eddie once or twice a month and feels a little bereft.
Which is why this is a work thing. It’s bad enough they’re kissing now, which they’d never done before the bathroom a couple weeks back.
Eddie exhales sharply when Steve pulls back, blinking up at him. There’s a question in the twitch of his eyebrows that Steve isn’t prepared to answer, so he rushes on and says, “Turn over.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, a tilt to his lips.
“Yeah,” Steve insists, manhandling him into position.
Eddie helps a bit, unbuckling as he turns over. He kneels on the bench and leans against the top of the piano, turning to look over his shoulder. “Like this?”
“Perfect,” Steve breathes, tugging Eddie’s pants down to pool around his knees.
His ass is hairy, and a little small, and—
“Why is there a weiner dog dressed as a hot dog tattooed on your ass?” Steve asks, aghast.
Eddie wiggles his bum. “Because he’s a party dude just like me.”
“I hate that,” Steve lies, biting his lip. “I’m gonna eat you out while God and this fucking dog watch me.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” Eddie sighs, arching his back.
Steve drags a chair close (he’s not kneeling, he won’t be tall enough) and settles behind Eddie, framing his ass cheeks between his hands. They’re a lovely, perfect sort of handful, and Steve spends a few seconds squeezing and spreading them, just to get the feel.
Eddie is slightly sweaty, the hair in his ass laying flat when Steve spreads his cheeks to see his hole. Probably, that should be gross, but Steve’s mouth is fucking watering and he can’t help but lean forward and inhale, then swipe his tongue over him.
“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, hitting the keys again. “Fuck.”
Do many people do this to him? Steve guesses not. Steve imagines Eddie as the top in most situations, the sort of guy who walks into a room and has other men dropping to their knees or spreading their own cheeks, eager to please. How many people have smelled Eddie here, or tasted him, or heard the hitch in his breath, mixing with an errant note from the piano?
Steve hopes not many. Steve hopes he’s the only one, which is an issue.
See, this is a work thing because Steve is incapable of being normal about the people he’s seeing. Having access to Eddie all the time would allow him to indulge in every single insane fantasy that’s currently (and has been) running through his mind. He wants to suck on Eddie’s balls for an hour, until they’re tensing in his mouth. He wants to finger Eddie until he’s pliant and soft, then tuck his thumbs into his hole and pull him open, spit inside the gape of him. The thing about Steve is that he wants, and he wants, and he fucking wants—
But because it’s a work thing, he’s got a limited time frame to work in, only one want he’s allowed to act on. So as much as he’d like to fuck Eddie open on his tongue and fingers and cock, he has to pick.
And he wants to taste Eddie for the rest of the night.
Steve kisses down his taint, smoothing his tongue over the hair there, then mouths softly at his balls. By the time he reaches the tip of Eddie’s cock, pulled between his legs, it’s wet at the tip. “You’re dripping like a girl,” Steve breathes, suckling at him. “Fuck, it’s so good.”
Eddie groans, hitting another key. “You really liked the song, huh?”
He did, unfortunately. He likes hearing Eddie sing and he likes seeing Eddie and it’s a fucking problem, alright? He is so screwed.
Reaching back, Eddie curls a hand in Steve’s hair in an attempt to pull him back to his ass. “Come on, handsome, put that tongue back.”
“Ask nicely,” Steve says, biting hard at the cheek of his ass.
Eddie flinches away, then presses back within the same heartbeat. “I called you handsome, didn’t I?”
True, Steve concedes, allowing Eddie to pull him back in place. This is where he would prefer to be, anyway. Steve has sucked Eddie off before, tasted his cum, but he’s never been near his ass and he would much rather take advantage of this moment while it’s being offered to him.
Steve loves the taste of people. Spit and slick and cum and sweat. Probably it should be gross, the way Steve’s cock grows hard and aching at the taste of Eddie here, but it’s far from it. He and Robin once took a class on wine tasting and it’s a bit like that; picking out the notes that are unique solely to Eddie.
He squeezes his legs together, reaching down to roll the heel of his palm over his cock. Eddie is pressing back against his mouth, which is alternating between sucking and licking at his hole. Another key is hit, then another, a muffled, holy shit, Steve—
“Jesus weeping Christ, you fucking idiots!” Nancy snarls behind them. Something heavy hits Steve’s back, and he shoves to his feet in an attempt to cover Eddie. The piano makes a noise like someone’s shot it, and they both whip around to stare, horrified, at Nancy.
She might as well have steam pouring from her ears. “You both have jobs, I will remind you, and you’re making a lot of noise!”
Steve’s hands bump into Eddie’s when he tries to pull up his pants, and they stumble to their feet. There is a soft-covered bible on the floor, almost certainly the thing that left a bruise on Steve’s shoulderblade, and he focuses on that instead of Nancy’s livid expression.
“Shit,” Eddie blurts out, clearing his throat. “We uh, we’re coming down—”
“You sure are,” Nancy threatens, a mad gleam in her eye.
Steve rolls his eyes, adjusting his cock in his pants, which are feeling less and less tight to more his ex-girlfriend glares at him. “Take it easy, would you? We’re coming, Nance.”
“This is my fucking livelihood,” Nancy tells them both, glaring. She’s got a finger pointed in their direction and a flush across her face, anger making her incandescent and gorgeous, if Steve were still into that sort of thing. He’s finding at the moment that he really, really isn’t. “I don’t care if you’re hooking up, but don’t make me look like a goddamn idiot for recommending you when you can’t do your jobs.”
Steve prickles at the chastisement. The music is playing fine, nobody was dancing anyway, and Robin is downstairs serving all three people actually drinking at this bore of a wedding. Steve doesn’t even know why Nancy booked them for a wedding like this when they could actually be making money at the golf course across the town, serving the Holloway wedding. Sure they were a little unprofessional, but nobody saw them. It’s really not that big a deal.
Eddie shuffles out from behind him, put together enough that nobody will notice that he was just on his knees with Steve’s mouth on his asshole. He scrapes his hair up into a knot and clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry Nance.”
Nancy blinks. Steve blinks. Eddie isn’t looking at either of them anymore, and there’s something in his face that Steve can’t read. Anger, maybe, or frustration. Is he upset with Steve, or annoyed they were caught? Maybe he wants to tell Nancy to go and fuck herself—it’s only recently that they’ve started to like each other, after all, and every gig Eddie’s gotten this summer has been his own work, and not based off Nancy’s recommendation to the couple.
Nancy sniffs, and turns to head back downstairs, while Eddie stares after her and Steve stares at him. “It’s really not a big deal,” Steve begins, but Eddie is already moving towards the door leading downstairs.
“I’ll see you later,” Eddie calls over his shoulder, short and brusque, like Steve gave him a smoke instead of what would have been a really nice orgasm, had they not been interrupted.
Cock deflated, ego deflated, hair definitely deflating, Steve groans. Nancy’s for sure gonna beat him to Robin, and he’s gonna have to listen to the peanut gallery for the rest of the week. He just knows it.
He focuses on that, rather than the panic building in his chest, and tries to put Eddie from his mind.
Because You Loved Me by Céline Dion
Maybe I don't know that much
But I know this much is true
The last wedding of the summer (technically, a mid-September event) is not one Steve is working. Instead, he has the honour of being his mom’s plus one. It’s her first fancy outing since the divorce was finalized three months back, and he’s more than happy to be her designated driver for the evening if it means she has a nice time.
And a nice time she does have, helped along by Robin who always has a glass of prosecco ready and waiting when Camille wanders closer to the bar.
It’s strange, seeing all his friends working and not being part of it. The crowd is older as well, and most people trying to talk to Steve are asking if he’ll ever go to school (no), if he’s spoken to his father recently (fuck no), or if he’s dating anyone (uhhhh) —
“That young man keeps looking over at you,” his mom says when the dancing has begun, rubbing her thumb against the shoulder of his suit jacket. She peeks over his shoulder to where ‘that young man’ is surely queuing up another oldie.
Steve flushes, sputters, tries, “It’s probably not me—”
“Steve, please,” she says, swatting his arm, then smoothing it over with her palm. “Come on, spin around. Maybe you can make eye contact. Is he a lover? A secret admirer? An enemy?”
Snorting, Steve sways with her in a circle. “He’s my friend, and you need to stop actually reading the book club books. I thought all you ladies did was gossip?”
“God, imagine I had to spend two hours once a month listening to Linda Hagan moan about her terrible life?” She shudders in his arms, hugging him tightly. “I’m so happy you’re not friends with her boy anymore, but God does it cause me grief sometimes. All she talks about is the good old days, as though she were the one you stopped being friends with!”
Sorry,” Steve says, squeezing her hand. “Just remember how much you love Robin, when Mrs. Hagan’s being annoying.”
Eddie is looking at Steve when they turn around, making some pretty serious eye contact. Crazy eye contact, really, considering Steve’s just gone almost a month without anything other than a quick hello and goodbye from the guy. Either Nancy spooked him when she caught them with their pants down and he realized Steve wasn’t worth losing jobs over, or he really didn’t enjoy what Steve was doing, which—it’s definitely the former. Steve’s got a good report card.
“He is your lover,” his mom whispers, glancing over her shoulder. “Look at that face! Steve, have some decorum.”
Flushing, Steve averts his gaze, focusing instead on the people dancing around them. “Mom, please.”
“He is cute, I guess. Is he smelly? He looks a little like he might be smelly.”
“It’s a nice smelly,” Steve says, indignant. “And he’s not my lover. We’ve just—only at—well, it’s complicated.”
Camille nods, turning to look at Eddie again, who waves. She smiles, waving back. “Complicated doesn’t seem like your style, my love.”
It’s not his style at all, but if he’s being honest he didn’t even realize it was complicated until he just tried to define it. Eddie is a guy he sees at weddings and who he—well, who he’s started to look forward to seeing, except for the part where Eddie’s been weirdly cordial with him. Although maybe that’s coming to an end, because he’s tilting his head and walking away from his set up, leaving Mike behind.
“I’m thinking I might go and uncomplicate it,” Steve says slowly, watching Eddie head towards the door, deeper into the golf club. “If that’s alright with you?”
“Oh, to be young,” his mom sighs, patting his cheek. “Get lost.”
Steve kisses her cheek, pulling a laugh from her, and then sets off across the dance floor to the door Eddie left from. Nancy is nowhere to be seen and someone is manning Eddie’s station, so Steve figures they have some time before they’re hunted down. Besides, there isn’t a piano for them to fuck against this time, so probably nobody will hear them.
Eddie is several feet ahead of him, leaning back against a wall. He watches Steve approach, gaze hot and hungry. Relief and excitement flood through Steve, and he picks up the pace a bit, fighting back a grin when Eddie pushes away from the wall. “Hey—”
He gasps as Eddie takes hold of the lapels of his jacket, shoving him through one of the doors. It swings open soundlessly, and they tumble through the doorway. A quick glance around informs him that they’re in some sort of dressing room; there are purses and bags sitting on benches, and a stall hiding what he assumes is a toilet or a shower.
Eddie’s hands have travelled from his lapels, down to his hips, where they squeeze him tightly. “You look incredible,” he mutters, pressing a sloppy kiss to Steve’s mouth. “Fuck, have I really never seen you in a suit?”
Steve is wearing an old suit that is tight in the shoulders, but hey, he will absolutely take the compliment. “It looks better off,” he says, kissing Eddie back, laughing when his lips stray to Steve’s cheek, then his jaw.
“I bet,” Eddie agrees, pushing at the coat. Steve takes the hint and pulls it off, tossing it to the side. “I gotta be quick. Mike always plays some stupid shit when I take too long. M’trying to train it out of him.”
“Good luck,” Steve snorts, reaching his hands up to hold Eddie’s face still. “Hey, hey.”
“Huh?” Eddie asks, blinking. He meets Steve’s eyes, and his pupils are blown wide. “What’s wrong?”
Steve smiles slightly, then leans forward to press a soft, warm kiss to Eddie’s lips. He keeps hold of Eddie and controls the pace of the kiss; a slow, wet, thorough thing. Eddie might have a time limit, but he doesn’t need to rush.
By the time Steve pulls back, sliding his hands down the column of Eddie’s throat, Eddie’s eyes are closed and the jitters from a few moments ago have settled. He inhales deeply, then exhales, breath ghosting across Steve’s lips. “You’re good at that.”
“Kissing?”
“Mm.” Eddie blinks his eyes open, smiling at Steve. His hands have begun to wander again, reaching for Steve’s belt, but the hurry is gone. “Sorry.”
Steve shrugs, leaning back against the counter of the vanity as Eddie frees his cock. He’s half-hard but the sight and feel of Eddie’s hand on him is getting him very rapidly where he needs to be. “Don’t be. I was hoping this was what you were staring at me for.”
Eddie huffs out a rueful laugh, shaking his head. “It’s weird seeing you as a guest. I asked Rob how she was coping.”
“She’s working with Keith, so I assume not well.” Steve bites his lip as Eddie begins to tug at his cock lightly, the dry drag of it sending shivers down Steve’s spine. “Are you gonna show me yours?”
He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer him, instead reaching for Eddie’s studded belt. Last time, neither of them got to finish, and Steve simply cannot let that become a habit. When he has Eddie’s cock free, he spits into his palm and begins to jerk him off, dragging his hand along the length of the shaft, then curving his palm over the head.
It inspires some really lovely noises in Eddie, who is kissing Steve’s face again. Quick, mindless things, more a drag of lips than anything real, but Steve chases them anyway, wanting Eddie’s mouth back on his. Kissing is such a gift, Steve is realizing. How did they ever do this without kissing before? Eddie was made to be kissed.
He was made for a lot of things, Steve’s traitorous mind whispers, but he smothers those thoughts before they can do any damage. Steve just needs to kiss this man and get off, then he can go back out to the wedding and escort his tipsy mom home for the evening.
Eddie pulls back from Steve just far enough that he can drool down into his own palm. Carefully, he reaches down and takes both of their cocks in that hand. It feels nice, even though it isn’t as tight as Steve usually prefers. For a second, he pretends like they’re some horny teenagers who slipped away from a dance to jerk off in the bathroom, and then he realizes that the only difference from that fantasy to reality is that they’re actually adults. And also—
“Are you humming Because You Loved Me?” Steve asks incredulously, his face going hot, hot, hot while his stomach tightens.
The Céline Dion song is one of Steve’s favourites, and Eddie almost always plays it when he works a wedding. Steve made the colossal mistake of telling him during one of their little escapades, and now he plays it twice a night to really get Steve choked up at the bar.
It’s just such a beautiful song, is all. And his mom likes it, and will sing along to it even though she doesn’t really have the chops. Sometimes Steve will sing along with her, and they’ll dance around the kitchen when he goes over for Wednesday dinner. He can’t believe it’s about to be ruined for the rest of his life because Eddie’s humming it while making Steve come.
“It’s stuck in my head,” Eddie complains, shuddering when Steve closes a hand around the one he has on their cocks. “But you like it, don’t ya sweet thing?”
“Shut up,” Steve grunts, tightening his hand. They move in tandem, and Steve’s leaking enough at the tip that the glide is easy and slick. He’s not gonna last much longer, and based on the stuttering of Eddie’s hand, neither is he.
Then they’ll be done, moving back out to the dance floor and their obligations, and just like that, wedding season will be over. Steve’s throat tightens at the thought, and he asks, “Kiss me, please.”
Eddie drags his gaze away from where they’re touching, eyes widening for a moment—a terrifying, mortifying moment where Steve wonders if he’s made a fool of himself. But then Eddie reaches up and curls a hand in his hair, dragging him.
Steve makes an embarrassing noise, but it’s swallowed by Eddie and then echoed when they both spill into the clench of their fists. Steve spares a moment to hope he didn’t come on anything that will be obvious to the crowd outside, then sinks back into the drag of Eddie’s tongue and lips.
The hand in his hair loosens its grip but doesn’t pull away. Instead, Eddie’s fingers unfurl to cradle the back of his head, kneading at his scalp. If it were anyone else, Steve would bat their hand away, annoyed at the thought of his hair growing oily. But it’s not just anyone, and the touch feels so nice, and it’s the—
“Last wedding of the summer,” Steve points out between slow kisses.
Eddie snorts into the kiss, which tickles slightly. Steve flinches back, then laughs. Apologetically, Eddie rubs away spit on Steve’s chin. He says, “Not the last wedding ever, though.”
No, that’s true. But it means Robin will be scaling back how many jobs she takes as school takes priority, which means Steve scales back with bartending and focuses on serving at Enzo’s on the weekend. It’s also that time of year where he misses Robin when she’s off doing something without him (“Dingus, we’re apart maybe seven hours of the day. It’s really not that much!”) and he thinks about applying for a couple different programs.
It means that he won’t see Eddie much, because they’ve pretty much established themselves only as work friends. Sure, Steve sees him out and about, but they rarely say much more than hello. They certainly don’t do this anywhere appropriate.
So it feels final, even if it isn’t. Will they do this at the next wedding? Maybe. But there’s something like goodbye on the tip of Steve’s tongue, and he wants to bite it back, wants Eddie to say, maybe we can do this again soon. And that right there? It’s the sort of thinking that gets you locked into a bathroom with your drunk girlfriend telling you she thinks your whole relationship is bullshit. Or the sort of thinking where you convince yourself the guy you’ve been hooking up with all summer is in love with you.
Eddie steps away, reaching for the box of tissues. Quickly, he wipes away the evidence and heads to the sink, rinsing his hands thoroughly. By the time Steve wanders over to do the same, Eddie is already dried off and back in order.
“I gotta head back,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “But I’ll see you around, right?”
Steve nods, focusing on himself in the mirror and not Eddie behind him. His throat and chest feel tight, which is stupid. Eddie’s not doing anything out of the ordinary; Steve is the one who got his wires all crossed. “Yeah, for sure man. Hawkins is only so big.”
“Uh huh,” Eddie says, nodding. He looks a bit like a bobble head, with all the nodding. “Right, yeah.”
There’s a pause. Steve considers asking if Eddie has plans Monday night. He bites hard on the inside of his cheek instead, and Eddie leaves, the door falling soundlessly shut behind him.
Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews Band
Lost for you, I'm so lost
For you
It’s a Friday night in late November, and the weekend is looking pretty bleak.
He has been sexiled from the apartment for the night so Robin can have Chrissy over for a beautiful candlelit dinner, and his own mom has abandoned him for a girls weekend in Chicago (someone is turning fifty, or someone is having a midlife crisis; Steve can’t remember the details) so he’s stuck alone at her new house. There isn’t anything going on this weekend either, a weird lull before Christmas parties (and worse—Christmas weddings) start up in earnest.
Steve’s trying not to be annoyed by it, but there’s no chocolate and banana ice cream so he’s not really succeeding.
At least the music playing overhead is nice. Steve doesn’t know the name of the song, but he’s heard it on the radio enough that he knows some of the lyrics, and he sings along under his breath as he scans the freezers for another flavour. All he wants to do is drink a bottle of his mom’s wine, eat a pint of ice cream, and watch While You Were Sleeping before he has to return it to FamilyVideo on Sunday.
Most flavours are, unfortunately, ruined for him after working at Scoops for a summer with Robin, but banana chocolate is perfect and weird and—it’s seriously not here? What the fuck? Steve’s never met another human being who likes—
“Don’t tell me you’re a Dave Matthews Band guy.”
Steve jumps, the door of the freezer falling shut with a slam. He spins, watching as Eddie startles with his movements, and the pint of banana chocolate ice cream in his hands falls to the floor. “Shit,” Eddie says.
“That’s mine,” Steve blurts out, leaning down to grab it. He then realizes how stupid he sounds, and amends, “I mean, I was looking for this. It’s the last one. Also—there’s nothing wrong with this song.”
“You can have the ice cream and your top hits,” Eddie snorts, jerking his chin toward the freezer door Steve just slammed. “I grabbed it accidentally. Would you mind getting me a pint of the rocky road?” He gestures down to the mountain of groceries in his arms.
Fucking score. Steve eagerly reaches in and grabs the pint. “You know you’re allowed to grab a basket right?” He asks as he finds a place in Eddie’s arms where the ice cream is not in danger of falling once more. The items he has are strange, clearly the meal of someone who isn’t sure what he’s in the mood for, and Steve almost wants to ask when he last had a home cooked meal. Eddie’s sodium intake must be insane based on the TV dinners alone.
Eddie sighs, adjusting his left arm as Steve tucks the ice cream into his armpit. Hopefully it doesn’t melt. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t be able to flirt with cute guys when I drop stuff and they pick it up for me.”
Steve blushes and huffs out a laugh. “You’re a dumbass,” he says, a little too fondly, then steps back. He takes a moment to finally look at Eddie, and is unsurprised to find him just as beautiful as he was the last time they saw each other. He has on a toque, and a red scarf, and an old beat up leather jacket that looks warm. His lips are chapped from the cold; Steve thinks about the chapstick he swiped on in the car, and how moisturizing it’d be if he kissed him.
Crazy talk, of course. Steve hasn’t seen Eddie since October, where they worked one wedding together and barely got a chance to see each other. There had been a moment toward the end of the night where Steve thought maybe, but Robin had a cold and he’d been more preoccupied with getting her home to bed.
“Are you busy?” Eddie asks, awkwardly balancing his groceries in his arms. He looks at Steve, then away, then back again, firmer this time. Like he’s planting his feet, or something.
Steve shrugs. “Not particularly. I’m sure you heard about date night?”
Snorting, Eddie nods. “Oh yeah. Chrissy’s been going on about it for days.”
“Yeah, well, I’m kicked out and squatting at my mom’s while she’s in Chicago. That about sums up my night. Are...you busy?”
A smile pulls at the corner of Eddie’s mouth, small to start, then growing bigger as he shakes his head. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “And wouldn’t you know it, I was actually thinking about you today.”
“That so?” Steve asks, leaning against the freezer, hoping he looks cool and casual and not at all like his stomach’s doing somersaults.
Eddie hums in agreement, wandering closer. He looks ridiculous with his arms full of groceries, but in a way that’s really, really endearing. Steve is so fucked.
“Chrissy talking about date night with Robin made me think about how we never did any of it. And then I kind of thought—well, it sounds nice, right? Dinner and a movie, maybe a kiss on the car ride home?”
“I hope they’re doing more than kissing, since I’ve been sexiled,” Steve points out. “And I also hope Robin isn’t getting behind the wheel of a car. She’s hopeless.”
Eddie barks out a laugh. “Yeah, and what do you hope about this?”
He gestures between them with a jerk of his chin, eyebrows crinkling with something like worry.
Steve swallows. “It would be nice, I guess. I like dinner, and movies.”
“And kissing?”
“I love kissing.”
The worry is gone; Eddie’s face is relieved, his smile growing bigger. “Well maybe we could do that tonight, if you’re not busy. Order a pizza, eat our pints of ice cream, watch a movie?”
“Kind of the plan already. I wouldn’t mind some company.” Steve reaches out, taking some of Eddie’s groceries from his arms. “Kinda backwards though, no?”
“Says who?” Eddie challenges, smirking slightly. “Maybe this was my plan all along: lure you in with sex, make you want it so bad you’ll tolerate dating me.”
Steve flushes, his body feeling light with excitement. “I think I’ll do more than tolerate it,” Steve admits, starting to walk backwards toward the checkout.
Eddie’s smirk changes into a smile, and he follows after Steve.
And to think, he thought this weekend would be boring.