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hitlikehammers · 9 days ago

Text

put a ring on it 💍🪡 💕

“Is this actually necessary?” Eddie seems to judge where the very patient piercing-professional is in relation to their…target, before turning his head, hair half-covering his face: “How can you possibly believe that it isn’t?”

rating: t ♥️ tags: future fic, established relationship, rockstar eddie munson, successful-in-his-own-right steve harrington, fluff, humour, flirting in awkward places, body piercings, dork4dork, NOT marriage proposals, silly boys being silly ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day seven: Marry me - Train (full disclosure: I have never even listened to this song; the title just was there then I blinked and this story appeared)

“Is this actually necessary?”

Eddie seems to judge where the very patient piercing-professional is in relation to their…target, before turning his head, hair half-covering his face:

“How can you possibly believe that it isn’t?”

The way he tries to sound so scandalized would be undercut by Steve knowing Eddie as a rule, but, in the now?

The way he has to spit his curls from his mouth as he talks definitely does the trick.

“We share a bank account.”

“But we’re using the card with your name on it.”

Eddie says it like it makes a difference. And if it does to him, then fine. Steve just…

It’s not like their finances are uneven: Corroded Coffin’s finally at the filling-arenas stage of the dream hitting, and Steve? He asked Owens, when the last round of hush money was getting doled out, to look into some of his dad’s business practices that even Steve thought were fucked up, and if they found anything, to promise Steve the company, and a seat at a college to learn how to build the operation back up honest.

Along with his own unexpected prodigy of a CFO—one Elle-Jane Hopper, who’d asked Owens for an education, too—they’ve done very well for themselves under the Harrington name, well enough that it’s one Steve’s not even conflicted to use anymore.

Or ask Eddie to hyphenate, if that’s what he wants when the time comes—Steve’s just not gonna give up the opportunity to at least be legally a Munson in some respect, on his end.

Which brings them back to: here

With Steve putting a ring on it.

Like, if Eddie wants this? Of course he should get it. Steve supports a whole shit ton of what Eddie wants—and only protests or downright intervenes to stop things when they’re 100% going to end in pain, prison, or generalized regret.

So Steve just…does not understand what prompted the sudden, frantic need. And the twist or possessiveness isn’t wholly out of character—Eddie craves feeling wanted, feeling loved, and Steve likes to think he does a damn good job delivering on both in basically everything he does, since it’s true in every breath he takes. But it’s not like Eddiedoesn’t get various undergarments thrown at him every night on stage, for his side of the coin. And Dteve just…Steve’s seen him pontificate from lunch tables and helped him relearn how to fucking walk in ‘86. He’s not threatened by horny concertgoers.

So the oddly enthusiastic and out of nowhere urge to half-strongarm Steve into ‘locking it down’?

Eddie is his be-all-and-end-all. Steve does in fact already have the perfect ring in his home office where Eddie raids Steve’s legal pads and steals honors for when inspiration strikes, baby, the muses are fickle mistresses, but ever goes into drawer that has the calculators and classic adding machine in it because they’re soul crushing, they ward off creative genius, and honestly, it’s the easiest and most guaranteed place to keep something secret from his sniffer-dog of boyfriend, partner, other half.

Soon-to-be fiancé.

“So if this is a proposal,” which it’s not, Steve will not accept any of his as a proposal; he has fucking plans to sweep Eddie off his goddamn feel and this admittedly-perfectly-fine room in an arguably-high-end studio, parlor, thing—this is not a proposal.

But getting answers out of Eddie is often like arguing with a toddler; you have to operate under his rules of reality. Steve learned that one years ago.

“So if this is a proposal,” Steve starts again, that that premise firmly in place; “that I’m making. With my bank card.”

Eddie’s eyes flash around to find the piercer, and judges it safe to nod enthusiastically. Good. Makes Steve’s next question easy.

“The fuck were all these, then?”

Because Eddie is covered in metal, now; so. Operating under the rules of his reality, here—

“Promise rings.”

Oh. My. God.

He flutters his lashes all innocent too, the fucker.

“You’ve been making so many promises, baby,” Eddie croons, eyes glinting, and it’s clear he thinks he’s taking the upper hand; “for so long, and I’ve been yours every second.”

If Eddie hadn’t been dutifully prepped for getting stabbed already, Steve would throttle him, now. Not even feel bad about it.

The woman doing the stabbing had been very nice so far, though, and it seems unfair to ruin her careful work when Steve can just throttle Eddie later.

It’s not like there won’t still be clear reason for it.

“It really is kinda romantic that,” the woman with the needles starts, and Eddie brightens; Steve’s already pinching the bridge of his nose like a Pavlovian response.

“Please do not encourage him,” Steve cuts in, not above begging; “in fact,” and he glances at Eddie, who still looks too wide-eyed; too hopeful.

Which is more than concerning in scenarios like these.

“Does he need any more instructions for this part, other than to stay fucking still?”

Steve directs it at the woman who’s adjusting her gloves as she gives Eddie a once over for his position on the table.

“Not,” she stilts her head once more, considering one more angle; “not really, we’ve gone over everything and he’s all set, we just—”

Steve turns on her, serious to the point of solemnity as he lays his cards down plain:

“I will triple your tip,” and he flicks his eyes to Eddie, deliberate with his power play, however small it may be; “on the card with my name,” he emphasizes; “if you don’t say anything more until this,” Steve gestured at his half dressed partner splayed just so before him.

Or: before him, and the woman Steve’s currently trying to bribe into silence so that Eddie can’t be given even the tiniest scrap to cling to and run with, dog with a fucking bone—

“Nothing. Until this” Steve gestures vaguely at the…location in question; “is done.”

She considers Steve a second, before she nods and zips her lips. Steve lets out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding.

“You’re killing the mood,” Eddie pouts loud enough to makeup for the paid-for silence. Steve glances at the piercer, who nods again when Steve mines approaching Eddie.

So he leans in and brushes those wayward curls properly out of Eddie’s goddamn mouth this time and kisses him until he loses enough oxygen to be fuzzy on his own goddamn name.

He only breaks apart, panting himself but nothing compared to Eddie, whose gasping uneven, eyes unfocused, throat working on remembering how to swallow.

“You…have revived the mood.”

Steve smirks; looks behind his shoulder.

“He still where he needs to be?”

The piercer gives Steve a thumbs up.

“Fantastic.”

Then he’s stepping back, taking his absurdly unnecessary—save that he’s putting a ring on his man, when technically it’s a very qualified woman who came highly recommended by Gareth of all people who’s actually doing the honors, more proof to Steve that the whole thing is fucking absurd—

Said woman is holding up a notepad to Steve.

It really does do wonders for stimulation, it’s our most popular request :) is crawled out first. Steve…

Steve will pass his own judgement on the matter, when the time comes.

The next line she wrote is more time sensitive, and more practical.

I usually ask if the client wants me to count before the need goes in. Can you ask, and if he wants it, can you be my voice? I’ll breathe out really hard for the numbers so that you’ll know.

She’s playing along with his need to keep a leash on his fucking lunatic boyfriend so well, so yeah. Steve can do that.

“Want a countdown?” he asks Eddie with a deliberate side-eye; they’d waited for him to get his breath back because he had to be fucking still but.

He’s still being all fucking moony-eyed.

“From you, baby?” Eddie purrs. “So it’ll put your voice in my ear every time I so much as brush against it?”

Steve rolls his eyes and nods to the woman; she holds up five finger and breathes out heavy like she said, as she puts one finger down.

Steve gets the memo.

“Three,” he calls, and Eddie’s doesn’t even tense. Weirdo.

“Two,” and still Eddie’s just…grinning like he’s lost in the clouds, so when Steve sees the needle prepare to press through, he doesn’t even feel that bad about being the bearer of the news:

“One.”

Steve does fucking flinch when it punctures skin, when Eddie’s the one who finally does make a hell of a sharp intake of breath this time. Because…god.

It’d better be a long-term investment in one hell of an increase in pleasure because…fuck.

It takes Eddie a while to stop panting through his teeth like Steve’s seen women in movies do when they’re in labor, but once he’s calm, he shoots Steve the cheekiest fucking grin, because of course he does, and rotates his wrist like a goddamn QVC host, to let his open palm put the finished product on display:

“Now presenting Edward Munson-Harrington,” he wiggles his currently-bare left ring finger; “and the newly-crowned, befitting his ancestral lineage,” Eddie bows his head theatrically doe tears his pines like that freak he really always has been: “Little Ed—ahh!”

Steve does take that opportunity to step in and pull and Eddie’s curls to reposition his head to look Steve square in the eye:

“This was not a proposal.” He holds the point until Eddie’s eyes get a little wide a he nods—probably less for taking in Steve’s declaration and more because the fucker gets hot and bothered when Steve gets even a little forceful about…well, anything.

“You’re gonna wait like a good boy for that when it’s meant to happen.”

Eddie just brightens up all the more and…goddamnit.

It really has been a relationship-long struggle, at this point, when his boyfriend found it hot when he yelled at a gaggle of shitheads before they even said a word to each other. He probably should have expected the opposite reaction to him ever trying to assert authority over…basically anything, ever—he should have just know from the beginning this response was only going to only escalate from there.

He bows out while he still can—they’re in a oublicnplace for fuck’s sake—with a very dignified flick to Eddie’s ear.

“You don’t even callyou dick Little Eddie, fucking dipweed.”

Eddie snorts. Steve just shakes his head like he’s accepted as his lot in life.

“She’s gonna give you the…care instructions?” he looks to the piercer, who’s been busy doing…cleanup or something while Eddie sits being a menace. She nods, then turns away to hide her grin. Fantastic.

“And I’m gonna go settle up the bill,” and then, Steve points to the door.

And—because Eddie’s stuck here for at least a few more minutes, and the piercer stepped out that very same door to grab the paperwork she’d prepared before they began—Steve takes the opportunity to subtly pop the top button his his dress shirt before he leans in and lets his tongue slip against the shell of Eddie’s ear as he whispers rough, near to the tune of a growl:

“And if you make your king proud and listen real fucking close to how to keep this from falling off because you didn’t clean it right or whatever,” he nods down to Eddie’s crotch:

“Maybe his majesty will see fit to reward you.”

Steve straightens up as Eddie gapes like a fish, smiles at the piercer when she comes back with a stack of pamphlets and printouts, and bites back his own smirk as best he can when Eddie makes a squeaking noise because…wow, yeah, Steve maybe knows Eddie’s predictable physical response to that tone of voice, and those kinds of words delivered in it.

That response probably hurts like hell, given what Eddie’s just asked to happen to his goddamn dick.

“Crazy fucking idiot,” Steve mumbles, and is nearly out of the door when he gets a singsong call in reply:

“You love me!”

And shit, but isn’t that just the explanation for basically everything that ever happens in Steve’s entire life?

And god help him: he’s got the ring, for a finger, and the reservations and the perfect place to drop to one knee all set to make sure it stays that way.

Crazy attracts crazy, he guesses; Jesus H.

Though, as he hears the beginning of those care instructions on the way out the door, he thinks Eddie’s insanity here might come with its own built-in consequences to learn from: no sex for six to eight weeks.

Good thing Steve’s proposal plans are for well outside that window.

But it might be gratifying to taunt Eddie with it anyway. He’d made Eddie blush so hard just playing into his deathless reappropriation of Steve’s high school royalty shame; he figures he’s got a lot of avenues right now to have his own fun with the fact that the love of his life’s a fucking dork behind the scenes.

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