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thisapplepielife · 1 year ago

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Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

King Steve

Prompt Day 12: Hallmark Movie Tropes | Word Count: 9963 | Rating: M | CW: Royal Inaccuracies | Tags: King Ralph AU, Unexpected Royalty, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending, Steve POV

This one is also available right here on AO3.

Loosely based on the 1991 comedy King Ralph, starring John Goodman, but this time make it Steddie.

Steve shoves the key into the lock of the Wienerlicious front door, and jiggles it just so, trying to get the damned thing to open. Robin picked this place as their next place of employment, and he's pretty sure it was just to stick him in another goofy uniform so she could call him dingus more often.

Jokes on her. He looks damn good in lederhosen, way better than she does in the milkmaid getup. So, suck it, Robin.

Even if he's too old for this shit. He's nearly thirty, and they're still bouncing from crappy job to crappy job, aimless.

He needs a purpose, but he just hasn't found it. Not yet.

He flips on the lights, and goes through all the opening procedures on his own. Robin won't be in until later, so he's gonna be on his own through the lunch rush. If there is a lunch rush. Sometimes, that's non-existent in this place.

And it seems like today is gonna be one of those days. He hasn't had a customer in an hour, and he's bored out of his goddamn skull. Just watching the hot dogs turn on the roller grill behind him.

Finally, the door swings open, and in walks three stuffy-looking men in suits. Glancing around the place like they're walking in front of a firing squad instead of into a fast food joint.

"Welcome to Wienerlicious," Steve greets.

"We're looking for Mr. Steven Harrington," the first one says in a British accent, and Steve narrows his eyes. He doesn't think he owes money to anyone. Especially not to anyone British. Robin and him might be scraping by, but they've managed to do it all on their own.

"Who's asking?" Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips.

"I'm Gareth Jones and this is Inspector Goodwin and Inspector Williams," the first man says, like that means anything.

Steve doesn't think he's committed a crime, Pink Panther style, but maybe? He wishes he'd stolen some cash or jewels, but he hasn't, so he's not sure why they've sent two inspectors all the way to the Wienerlicious to talk to him.

"And you're here for…" Steve trails off, moving his hand in a hurry up and spit it out motion. He'd rather get this over with.

"Well, sir, that's a private matter for us to discuss with Mr. Harrington," Inspector Goodwin chimes in, and they are definitely British.

"Then, I guess you're shit outta luck," Steve says, moving back to wiping down the counter. "If you decide you want to order something, you let me know."

He watches them look between each other, clearly debating this offer. But they step up to the counter and study the menu, with a hint of disdain, before ordering three number seven combos. Steve makes them, and puts down the red baskets on a tray. Taking their money, and handing over their change.

They're staring at his name tag. Fuck. He forgot he was wearing it.

"Are you Steven Harrington?" Gareth asks, leaning closer, nearly across the counter.

"And if I am?" Steve asks, taking a step back.

"Then we have an exciting opportunity to share with you," Inspector Williams says, gleefully.

"Listen, I'm not gonna, like, sell Amway or knives or anything. So, just. No, thanks."

They look back and forth, like they don't understand what he's talking about.

Steve sighs, "I have a job. I don't want another, no matter how much money you think I'll be able to make, so thanks. But, no thanks."

Because, yeah, he's in lederhosen, but he's working with Robin and he gets a predictable paycheck. It's a fair trade-off.

"Sir, please, just give us a moment of your time," Gareth pleads, and Steve is annoyed.

"Just arrest me if that's what you're here for," Steve says, nodding towards the two inspectors. Robin will sort it out.

"Oh, no, sir. Not at all. They're here for your protection, for your safety," Gareth says, and Steve wrinkles his forehead at that idea. He's pretty sure he doesn't need protection. "Please, just hear me out, sir."

"Fine, one minute," Steve says, following them to a table, and sitting down, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mr. Harrington-"

"Steve," Steve interrupts.

"Steve," Gareth, the chatty one, says, but it seems physically painful for him to get out of his mouth, "it is my glorious duty to inform you that you're the new King of the United Kingdom, Your Majesty."

"The new King of what now?" Steve asks, because he's been King before. Sure, it was Hawkins High and not the United Kingdom, but he'll pass. He's grown and shit since then.

"Of the United Kingdom, and the entire Commonwealth, Your Majesty."

Steve laughs, because why wouldn't he laugh. That's ridiculous.

Then he remembers seeing the news headline that the entire Royal Family had been electrocuted and killed during a holiday photo session, and that they were searching their records for the next heir in line for the throne.

Steve bets they didn't expect to find him in lederhosen, slinging wieners with sauerkraut.

"But I'm an American," Steve finally says, shaking his head.

"We are unfortunately aware, sir," Gareth answers.

"Then, how am I the next in line? That makes no sense." Steve questions, he's never even been to England.

"On your mother's side. There's no delicate way to say this, but your grandmother had an affair with Prince Richard, and your mother was the product of that affair. So, you're in the line of succession for the throne through the House of Wyndam-Pryce bloodline."

"Okay, go talk to my mother then," Steve says, "she'd love to be a Queen."

"It doesn't work quite like that. See, there's what we call male-preference primogeniture-"

"Well, that's just sexist," Steve says, crossing his arms. He doesn't know what that last word means, but he definitely understands male-preference and can fill in the blanks.

"Yes, well, perhaps that's true," Gareth says, looking flustered, then looking excited, "but you could press to change that! As King. With the help of Parliament. You could work to change it."

"Now, Jones," Inspector Williams says, "you know the law prohibits Monarchs from solving problems."

"Yes, well," Gareth says, backing down a little, "that's a different issue altogether."

"This all seems suspect," Steve says. He wishes Robin were here. She'd know what to ask, what to say to all this. "If I'm not solving world problems, which to be honest, I'm not sure I'd be all that great at anyway, what exactly does this even entail? Is it not like being the President here?"

"No, that's more like the Prime Minister," Inspector Goodwin answers, "not exactly, but closer. You, as King, would be a ceremonial figurehead."

Steve is confused, but that's not exactly new.

"I don't understand," Steve says, because he definitely doesn't.

"You are the new King. It's your birthright, sir."

Steve is pretty sure he's not interested in any birthrights. He's seen Buffy. Kristy Swanson was hot, but he doesn't want any of that shit for himself. No fucking way.

Unless.

"How much does it pay?" Steve asks.

"Well, it doesn't, exactly…" Gareth trails off.

"Then, again. No," Steve says, moving to stand.

"But as the sovereign, it all belongs to you. To the Crown," Gareth says, and Steve starts picturing that and now it doesn't sound so bad at all.

"All of it?"

"All of it, Your Majesty," Gareth confirms.

"So, are you willing to go with us, Your Majesty? To England?"

And maybe he'd make a different decision if Robin were here to talk him out of it, but he nods.

"You can't go be the King," Robin says, pacing around the room, one of his shirts clutched in her hands. He jerks it out of her grasp, and stuffs it into his suitcase.

"Apparently, I can," he says, "and you can come with me."

She scoffs, "And do what? Be your lady-in-waiting?"

"Yes!" Steve says, he doesn't know what that is, but yes, if it gets her to come. Absolutely.

"Steve, no," she says, shaking her head.

"We'll get married really quick and you can be my Queen," he says, nodding his head, "think how fun that'd be? You and me? Ruling a whole country?"

"And the Commonwealth," she says, but shakes her head, snapping out of that idea. "No way, they'd make me have your babies."

"Ew," he says.

"Ew, right back at ya, dingus," she says.

"Then, I'll go first. Scope it out. And you can come later, once I'm settled in."

"This is a bad idea, Steve," Robin says, really talking with her hands.

"Careful, I'm the King," Steve teases.

"Not my King, dingus, you better keep that in mind," she says, and he smiles, pulling her to his chest.

"I wish you'd come," he says.

"I don't even have a passport," she says.

"Well, neither do I. But apparently, as the King, that doesn't really matter much."

"Oh, this isn't going to go well," she says, pacing again, worrying some more.

"Maybe not, but it'll be an adventure, right? C'mon. Come with me," he begs, trying to give her the eyes. But she's immune.

"Maybe later. If this sticks. I'll get a passport, legally, and come make fun of you in your stupid cape or whatever," she says, and he hugs her again.

A day later, Steve steps out of the black town car, and looks up. Jesus. This place is wild. Fucking crazy, it's a palace, like, for real. He still kind of assumed they'd been teasing when they showed up at his place of work, explaining that while he was once 46th in line for the throne, that he'd now been bumped up to number one. Just because the entire extended royal family died in a freak accident during a portrait session for their annual Christmas card.

That's a lot to swallow.

Do they not have a designated survivor? Robin has told him about that, in the US. They should have, it seems like. Most definitely.

Water, metal and electricity did not mix. And snap. They were all gone.

And now he's here.

King.

He's being led inside this freaking mansion, and it's way less funny. He's a freaking American. A bastard, apparently, and he shouldn't even be eligible for the throne. Robin looked it up. Made sure he knew that, as she railed on him for even considering doing this.

But they were desperate. And here he is. Steve Harrington, American. King of England. No, Great Britain? United Kingdom? The Commonwealth? He scratches his head and scrunches up his face. He doesn't remember. They went over this on the plane, but he's already forgotten. Shit.

He's just pretty sure it's not the King of England. Even if that sounds right to his American ear.

There's some old, stuffy British dudes waiting to lead him around, and he follows. But he's starting to think he can't be the King. Not again. He's pretty sure being the King of Hawkins High will be nothing in comparison to this. This is actual insanity.

Actual royalty.

They leave him in his new royal bedroom, and you could fit his and Robin's whole apartment inside this one room. He stands and looks out of the window, and feels homesick. He'd rather be in that tiny apartment with her, than here surrounded by all this opulence. He shouldn't have even agreed to get on the plane, especially not without Robin. They couldn't make him accept this offer, he's pretty sure. Even if they were pretty adamant about it, at the time. It felt like he didn't have a choice, even if he's pretty sure he did. Still does, maybe. He hasn't been, like, crowned or anything. He thinks he can still say no, and probably will.

He'd just been hand stomping lemonade and slinging hot dogs, minding his own business. He was just a little delirious and desperate for something new, anything at all.

He was bored.

And then there these stuffy dudes were, telling him he was the new King.

It all happened so fast.

He should call Robin soon, to let her know he landed. He really wants her to move here to be with him, if he decides to stay. Surely, that's something he could make happen, with all this money and all these resources.

Someone clears their throat behind him, and there's a guy, probably about his age, standing there, hands properly folded behind his back. When Steve looks at him, he bows his head at the neck.

"Hey," Steve says, turning to face him fully, "I'm Steve."

"I'm Edward, your private secretary, Your Majesty."

"What can I do for you, Eddie," Steve says, and he watches as the man cringes at the informality of it all. He just doesn't look like an Edward. He looks like an Eddie. But if he doesn't like that, Steve won't force it on him. At least not to his face. Not yet. He'll wear him down, first.

"Nothing for me, sir. What can I do for you?" Eddie asks, stepping a little further into the room.

"Edward, I think I'd just like to go to bed," Steve says, and Eddie moves towards the bed, drawing down the sheets and fluffing his pillows.

It's overkill. But nice.

"Thanks, you don't have to do that, but I appreciate it," Steve says.

"Your dressing room is over there. I'm sure there's some proper sleeping attire," Eddie suggests, pointing towards the right door. "And if you'd like a bath before bed, I can draw one for you, sir."

A bath doesn't sound half bad, but Steve is pretty sure he can run his own bathwater. He might be the King, and isn't that a stupid thought, but he hasn't forgotten how to do basic things for himself, not yet.

Eddie does it for him anyway, despite Steve's protests, and then shows him the little turtle bell on the marble ledge that he can ding if he needs assistance at any time.

"During my bath?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

And Eddie nods, "Any time at all, sir."

That's weird, Steve thinks, but watches as Eddie closes the big double doors, leaving him alone with his bath. He rings the little turtle bell, and Eddie comes back through the doors.

"Your Majesty?" he asks, hands clasped in front of him.

"Are there bubbles?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks taken aback, but quickly nods and produces a bottle of fancy looking bubble bath from a cabinet.

"Thank you," Steve says, smiling, and Eddie nods at him curtly, before leaving. Again.

Steve wants to ring the turtle, just for shits and giggles, but refrains. He wants Eddie to like him. He's close to his age, and maybe they could be friends. Well, maybe not, he's stuffy like his colleagues, just not as stuffy. That's for sure. Gareth and Inspectors Goodwin and Williams aren't exactly old, but they were a little uptight.

When he's good and pruney, he gets out, and wraps a towel around his waist. When he opens the doors, Eddie is standing there, at the ready.

"You can sit down, you know?" Steve says, walking around the edge of the bed.

"I really can't, Your Majesty," Eddie says.

"Says who?" Steve hollers from the walk-in closet, where he's pulling up a pair of silk pajama bottoms. They're nice, and feel good against his skin. He likes them. He's definitely not wearing the matching long-sleeve shirt though. No way. He can't imagine how uncomfortable that'd be to sleep in.

"Royal protocol, sir."

"Aren't I in charge now? So, if I say you can sit, you can sit," Steve says, coming out of the closet, towel drying his hair.

"That's really not how it works, sir," Eddie says, looking away from him. Clearly trying to get Steve to drop it.

He will, for now. But that man is sitting before this is over with. There's no reason for him to stand around all the time. Steve's worked retail. He knows how much that sucks, and he didn't even have to do it in dress shoes.

"Did you need help finding your top, sir?" Eddie asks, and Steve realizes that's why he's being so weird. Oh.

"Do I have to wear it?" Steve asks, pulling his towel over his chest. Maybe he's being weird, or creepy, right now. Is he sexually harassing his secretary? At home this is fine, normal. It's like a locker room, right? They're in his bedroom. But maybe that's not cool here, he has no idea.

"Well, no, sir," Eddie says, "but it would be proper. But you don't have to, I suppose."

Steve tries to slide in bed without flashing his hairy chest at Eddie again, pulling the sheets up to his neck.

"There, I'm in bed," Steve says.

"Very well, sir," Eddie says, pulling the drapes closed, nodding at Steve, and hitting the lights on the way out, "Goodnight."

"'Night," Steve says back, as the door closes, and then he's gone.

And Steve's all alone.

These sheets are super soft, and so is the bed. Steve closes his eyes, and thinks he'll be asleep in no time.

He wakes up to the sun in his eyes, as Eddie is pulling open the heavy curtains.

"Good morning, Your Majesty. Did you sleep alright?" Eddie asks, bowing his head at Steve, and Steve really needs him to stop doing that. It's unnecessary. Steve sits up in bed and scrubs his hand across his face. He did sleep well.

"Yeah, I think I did, thanks," Steve says, stretching, as Eddie goes into his closet and starts selecting clothes.

"We'll have to get you fitted properly today, but these should do for now," he says, laying out a pair of slacks and a dress shirt. A belt.

"Okay," Steve answers. He can wear that. That's not so bad. "What's on today's schedule?"

And he wishes he hadn't asked, because the list Eddie rattles off is never-ending.

"All that today, huh?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. Then steps out into the hallway so Steve can get dressed.

He stands in front of the mirror, trying to tame his hair. He shouldn't have gone to bed with it wet, now it really won't behave. He might need to wash it again. He looks around, and realizes there is no shower in his bathroom. He's gonna need a bathroom with a shower, the bath was fine, but not for everyday use.

"Edward?" Steve says, opening the door, and Eddie follows him back in.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Eddie asks, standing at attention.

"Is there a bathroom with a shower around here that I'll be able to use? I don't need it this morning, because of the bath, but in the future?" Steve asks, looking at Eddie.

"Yes, of course, sir," Eddie says, "I'll show you where that's at this morning."

"Thanks, also? Can I request some specific hairspray?" Steve asks.

Eddie pulls a little notepad out of his pocket, ready to take notes, "Of course, sir."

"Faberge Organics, the Farrah Fawcett spray," Steve says, and watches as Eddie takes notes. He doesn't even laugh at him. Maybe Steve should tell him it was discontinued, like, a decade ago. But it'll be funny to see how much sway this position actually holds. Maybe he'll send some staff member to find a lone can of it, long forgotten on the dusty bottom shelf of a drugstore.

"Of course, sir," Eddie says, putting the notebook back in his jacket pocket.

Steve steps out inside the hall, and isn't sure what he's supposed to do. Eddie must pick up on that because he holds his arm out, motioning for Steve to walk ahead of him.

"I thought I could give you a more in depth tour this morning, sir, if you're feeling up to that?" Eddie asks, trailing him.

Steve pauses, waiting for him to catch up. They start walking again, and Eddie's behind him again. Steve slows his pace, and Eddie slows his own. He feels like he's having to crane his neck back to even see Eddie as he explains all the rooms, all the antiques. The paintings.

That goes on for the whole tour of this floor, and then Steve waits at the top of the long, winding staircase. Eddie waits behind him.

"You do realize I don't know where we're going, right?" Steve says, holding his arm out, inviting Eddie to lead the way.

"Sir, you are the sovereign, no one walks ahead of you. Especially not your staff," Eddie says, and Steve looks at him like he's crazy, because that's a crazy rule. Steve is only King on a huge technicality. He's just a person.

But when it's clear Eddie is not moving until he does, he walks down the stairs, wishing Eddie would just fall into step beside him, at least.

And Eddie gives him the rest of the tour, from two steps over his shoulder. It's kind of weird and uncomfortable.

After the tour, he's led directly into a room to be fitted for new clothes, and Eddie stands nearby.

"We've prepared a few questions to ascertain your knowledge of English history," Eddie says, as they're measuring Steve for a new suit.

Having your inseam taken is a little distracting, even under regular circumstances. Having three different pairs of hands nudging under your balls, right after you've been declared King, is another level of distracting entirely.

"Okay," Steve says, uneasy. He knows he knows nothing about history, "but I can tell you it's almost zero, right up front."

Eddie looks at him and asks, "When Anne Boleyn failed to give him a son, Henry VIII had her…"

Steve thinks, tries to come up with a logical answer, and settles on, "Adopt?"

Eddie looks exasperated, "No. Beheaded."

"Jesus, that's a bit much," Steve mutters, and he swears he sees Eddie tamp down the barest hint of a smile.

"Please pick a fabric, sir," Goodwin says, draping some swatches over his arm and showing Steve.

They all look the same to Steve. Various shades of dark, most with pinstripes.

"You pick, Edward. I trust your judgment," Steve says, because he does. Eddie is dressed nicely, so surely he can pick the right thing for Steve to not look like he's wearing the curtains.

Eddie nods, quick and sharp, and then hands the chosen swatches over to one of the tailors. Pointing at three of them.

After his fitting, Steve is in jeans and a polo, even if Eddie fought him on it. "Here's a few traditional English dishes, sir, some of which you'll be served tonight. The kitchen chose things they thought you might enjoy, and I thought it might be prudent to make sure you're familiar ahead of time."

Steve nods. Okay. He can do food. He likes food.

"Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, fish and chips, bangers and mash, and of course, spotted dick."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up as he looks at the bowl full of dicks in front of him that he had assumed were sausages.

He grabs the silver tongs, and picks one up, carefully inspecting it like it might be a bomb, before looking at Eddie.

"Dick of what?" he asks, scared of the answer.

Eddie chuckles, "You're holding a banger. A sausage," he clarifies, pointing to some other dish, "that's the spotted dick, sir. It's a dessert."

Steve looks and can see the raisins. The spots of the spotted name, he assumes. That's more reassuring.

"Please, sir, try it," Eddie says, so Steve lets him serve him a plate, so he can try everything so there's not an embarrassing incident at tonight's dinner.

"Sit, eat with me," Steve says, and Eddie shakes his head.

"No, sir," Eddie says.

"Edward, live a little," Steve coaxes, kicking out a chair leg, an invitation, but Eddie doesn't budge. Just stands at attention, a few feet behind Steve while he eats. It's good. He likes it. Even the spotted dick, which he can't even think about without laughing. How is he going to be able to eat it, or say it, in a public setting? Impossible.

"This is all good, I was scared what you might bring me, to be real honest," Steve says.

Eddie smiles, "Well, we went easy on you. I didn't think you were ready for the black pudding or haggis."

"I don't know what that is," Steve admits.

"For the best," Eddie teases, and Steve smiles at him.

"Tell me about yourself, Edward," Steve says, using his fork and knife to cut into one of the bangers.

"I'm here to serve you, sir," Eddie says, and Steve looks back over his shoulder at him and rolls his eyes.

"No, about you. Not about me in relation to you, just about you."

"Sir, I don't really…" Eddie trails off, like he doesn't know what to say.

Steve won't make him talk, but he sure wishes he would. He'd like to get to know him better.

"If you won't sit, would you at least come over here where I can see you?" Steve asks, and he's happy when Eddie concedes, and comes into his line of sight.

"How long have you worked at the palace?" Steve asks.

"Nearly ten years, sir. I've been a secretary for about two years, though. After my uncle retired, I was chosen to fill his duties."

Steve nods, hoping Eddie will continue and elaborate further. He doesn't.

So, Steve eats while Eddie stands by, quietly.

And it's weeks of meetings, fittings, lessons. Eddie and the rest of the staff are working diligently to get him ready to face the press and public.

Steve's trying. He really is, but it's a lot to comprehend. He doesn't understand all the rules, all the protocols, and he is constantly on the wrong foot. Doing something stupid, saying something stupid. He's never gonna catch on to this.

He flops back on his bed. He's going to make a fool of himself, and the Crown.

Eddie comes in later, and takes one look at him, and starts digging in Steve's walk-in closet. He comes out with an all-white outfit and instructs Steve to put it on.

Steve does. He's stopped fighting. Stopped asking why, a long time ago. It doesn't matter why, none of them care. He's just a small cog, in a big wheel. He's in charge, but he isn't. Not at all. None of his choices are his own. He's not sitting on a throne barking orders. He's following, trying to please the people around him. Trying to please Eddie.

Once he's dressed, Eddie takes him out to the yard of the palace, and gets down and straps big pads to his shins. They look like oversized, shin guards for baseball catchers. But padded. He was a catcher for one season in high school and hated it. It's the hardest job on the field, he's pretty sure. Pitching was easier. He did that in little league for a while.

He's standing there in his padded shin guards, looking at Eddie for guidance. Eddie hands him a paddle. Steve tries to hold it like a baseball bat, and Eddie laughs, while trying to help him correct his grip.

"This is a cricket bat, not a baseball bat, sir," Eddie says with a smile.

"Oh, so more like croquet?" Steve says, lowering the bat in front of him, and Eddie grins.

"You know how to play croquet?" Eddie asks, looking surprised.

"Sure," Steve says, "I might not be royalty, but I do come from a rich family. Back home. We definitely played croquet from time to time."

Eddie smiles, and nods, "It's not like croquet. You want to keep the ball away from your wicket, not aim it towards it," Eddie explains, helping him adjust his grip, again. His instinct is still to draw it up like a bat, twirl it around in his hand. Test its heft. But Eddie tells him to keep it down, in front of him, to protect his wicket, the three stumps and two bails balanced behind him.

Once Steve is in place, Eddie yells, "Bowler!"

And the guy downfield throws the ball at him in a goofy fashion, bouncing it in front of him, and Steve hits it. And it sails up and away. They do it over and over. This is something he's actually picked up on quickly for once, and it's fun. Steve hits the shit out of the next one, and declares it a home run.

Eddie laughs, "A maximum, sir, but yes, the same idea, I suppose. Six runs."

If it bounces to the boundary, it's worth four Eddie declares, and eventually Eddie goes to the other side of the little dirt rectangle, and they teach Steve how to run back and forth to accumulate runs that way, if he doesn't hit it out of the park.

"You can lead with your bat, sir, get it over the crease ahead of you," Eddie says.

"The line? The baseline?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles.

"Yes, sir, that," Eddie grins.

And he runs past Eddie once more, passing in the middle, and he reaches up as they go past each other, offering him his hand, a high five.

Eddie clearly isn't sure about this, but still puts his hand up, and they touch as they run by each other, each headed to the opposite end from where they started.

When they've finished, Steve leans over, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. But he's happy right now.

Once he stands, he looks at Eddie, smiling, and asks, "Do you want to play croquet next?"

And Eddie laughs, honest to god laughs, and it makes Steve smile, big and bright. It's a great sound, and he hopes to hear it more often.

"Sure, Your Majesty, we can play croquet," Eddie says, and sends the pages to go find the equipment.

Pads shucked to the side in the grass, Steve watches as Eddie lines up his shot.

"Don't do it, don't even think about it," Steve says, breathing down Eddie's neck, taunting him as he tries to line up his mallet with the croquet ball.

Eddie laughs, and nudges him backwards with his elbow, and then freezes, like he's realized what he's done. Steve just shoves him back a little, hopefully assuring him that it's fine, that he likes this. That this feels normal, at least almost, and that's fucking priceless. To his sanity, to his heart.

He's homesick for Robin, for America, honestly.

He wants to watch baseball or basketball on TV. He wants to drive his car. He wants a pizza, a burger, or some fried chicken. Anything. He can ask for anything he'd like to eat, and they'll bring it, but it's always a fancy version. They seem to have an aversion to actually just going out and getting him the junk food he's missing.

This has been a huge responsibility to take on, one he doesn't fully understand, with a very steep learning curve. But right now, they are just two guys playing a sport together, for fun.

That he understands, fully.

"This is the most fun I've had since I've gotten here," Steve says, standing next to Eddie as he whacks the ball through the hoop.

"I'm glad to hear that, sir."

Once the game is over, Steve stands there in the grass, happy. He looks at Eddie, "What sport can you teach me next?"

Eddie just laughs, "Polo, I suppose. How do you feel about horses?"

And then it's back to the unfun parts. Steve showers, and throws on the clothes Eddie has laid out for him. And he attends meetings. He has his weekly Audience with the Prime Minister, one-on-one, without Eddie present. They always make him feel nervous that he's going to fuck up.

But it's only twenty minutes. He can do anything for twenty minutes.

Eddie works sports into his tight schedule, and Steve appreciates it. It's not everyday, but it's as often as they can fit it in, and they play and Steve pushes himself. To get better. To have fun.

To impress Eddie, a little, with the one thing he's been good at here.

Steve's having a bad day, and he's had enough, so he pulls a baseball hat over his head, and walks out of the front door. Nobody stops him, but he's pretty sure that's just because they've never had to deal with a Monarch that was trying to escape the way he is. But he's had all of this he can take today.

He doesn't get far down the road, before he realizes he is being followed. He turns and looks, and there's Eddie. So, Steve slows down, stalls, waiting for him to catch up.

"You coming with me, or are you going back to tattle?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles.

"Where are we going, Your Majesty?" Eddie asks, falling in step behind him.

"I'm hungry. I want some food, some American food. Something I'm familiar with. No spotted dick, or whatever the fuck that was. Is there something around here that I'll recognize?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods, and then he waits for Steve to start walking again, keeping two paces behind him.

Steve glances back at him, "How did you end up working for the royal family?"

"My family. It's just what we've always done," Eddie says. "My uncle had this position before I did. When he retired, the last King asked for me to step in, to keep with some sort of continuity, I suppose. He'd known me for a long time, since my childhood."

"I'm sorry you lost your friend," Steve says.

Eddie pauses, like nobody has ever said that to him before, "Thank you, sir."

Steve nods, "Well, what would you like to do instead?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at him, like he hadn't expected the question.

"Working for the royal family is the highest honor," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"Okay, that's bullshit. You don't want to serve people. You don't want to serve me. That's not your dream. What do you want to do? What would make you happy?" Steve presses.

Eddie looks at him, like this might be a trap, even if it really isn't. Steve genuinely wants to know what Eddie likes to do. He wants to know anything Eddie will tell him. Which really, really hasn't been much. He's definitely not very forthcoming about anything personal.

"I like to play music," Eddie finally says.

"That's cool," Steve says, meaning it, "are you any good?"

"Not bad, I don't think. I play with my friends in a little four piece, when I have the time. The palace requires a lot of my time," Eddie says, and then looks embarrassed. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm happy to be at your service, sir."

"Steve," Steve says, "please, just call me Steve."

"King Steve," Eddie says, and smiles at him, just a little. Steve realizes Eddie's teasing him, and it makes Steve happy. Like they might be friends. Or could be, in time. He definitely needs a friend here.

"Well, that's not the first time I've been called that, so it's an improvement. For sure. But try to work it down to just Steve, in the future. At least while we're alone."

Eddie nods, but he doesn't look like that's going to be something he'll ever do.

They walk a little further, and Eddie stops in front of a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Perfect.

Eddie ushers him inside, and into a hidden corner booth, before going up to order. When he comes back, he gently puts down the tray, and acts like he's going to start setting everything up, like this is a state dinner. It's definitely not.

"Just sit. Eat with me," Steve says, and Eddie looks uncomfortable.

"That's really not…"

"Does it look like I care, Eddie? Please?" Steve asks, and he pushes a styrofoam plate in his direction, and starts loading it up.

"Are you a breast, leg or thigh man?" Steve asks, and Eddie blushes a pretty pink.

Steve's pretty sure he's not a breast man, and that's more than okay with him. Maybe he can use that in his favor, someday, hopefully.

"Anything is fine, si-"

"Steve," Steve corrects.

"Steve," Eddie whispers, like he might be caught and reprimanded.

Steve smiles, and puts a couple different pieces on Eddie's plate, then some mashed potatoes. Gravy. A couple biscuits, and looks at Eddie as he pushes it his way.

Eddie is just looking down at it.

Steve reaches down and picks up his thigh with his hands, and takes a bite.

"Finger lickin' good," he says, and Eddie giggles, as he picks up a piece himself, and takes a bite. It looks awkward, and a little dainty, but it thrills Steve that he's playing along. Getting a little more comfortable with him.

He wants to get to know him, Eddie, the man under the suit. Maybe the man, out of the suit.

On the walk back, Steve looks back at Eddie.

"Eddie?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at him.

"Yes?"

"Was there really nobody else? Is it me…or nothing?" Steve asks, because he's pretty sure he can't do this. Doesn't want to. At least not long-term. Not for his entire life. He's given it a good go, but he's not feeling it, at all.

"Well," Eddie says, drawing out the word, seemingly unsure if he should keep talking.

"Well, what?" Steve asks, pausing, and pulling Eddie off the sidewalk and into a little hedgerow. They stand there looking at each other.

"There was one other option, but he didn't want to do it, so I kept my mouth shut," Eddie says, looking at the ground.

"So, that guy could say no, but I'm just the schmuck who had to accept this thing? This weight on my shoulders?" Steve asks.

"I didn't know you then. You were just a name, a profile, on paper," Eddie explains, still looking down.

"And you knew the other guy?"

Eddie nods.

"Who is it? Do I know him?"

Eddie looks up, quietly asking Steve if he'll keep this secret, and Steve reluctantly nods.

"My Uncle Wayne," Eddie says, "he's retired, and already he did his duty to the Crown, and didn't want that kind of spotlight trained on him. He just wanted to go on, living his normal life. He didn't ask for it any more than you did."

Steve nods, he understands, even if it doesn't make him feel much better.

"Oh," Steve says, "I understand. I just wish, well, that I'd have been given more of a choice, too. If I said no, they'd have found him, eventually, right?"

Eddie nods, "I'm sorry, sir."

Steve gets it. Unless he wants to make that old, retired man sit on the throne, he's stuck.

"It's okay, Eddie. But I feel alone here, most of the time, so I'd like Robin to move here. Can that happen?"

Eddie shakes his head, looking sad.

"Sir, they're never going to allow you to marry your American girlfriend. It's been a hard enough sell for you."

Steve laughs, pushing his bangs back off of his forehead, "Girlfriend? No way. She's my best friend. Platonic with a capital P, only."

"Oh, well, then, yes. I'm sure we could arrange for that to happen, assuming she'd like to come."

Steve grins, wide. That's the best news he's gotten in weeks.

They start walking again, "Do you live at the palace?" Steve asks.

Eddie chuckles, and shakes his head, "No, sir, I don't live at the palace. It just seems like it."

He's teasing, and it makes Steve smile.

"Where do you live, then?" Steve asks.

"Right around the corner, actually," Eddie says, and Steve stops walking.

"Can we go see it?" Steve asks.

"You want to go to my flat, sir?" Eddie questions.

Steve realizes that was probably rude to invite himself over, "Only if you want me to. You're not obligated, of course."

"I didn't think I was obligated, Steve," Eddie says, "but it might not exactly be tidy. I wasn't expecting a royal to want to visit me at home."

"Do I look like I'm gonna care about that?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles, and redirects them, but still keeps just behind his shoulder.

Eddie's apartment is nice, and not as messy as he'd sold it as. Steve looks around, at the pictures on the walls. At his guitar on a stand by the couch. Eddie is digging in the fridge and brings him a beer, which Steve takes with enthusiasm. He's been offered wine, and liquor, at the palace, but this is just a regular beer. That he'll be allowed to drink out of the bottle, no glass in sight.

It feels like home, and he twists off the cap, sliding it into his shirt pocket.

Eddie sits next to him on the couch, and they drink, and just make small talk. It feels normal. Cozy. Like he's in someone's home, instead of a museum, and he longs for a place like this to call his own again. He took it for granted back home, and now he misses those days. Misses Robin.

They don't stay long, and just walk back to the palace after they've finished their beers, but it's the best night Steve's had since he's gotten to this country.

"I can't move to London," Robin says across the ocean through the phone, and Steve slumps at his desk.

"But, I miss you," Steve says, twisting the cord around his fingers.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you packed your shit and ran away to play King," Robin snarks.

She's teasing, but it's true.

"Will you at least come to visit?" he asks, hoping. Begging.

"Of course," she says, "if you're paying."

"I'm paying. I'm the King, you know. Just be aware you'll have to curtsy to me," he teases.

"Yeah, never gonna happen, dingus."

But she agrees, so he puts Eddie on the case to set it all up through his office.

"I want to go to the movies," Steve declares suddenly, and Eddie looks over at him. They're sitting across from each other at a desk, as Steve's going over paperwork from his red box. Signing what he needs to sign, asking Eddie about what he still doesn't understand.

"The movies?" Eddie questions.

"Yeah, you know, a movie theater?"

"I'll see what I can do, sir," Eddie says, with a smile.

That night, Eddie guides him to a secluded room. And it's a private theater. Right in the palace.

"This has been here all along?" Steve asks.

"Well, yes, sir, but it's really for the staff. But I cleared it tonight, for you."

Steve doesn't even care what they watch, he just wants to have some fun.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, settling into one of the chairs. Patting the one beside him for Eddie to sit, and after Eddie's collected a bucket of already prepared popcorn from a table, he does sit, and hands it over to Steve.

They sit side-by-side, watching a movie, sharing the bucket of popcorn, and it feels normal for a couple hours. He could have been on a date, a regular date back home, tonight.

But it's Eddie, and he can't kiss him at the end of the night, even if he'd like to. This gift from him was more than enough.

Eddie follows him back to his bedroom, and turns down the bed, and Steve stands there, watching him.

"Thanks for tonight, Eddie. I had a lot of fun," Steve says.

"Me too, sir," Eddie answers, "goodnight."

Steve is standing out on the step, bouncing on his feet, nervous. Excited. Robin is on the way, and when they finally pull up with her, she leaps out of the car and runs straight into his arms. Not a curtsy in sight. He catches her and spins her, hugging her tight. He didn't realize it until this very moment, that one of the things he's been missing the most is human touch. None of these people touch him. No friendly hands on a shoulder, or arm.

No reassurance. No checking on his emotional needs. No comforting him. No checking in, at all. He's just supposed to function, as is, all on his own, he supposes.

He's been needing a hug, he realizes, and he buries his face in her neck, and if it's weird, she's going with it.

"I'm so glad you're here. Welcome to my new home," he says, and she grabs his hand, and he lets her pull him into the palace and up the staircase, at a near run. Dodging staffers, who bow to him as he is dragged past them. They clearly disapprove, but he doesn't give a shit. This is the most normal thing he's experienced in weeks.

She pauses at the top of the staircase, but only because she doesn't know where she's going.

He nods to the left, and he's being pulled along again, giving her directions to his bedroom, and once they're inside, she launches herself onto his bed, bouncing.

He smiles, and hops up next to her.

"Holy shit, Steve, look at this place!" she shouts, eyes wide as she looks around.

"I know, right?" he asks, but he's only looking at her. She's the only thing in this whole room that he cares about, that he loves.

That night he wraps his arm over her side, crowding up behind her, and she lets him hold her, "I'm so happy to see you."

"You better not be that kind of happy to see me," she says, contorting to get away from his crotch.

He laughs, laying his head on his pillow, "I'll try to keep it in check."

"You better, dingus."

And dingus sounds like a better, more fitting, title than King ever has, a thousand times over.

He wants to be her dingus, he doesn't want to be the King.

Steve is startled awake in the morning, by Eddie at the foot of his bed.

"Oh, Your Majesty, I do apologize," Eddie says, starting to back away from the bed, "I didn't realize you had company."

Robin looks at him, giving him the once over, "Well, not that kind of company, Jeeves. Let's get that straight."

Steve laughs, and nods, "Definitely not that kind of company, Eddie."

"We're best friends," Robin says.

"Platonic with a capital P," Eddie repeats, "as Your Majesty has said."

"Your Majesty," Robin says with a cackle, rolling towards him, and he slaps her on the arm, and it just makes her laugh harder. "King Dingus."

"He hasn't picked a regnal name yet, so perhaps that could be an option?" Eddie says, and Steve can't believe it. It's the funniest thing Eddie's ever said in Steve's presence, by far.

Steve laughs, throwing his head back, melting into the bed again.

Eddie just looks confused, and a little alarmed. But he still draws back the curtains, and brings Steve and Robin in a wheeled cart full of breakfast and coffee.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says.

"Sir, madam," Eddie says, and he bows his head at the neck, and then he's gone.

As soon as the door closes, Robin slugs Steve in the arm, "You have a crush on Jeeves!"

Steve doesn't even try to deny it, just smiles, "Yeah, that's Eddie."

Robin stays two weeks, and then she goes back home to their real life. And Steve's agitated. He misses her. He should have gone home with her.

Eddie comes in carrying a large, heavy by the look of it, cardboard box. Great, now what?

"What's that?" Steve asks, standing to go take a look as Eddie places it down on the table.

"Your hairspray, Your Majesty," Eddie says, opening the flaps, "I'm sorry it took so long. I had to convince Unilever to engage in a short, private production run, just for you, sir."

"No fucking way," Steve says, reaching in to pick up a can, and it's really it.

He grabs Eddie and hugs him, shaking him around, and Eddie is just a ragdoll in his arms, but Steve could kiss him, he's so happy.

"Thank you, Eddie, you're now my favorite person. Robin, who?" he teases, immediately taking a can to the bathroom.

Eddie follows, and watches him as he sprays it on his hair and tries to style it, even though it's not wet.

"Just wait until tomorrow, I'll look so damn good," Steve says, and he meets Eddie's eyes in the mirror, and Eddie's blushing.

"I'm sure you will, sir," Eddie says, and Steve can feel it between them. The sexual tension. The attraction. He's not sure how to do anything about it, if he even can.

But he wants to, and it's nice to have that feeling again. About anyone. And he's happy it's Eddie that's making him feel like this, because he really likes him a lot.

"Can we go swimming today?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at the schedule, and nods.

"I think we can fit that in this evening, if you'd like, sir," Eddie answers.

"Yes, please," Steve says.

That evening, they walk down to the private pool and Eddie stands there while Steve strips off his shirt.

"Aren't you coming in?" Steve asks. He's assumed Eddie would. It's a sport, and that's one of the few things they do together, as almost equals.

"Sir?" Eddie questions.

"C'mon, get in!" Steve shouts, laughing, splashing water towards Eddie, which Eddie dodges easily. But Eddie nods. Disappearing into one of the locker rooms.

Steve's taking bets with himself, if Eddie will be in one of those silly old-fashioned, striped swim costumes with shoulder straps when he comes back.

He's not.

He's just wearing a pair of basic black trunks, and Steve can't help it as his eyes rake over Eddie's pale, exposed skin.

Steve's not sure he's even seen Eddie's forearms, let alone is his bare chest. He has a tattoo. More than one, it looks like, and Steve grins. Fully enjoying the view. Maybe he's not as buttoned-up as he appears on the surface.

Eddie comes down the steps and pushes off, and swims towards Steve.

"What now, sir?" Eddie asks, treading water.

"I was thinking about laps, but anything would be good with me," Steve says. As long as he's with Eddie, he's in.

And they fall into lane lines, and Steve breathes to his left so he can see Eddie, and for once, they are side-by-side, equals. They both do a flip-turn and push off, resurfacing together. Steve smiles, and keeps kicking.

He feels normal, here, now. Swimming. His teammate beside him. And Eddie is his teammate, maybe the only one he has in this place. He's surrounded by people, but he feels like Eddie is the only one that ever actually sees him.

And he's happy as they swim, together, until they are both struggling to breathe, clinging to the side of the pool. Steve rests his head on his arms, and feels good. Really, really good.

His happiness doesn't last long.

The next morning, Gareth comes into his office, with four or five other staffers trailing behind him.

"Your Majesty, we'd like to discuss taking the first steps towards the wedding," Gareth says.

"Whose wedding?" Steve asks.

"Yours, sir," Gareth says, and Steve sees red. He knew they were scheming to set him up on dates with various available women, but this is too far. He'll be the King, but marrying a stranger isn't happening.

"I'm not getting married!" Steve snaps as he storms out, turning to hold his hand up, giving the universal motion to stop, demanding that they not follow.

Steve only wants to find Eddie.

Eddie is walking down the hallway, and Steve accosts him.

"This is too far, you can't tell me who to marry, Eddie!" Steve yells, and Eddie quickly grabs him by the arm, and pulls him into Steve's bedroom, and shuts the door behind them. Locking them inside.

"Your Majesty, please, it's for the good of the country. To protect your bloodline, your birthright. You're the last. You need to marry, and produce heirs. That's just how it's done."

"I'm not the last and you know it!" Steve screams.

"Please," Eddie says softly, like he's trying to tame Steve, "please consider doing this. It's the right thing to do."

Steve crosses his arms across his chest, "Absolutely not."

"Sir, please," Eddie says.

"Stop calling me sir, if you're gonna fuck me over, at least use my name, for god's sake."

"Steve," Eddie says, "we aren't doing this to hurt you."

"Well, it sure feels like you are. What about love? What about who I love?" Steve asks, his voice softer.

"Love must be subordinated for the good of the monarchy, Steve," Eddie says, his voice softer now, too.

Eddie has called him Steve, here, and Steve can't even be happy about it.

"No. No way. No, no, no."

"Princess Caroline is a perfectly acceptable choice. You need to do this."

"You're serious?" Steve snaps.

"Yes!" Eddie snaps back.

"I won't, I'm not marrying someone I don't love!" Steve assures loudly, and he means that. They can't make him. "This place is terrible, this job, it's bullshit! It's all bullshit! I'd rather be selling hot dogs, or ice cream, than to be locked up here in this gilded cage! At least at home my choices were my own and I could fuck up my life any damn way I saw fit!" Steve screams.

"Steve," Eddie says, scrubbing his hands over his face and Steve's never seen him this undone, "Why? Why are you fighting this? This is just how things are done."

"You know why," Steve says, crossing the room and closing the space between them.

"I don't…that's not…" Eddie mutters, looking anywhere but at Steve.

"Eddie," Steve says, taking him by the shoulders, "look at me."

Eddie does, reluctantly.

"I can't marry Princess Caroline, because I love you."

Eddie's face falls, like he's just been given terrible news, and Steve's stomach drops. He's miscalculated this, all of this, and immediately lets go of him. They haven't been flirting, they haven't been anything to each other. Steve has misinterpreted their whole thing.

He feels sick.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Steve says, taking a step back, "I shouldn't have said that to you. Please, don't-"

But his words are cut off, when Eddie is suddenly moving towards him, and finally, finally presses his lips to Steve's.

Steve reaches his hand up, and cups the back of Eddie's head. It's better than he'd even fantasized about. He kisses him, over and over, holding him. Finally touching him in all the ways he's longed to, for months.

"Eddie," Steve breathes out, once they've separated, and Eddie just smiles at him and takes him by the hand, leading him towards the truly outlandish bed. He hadn't dreamed this is where the day would end up, even if he'd dared to hope.

Eddie pushes Steve onto his back on the bed, and the dynamic has shifted in a way that Steve loves. Yes, please. More of this. He watches as Eddie pulls off his jacket, his tie, and unbuttons his dress shirt.

It's the best strip tease Steve's witnessed in his whole life.

And when Eddie crawls on top of him, in just his underwear, Steve laughs and wraps his arms around Eddie, pulling him close. Pressing kisses to his shoulder, his chest, anywhere he can reach.

After, Steve brushes his hand through Eddie's hair, holding him, as they lay together. Eddie's legs are tangled with his, and they're comfortable here, together.

"I need to quit," Steve says, softly.

"I know you do," Eddie answers, pressing his lips to Steve's chest.

"Will your uncle take over? If I do?" Steve asks.

"I'll talk to him," Eddie assures.

"Will you go with me when I leave? Or will you need to stay with him?" Steve asks.

"At first, I'll feel I'm obligated to stay," Eddie says, "he's my uncle. He raised me. But after he gets settled, perhaps."

Perhaps isn't a no, so Steve takes that as good news, and just pulls him closer while he has the chance.

"Maybe, you'd like to settle in with me here at my flat, for a stretch. Before you go home," Eddie suggests and Steve nods. Absolutely. Yes, to that. Please.

Eddie and his speechwriters help him perfect his abdication speech, and write his Instrument of Abdication letter. Wayne Munson, at his side. Stoic and quiet, but willing now, to accept this responsibility.

Steve signs it, and Eddie, Gareth, Goodwin and Williams all sign as witnesses to his signature.

And it's done, basically.

"You boys do realize I have no children, so this might come right back to you, after I'm gone," Wayne says softly.

And Steve and Eddie both nod. They know. But they appreciate this time Wayne's given them, to live and love. It's a gift, because he loves Eddie and wants him to be happy. Steve knows that, and he won't take it for granted. Not ever.

In a few days time, he's standing before Parliament, something he's never had to do, before now.

"My Lords and Members of the House of Commons, I know it is unusual for a King to address you in this manner, but I have some things I'd like to say, that I'd like for you to hear them in person, from me," he starts, before going on to apologize for being too set in his ways, too American for this duty. But he explains that there is another heir, an English one, also born into the House of Wyndam-Pryce. He tells them that it was discovered after Steve had assumed the throne, but now that he knows, he feels it only right to step down. He introduces Wayne, and turns over the Crown, happily.

As soon as he steps back from the podium, he feels like the weight of the world has left his shoulders. He walks out into the sunshine and smiles, closing his eyes, tilting his head towards the sky.

He's a free man, once again.

Eddie is waiting, and takes his hand, and finally, for once, Eddie steps out ahead of him, leading the way.

There are lots of people standing around watching him pack, and Steve looks around, "Are they scared I'm going to steal something?"

Eddie laughs, "Well, maybe. You can't take anything that belongs to the Crown."

"I only want to take one thing with me," Steve says, smiling.

Eddie grins, lowering his voice, "Me?"

"Okay, well, two things," Steve teases, and Eddie cocks his head, curious.

Steve walks down the staircase, carrying the giant cardboard box of hairspray. Eddie holds the door open for him, and then helps him put it in the trunk. Technically, it belongs to the Crown, but Steve is sure they'll never miss it. If Wayne wants him beheaded for taking it, bring it on. The man hardly has any hair at all left, so he definitely doesn't have a pressing need for hairspray.

"So, how was it to be King?" Eddie asks, settling into the back of the town car beside him.

"Well, I met you and I got a lifetime supply of my favorite hairspray, so pretty good, overall," Steve teases, and reaches over and takes Eddie's hand, looking at the window as the palace grows smaller in the distance behind them.

He's not the King, not anymore.

But he's Eddie's boyfriend, his partner, and he's pretty sure that's a way more important role for him to try and fill.

Notes: This originally started for Steddie Holiday Drabbles, but the length got away from me. And then really got away from me. I couldn't condense this into 1000 words, it seems. So, I did something different for that Royalty AU and used this one here.

Royalty isn't really in my wheelhouse, but King Ralph popped into my head, and made me cackle. Sure, I'll make American Steve an unlikely King. No problem.

I'm sure Eddie had the job of about a dozen men, here. Go with it.

Also? John Goodman is a damn delight. Nobody could deliver the "dick of what?" line better than that, though I had Steve try.

Wienerlicious was from the show Chuck.

House of Wyndam-Pryce is a Buffy joke. That's Wesley's last name, and Wyndham was the fictional name in King Ralph. So it seemed fitting.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along!

#steddiemas #hallmark movie tropes #royalty au #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #king steve #platonic stobin #stranger things fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiemas

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thisapplepielife · 1 year ago

Text

Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

If You Only Believe

Prompt Day 7: Mall and/or Job | Word Count: 4905 | Rating: T | CW: (Past) Loss, Loneliness | Tags: AU, Future Fic, Mall Santa, Christmas, Companionship, Finding Love Again, Second Acts, Happy Ending, Steve POV

This one is also available right here on AO3.

Steve sits alone at a small table near the fountain in the center of the mall a few miles from his house. He drinks his cup of coffee and eats his mall pretzel in the near silence. Weekday mornings are often peaceful, at least this early in the day. There aren't a lot of shoppers out and about, not yet.

The only real movement is from the mall walkers, making their continuous laps, and he watches them as they go by in their sweatsuits and new walking shoes. Arms pumping far faster than their legs.

His late wife was a mall walker, once upon a time. She's been gone for a while now, but he thinks of her here, in her color-coordinated jogging suit and smiles.

He's recently realized that he's lonely, especially as it's getting to be that time of year, when the holidays are happening in full force, and he misses her. Misses being part of a team. A couple.

Misses love. Being loved. He still loves her, but she's gone, and he's still here.

He has love to give, and nobody to give it to. Sure, he has his adult kids, and Robin, and he loves them all desperately, but it's not the same. To not have a romantic love, well, it's another loss he's suffered.

He's a husband, with no spouse.

Steve's not young, but he's young for a widower. That's what everybody says, anyway. You're so young. You should get back out there. He retired early, with big plans. Then his wife died, and those plans evaporated into thin air.

They all mean well, but he doesn't have it in him to date, not again. He wouldn't even know how to start. He's not getting on some app. Not at his age. That's just not for him. So, he comes here to the mall, several times a week, just to be around other people for a little while. To hear the bustle, the talking, the laughter that comes later in the day.

To hear and see people moving about their busy lives, the world spinning faster around him, as he sits stagnant and still.

To see little kids running around, looking in every store window, wanting everything they see on display. His kids are grown, and there aren't any grandkids. Not yet. Maybe never, and if that's how it shakes out, that'll be okay, too.

He just wants his kids to be happy. Wants their lives to be fulfilled in all the ways that make them happiest.

He wants to be happy, himself. And he is, most days. It's not the same, but it's a different version of happiness, and he's learned to adjust. He has Robin, but she's so far away. He's considered packing up and moving closer to her, but he can't see letting go of his home. Their home.

Not yet.

The mall is quiet today, but it won't be that way for long. Around him, they are setting up for the mall Santa display, since Thanksgiving is over and Christas is coming, once again. They're turning off the fountain, draining it and covering it, all to make room for the stage for Santa. For all the decorations.

They're on ladders, hanging garland and huge snowflakes from the ceiling. The speakers start playing Christmas music softly throughout the entire mall.

And Steve watches it all happen, day after day, until there's finally a full stage set up and a Santa with a line of children waiting to see him.

The quiet of the mall is gone until next year. That's okay, he's had a lot of quiet lately, and he thinks it might be nice to have a little excitement for a change.

So, Steve watches and listens from a table out of the way, as the mall Santa talks to each kid, attentive and animated. He seems to have a gift for charming even the shyest of kids into engaging with him before their time is up and their picture has been taken.

Steve remembers a lot more crying and tears when his kids were that little, and waiting their turn to see Santa. He recalls having to bribe them to even approach the larger than life man in the red suit, just to get the picture his wife so desperately wanted for the Christmas card.

If they'd had a Santa as good as this one, all the bartering might not have been needed. These kids are flocking to him, ready to climb on his knee and tell him what they want for Christmas this year. Gone are the days of wanting footballs and dolls. Everything has a brand name, and Steve recognizes almost none of them. He's too far removed from that stage of life.

Even if it seems like only yesterday.

But he likes to listen to the mall Santa charm the kids. Likes to hear them fall in love with the magic of Christmas that he's so heavily selling to them.

So, Steve comes back, day after day, to the mall. Drinks his coffee. Eats his mall pretzel. Watches people. The shoppers, the mall walkers, and the entertaining man in the Santa Claus suit.

He hasn't been in a mall this often since he was a teenager working in a food court ice cream shop with Robin.

Steve gets a Cinnabon today instead of a pretzel, just for a change, for a treat. He can't eat them everyday, not at this age, but every once in a while it's nice. Steve watches as the line forms to see Santa, but when Santa comes out it's a different guy than it has been. And he's far less lively.

That's okay.

Steve knew that it wouldn't last forever, this free entertainment that he's been getting. He doesn't know what the schedule of a mall Santa might be like, or how much it might pay. By the day? The season? Are they volunteers? Do they do one week shifts, and now that lively Santa has gone, having done his duty for the season? Steve really has no idea. He's never thought about it, honestly. Mall Santas are just part of the tapestry of Christmas. December hits, and there's a Santa in the middle of every mall in America.

Steve finishes the cinnamon roll, and tries to wipe the icing out of his mustache. He's sure it's in there, it always is. He drinks the last of his coffee, and is getting ready to stand when someone approaches his table from over his shoulder.

"Mind if I join you?" the voice asks, and Steve looks up.

There's Santa. Well, the man that has been playing Santa during the past week, anyway. He's a little thinner out of the suit, but he still has white hair, and a matching white beard. Not to mention a truly impressive handlebar mustache. Steve guesses he assumed it was fake. The beard, the mustache. But it appears to be very real, and Steve's mustache has got nothing on the one on this man's face. He could seriously twirl it like a villain, if wanted to get a side gig playing someone a little less wholesome than Santa Claus.

But his voice is the same.

He's in street clothes, and all traces of his red suit are gone. His little, gold wire glasses have been replaced with thick, black frames. He looks younger this way, up close.

"Sure," Steve says, "I think denying Santa a seat might get me put on the naughty list."

Santa laughs, but lowers his voice.

"Shh, I'm not Santa. Not today," the man says, hooking his thumb towards the other Santa. "Today, I'm just Eddie."

Eddie offers Steve his hand across the table, and Steve takes it. Shaking.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Eddie. I'm always just Steve, no secret identities here," Steve answers, smiling at the other man.

"And here I was hoping you were secretly Batman," Eddie teases. "And for the record, I don't think you're just anything," Eddie says, and Steve blushes. He wasn't sure his face still did that.

All it takes is a little attention from a stranger, and it's like he's never socialized a day in his life.

"Yeah, well. You've been entertaining to watch this past week. You're very good at what you do," Steve tells him, because he's not sure if mall Santas get compliments very often. But they should. At least, Eddie should.

"Eh, it just gives me something to do in retirement," Eddie says with a chuckle.

"I understand that," Steve says, "I've been retired five years and I still don't know what to do with myself most days. Hence, the mall pretzels."

Eddie laughs, and it's warm and lovely. Friendly. Open. Steve leans closer to him, towards the center of the table, just to hear what he has to say better over the crying kids and hustle and bustle. His hearing isn't as good as it once was, especially with a lot of background noise.

"Is today your day off?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. So, Steve continues, "And you just couldn't stay away from the place? Needed to scope out the competition?"

Eddie grins, "Something like that."

"Well, you're clearly better at it. Don't worry about that at all," Steve says, softly. "Way better."

"Thanks, Steve," Eddie answers, and takes a drink of his own coffee.

And they talk. About nothing. About everything. It's nice to talk to someone his own age, but that doesn't know him. To make a new friend, if only for the day.

They talk long enough that Eddie gets up and buys them another round of coffee. Something different this time from the Starbucks menu, and Steve likes it. He usually just gets black coffee. But trying something new is nice. He should branch out more often.

Later, Steve buys them lunch. Big slices of pizza, that they eat while they laugh and talk. He watches Eddie try to keep his sauce out of his white mustache and smiles. It's a universal problem, and he's got it easier than Eddie, that's for damn sure.

"Aren't you a little young to be playing Santa?" Steve asks, looking at him.

Eddie laughs, "I haven't been called young in a while. Thanks for that."

"You know what I mean," Steve says, because they aren't young, but Santa feels old old. Not their age, old.

"I like the chance to put on a production. A show. It's been a while since I've gotten to do that. And being a mall Santa actually pays good, especially if you're a Real Beard," Eddie says, tugging on his white beard.

Steve smiles and nods, at least that's one question answered.

Eddie gets up to go to the bathroom, and when he comes back, he hands Steve a pretzel with a knowing look.

"I will not feel shame about the mall pretzels," Steve says, quoting David Rose and Eddie smiles and laughs. He gets the joke, and Steve grins.

"We could go see if the Suncoast has Bridget Jones's Diary?" Eddie offers, teasing him.

"Suncoast," Steve says with a laugh, "now, there's a name I haven't heard in a while. I'm not sure that's a thing anymore."

Eddie just smiles. But Steve's sure they've gone the way of Blockbusters at this point. Few and far between, if there are any left at all.

Put out to pasture, like he feels, a lot of the time.

But they eat their mall pretzels together, and talk about Schitt's Creek.

And they keep talking, until it's dinner time. Steve's gonna be stoved up once he stands again. Getting older is a bitch, that's for sure. Nothing moves as well or as fast as it used to, and you've just got to adapt.

They've both had to take pee breaks, age will do that to your prostate, but they keep sitting back down together, neither in a hurry to leave.

"You hungry again?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods.

So, they debate what to get, and settle on Chinese food. They eat and talk, and it's the best day Steve's had in a long while.

When it's time to leave, they walk towards the parking lot, and when Eddie pushes open the door for him, it's dark outside. It's always a little disorienting to enter a mall during broad daylight and leave after dark.

Steve turns to Eddie.

"Thanks for keeping me company today. I had fun."

"I had fun, too. If you want to come later in the day tomorrow, we could always do it again after my shift on the sleigh is over? If that works for your schedule."

Steve nods, because he doesn't have a schedule, not anymore, and that sounds great. He'd love to spend more time with Eddie.

So he does. Everyday he shows up, and watches Eddie be Santa for a while, and then waits for him to change clothes afterwards to meet up with him. Then they eat together. They're working their way around the entire food court, trying every stall at least once. Some things have been good, some others not so much, but they're definitely having a good time.

Steve's having fun, and maybe making a new friend.

He learns that Eddie is divorced. He had a husband, and now he doesn't. Steve understands. He had a wife, and now he doesn't. Different losses, but they've both been sent out adrift, alone, after years of having a partner by their side.

That's a universal feeling, he's pretty sure.

After they eat, sometimes they sit and have coffee, and other days they'll walk through the mall, window shopping. They discuss the stuff they see, the stuff they remember from their childhoods that are long gone, now. They talk about the state of the world, and how they don't know how to fix it.

And, as Christmas approaches, they stop window shopping, and do some regular shopping. Steve buys gifts for Robin, for his kids, for his mailman. He stops at the Hickory Farms kiosk and buys a meat and cheese gift set to drop off at his former office.

Eddie buys things, too. He doesn't have kids, but he has friends he talks about. He buys a tin of popcorn from a kiosk, for his weekly poker game.

And it's the best month Steve's had in a very long time.

"I have a mall friend," Steve says into the phone, sitting down in his recliner to talk to Robin. They talk a lot, but they always make time on Wednesday nights. It's been that way for decades, a constant. Tradition.

"What's a mall friend?" Robin asks, immediately curious.

"A friend at the mall," he answers, like, obviously. If he had an aquarium friend, he would have said so.

"Are they a real or imaginary friend?" she questions, sounding suspicious.

"A little of both," he teases, then adds, "he's the mall Santa."

"You're friends with the mall Santa?" she repeats, disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah? He's a real person under the red suit, you know. His name is Eddie."

"Are you one of his elves? Are you sitting on his lap?" she teases.

"No!" he says, too loud and too fast.

Goddammit.

Now she's gonna make it into a thing. It's not a thing, not really. But she's never letting this go now, and he's the only one to blame. He shouldn't have said anything at all. Eddie and him don't talk outside of their afternoons in the mall. They haven't exchanged numbers, or made any plans.

Eddie is his mall friend. That's the most accurate description.

"Steve…" she trails off.

"I like him, of course I like him, but it's not that easy. The kids aren't ready for me to date anybody else, let alone a man. Let alone a mall Santa," Steve says, rationalizing this situation.

"Your kids would love for you to be happy. You know that, and I know that," Robin says. "And in what world would they care that he's a man? I know the kids you raised. They love me and their Aunt Penny. So, that's just an excuse you're making."

Steve makes a non-committal sound.

"Steve…"

"We aren't like that, Robin. We're just mall friends. That's it."

"Well, what happens when Christmas is over, dingus? Then what? Is he also the mall Easter Bunny?"

Steve smiles at the thought. He'd never considered that to be a possibility, and now it's all he can think about. Eddie in that giant bunny suit. Huge, pastel polka dot bow tie around his neck.

"He's not the Easter Bunny," he answers.

"Send me a pic of him, I need to see this Santa," Robin demands.

"I don't have a picture of him. Why would I have a picture of him?" Steve asks.

"Well, you could have a professional one taken with him," Robin suggests.

"Yeah, and get banned from the mall for life for being a weird pervert? No thanks, Rob," Steve says.

"I'm just saying, if you like him, tell him that."

"It's not like that. We're friends. Mall friends," he says, again.

"So you've said," Robin says, sarcastically, and he changes the subject. It doesn't want to talk about Eddie, the mall Santa friend, right now.

Christmas Eve is bustling in the mall, full of last-minute shoppers rushing around to get everything they need before the stores shutter for the night.

Steve watches as Eddie pays attention to all the kids that are making their list minute wishes known. Their stressed parents nearby, worrying how they're going to make these last requests happen with so little time left in the shopping season.

Eddie stays until the last kid has been greeted, and then disappears into the back, only to reappear later, Eddie. Not Santa.

They eat at the last stall they haven't tried yet, a little stand slinging cheesesteaks. Steve's gonna have heartburn from the peppers and onions afterwards, surely, but they're really good.

Steve's not ready for the month to end, but it's time to go. Things end all the time before you're ready. Steve knows that, intimately.

"What are your plans for tonight?" Eddie asks, as they make their way out of the mall for the last time before Christmas is over for another year. It's a weirdly bittersweet feeling. Steve's enjoyed Christmas again, in a way he hasn't since, before.

"Not much. My kids won't be here until tomorrow. You?"

"Nothing much on my end, either."

"Well, it was a lot of fun watching you be Santa, Eddie," Steve says, pausing by his car.

"It was fun hanging out with you, too, Steve."

And they part ways, like they have every night before this one. With little fanfare.

Steve sits in his car and the entire drive home he wonders if he should have offered Eddie his phone number or email address. Something, anything, so they could have stayed in touch. But they've spent a few weeks together, and that's never come up. Eddie would have surely offered or asked, if he wanted that kind of contact.

So, Steve is just grateful for what this was. A temporary friendship, when he needed one desperately.

"Merry Christmas Eve," Robin says, and Steve settles into his chair.

"Backatcha," he answers, stirring his cup of coffee. He bought some fancy creamer after Eddie turned him on to all the different kinds of coffee out there.

"So, how's your mall friend?" Robin asks.

"Fine, his last Santa shift was today," Steve says.

"...and?"

"And what? Christmas is over," Steve says, sipping his coffee.

"Steve! Please tell me you got his number, or he took yours. Something. Anything!" she shouts, and he sips his coffee, trying to ignore her outburst.

But his stomach is tight. He's pretty sure he fucked up. He should have done one of those things, and now it's too late. Santa is gone for the year, and has taken Eddie with him.

"Seriously? You've been dating him for a month and you just, what? Left?"

He scoffs, "I haven't been dating him for a month. I'm not dating him at all. If hanging out with someone is the metric for dating, I have bad news about our relationship."

She laughs, but then is quiet, "I wish you'd have done something to keep him around, Steve. Friend, or more."

"Yeah," Steve says, "me too, I think."

Steve doesn't go back to the mall the day after Christmas. Or the day after that. He doesn't want to know that Eddie's not there.

But, on the third day, he goes and buys his coffee and has his mall pretzel in hand, when he spots the back of Eddie's head sitting at a table.

Steve smiles and makes a beeline towards him, coming up to him from behind him, already talking as he rounds his shoulder, "Hey, I didn't expect-" he starts, only to realize it isn't Eddie at all. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

"Who? Santa Claus?" the familiar voice asks, full of joy.

Steve does a double take. The voice is Eddie, but the face…

Eddie runs his hand over his clean shaven cheeks, grinning up at Steve.

"It takes six months to grow out, and about six minutes to shave off," Eddie says.

Holy shit.

Steve laughs, and sits down across from him, just staring.

"That is one helluva transformation," Steve says, continuing to stare.

"Were you only friends with me for my badass beard and mustache? Are you a Santa groupie? Is that what's happening here?" Eddie teases, his eyes soft. The eyes, those are the same.

"You got me. The red suit does it for me, and I always choose all my friends by their facial hair. It's a strict requirement."

Eddie laughs, and it's nice to see so much more of his face. He's handsome. More than Steve even realized.

And they talk, and eat, and it's the same as it was all the days prior.

"Do you play poker?" Eddie asks, and Steve nods. At least in theory. It's been a while.

"You have plans tonight? It's my weekly game with some friends. The more the merrier, if you want to come?"

Steve should say no, shouldn't let Eddie pity him. But he finds himself nodding at the invitation, all the same.

"Great," Eddie says, seeming delighted, "let me text you the address. And that way you'll have my number, if you get lost."

And just like that, they aren't just mall friends. They're phone friends now, too.

Steve nervously walks up to the door, but he doesn't have to even ring the bell, because Eddie is swinging open the front glass door with a smile.

"Hey, glad you made it," Eddie says, ushering him inside.

He hears chatter, and laughter, and it's warm inside. In the dining room, at the table, there are three women holding hands of cards.

One of them hops up when she sees him, and the rest follow. She's short as can be, but smiling up at him.

"This is Di," Eddie says, "and that is Mel and Carla," Eddie adds, pointing at each woman. "This is Steve."

"Hi, it's so nice to meet you," Steve says, and he had assumed Eddie's poker game was with men, but now he realizes that was a stupid assumption to make.

They all fawn over him for a minute, which makes him feel silly. But they seem fun.

"Okay, you old hens, leave him alone," Eddie says with a laugh, and puts his hand on the small of Steve's back. Guiding him towards the basement stairs.

Eddie leads him down into the basement of the house, and oh, there are three other older men sitting around the green felt table. Eddie makes introductions.

"Gareth, Jeff and Charles," Eddie says, pointing at each man

"Don't you get him calling me Charles, you asshole," the largest of the three men says.

Eddie laughs, rocking on his feet. Seeing Eddie so giddy makes Steve smile. He's ornery, and Steve's a little smitten.

"What should I call you, then?" Steve asks the man who clearly doesn't want to be called Charles.

"Goodie," they all say in unison.

"Okay, Goodie it is. I'm Steve," and they all nod politely.

Steve sits down and is dealt in.

"Did you survive the welcome wagon?" Jeff asks, looking over at Steve. Steve smiles and nods.

"They have to play upstairs, because they are way too cutthroat for us. They've been put in a permanent timeout," Eddie says, and that's a hilarious thought.

Steve looks around the table. He wonders what it's like to have this many people around you all the time. It must be nice, even if it's only one night a week. To be in a full house, again.

"So, you're Eddie's pretzel friend?" Gareth asks from his right side, passing Steve a bowl full of mall kiosk popcorn, and Steve laughs.

The mall friend and the pretzel friend. They really are a pair.

"That's me," Steve says with a laugh, and looks at the cards in front of him. He's been dealt a pretty good hand, he realizes.

And it's fun, and easy, this poker game. They give each other shit, and don't seem to be on their best behavior just because there's a guest at the table, and Steve likes that. Loves that this is just a normal poker game, and he slides into it like he's always been here. He might not know them very well, but watching Eddie, he realizes he does know him. This Eddie is the same Eddie he's spent hours with, in that mall.

Steve lays down his next bet, eats his popcorn, and makes some more new friends, hopefully.

He wins, and he loses, and it's fun. All of it.

When the night is over, he's glad he came. Really glad.

"Next week is casino night," Gareth says, "so, get ready."

"Casino night?" Steve asks, and he's picturing them all sitting around in green dealer visors, spinning a plastic roulette wheel.

"All of us go to the casino right outside town for the night. Eat a nice dinner together, gamble a little, have a few drinks, and then we stay in the attached hotel. It's a lot of fun," Eddie says, "you should definitely come with us."

Steve doesn't want to crash their party, especially one that is obviously so couple-based, but with the way Eddie is smiling at him, Steve just nods. It does sound like fun.

At the end of the night, Eddie walks Steve out to his car that's parked along the curb. Eddie stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, and rocks on his feet, like he's nervous. Steve just watches him, curious.

"Thanks for inviting me, that was fun," Steve says, and it was. He likes Eddie's friends, he thinks.

"Of course, you're welcome every week. Same time, same place," Eddie rambles a little and Steve smiles. He might just take him up on that offer. It might be nice to have something to look forward to every week. Wednesdays are for Robin, but maybe Thursdays can be for Eddie and poker.

"I might just do that," Steve says, smiling at Eddie.

"And I hope you'll come to the casino with us, too," Eddie says, and Steve nods. He thinks he will.

And then they fall into a soft quietness, just looking at each other. Eddie looks like he has something to say, but he's just standing there, frozen. So, Steve reaches out, and squeezes Eddie's arm through his coat sleeve, "Thanks for inviting me."

And then, Eddie is finally talking.

"If I'm reading this wrong, just tell me and I'll shut up, but would you be interested in getting dinner together some time? You know, outside of the mall?" Eddie asks, and he looks far too nervous for a man that's lived nearly this many decades.

"You're not reading it wrong at all," Steve says, smiling at him, "I'd really like that a lot."

Eddie grins, and it's still funny to see that now that Steve can see his whole mouth. It's a great mouth. With full lips that are just begging to be kissed.

But Steve hasn't kissed anybody new in, goddamn, what? Over thirty years? Even the thought of doing so is a little daunting.

He doesn't have time to dither long though, because Eddie steps forward, and his intent is clear, so Steve leans into it. Into Eddie. Into the moment.

It's chaste, and brief, but Steve feels warm inside. His heart is racing, and he didn't realize that was something that could still happen at his advanced age and not just be the signs of an imminent heart attack.

They part nearly as quickly as they joined, but Eddie is smiling, right up close. So Steve kisses him again, a little longer this time, and yeah, this is what he's been longing for, he suddenly realizes. This kind of connection. He didn't know he could be lucky enough to get it more than once in a lifetime. But he's realizing that he can have a second act. He just needed a little intermission to get his bearings, to adjust to his new reality, but right now, with Eddie, he definitely feels like that is possible.

Anything is possible, if you only believe in it.

And Steve, he believes.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along!

#steddiemas #mall or job setting #mall santa #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #older steddie #stranger things fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiemas #steddie christmas fic #platonic stobin

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thisapplepielife · 1 year ago

Text

Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

Yours for the Weekend

Prompt Day 4: Winter-Themed Songs | Word Count: 8340 | Rating: M | CW: Mild Sexual Content | Tags: AU, No Upside Down, Future Fic, Going Home, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Eddie POV

Also available right here on A03.

Eddie steps out of the car, right between the Methodist church and the Hawkins High School building. It's changed. A new building, new paint scheme, a freshly paved parking lot. They've remodeled, and dozed down the memories, good and bad, that clung to this place.

The cafeteria is gone, moved somewhere new, he supposes.

Eddie isn't sentimental for school. He hated school, the three tries he had at his senior year are enough to prove that. But he misses that time, all the same. He misses Hellfire Club. He misses playing music in Gareth's garage. He misses their weekly Tuesday gig at The Hideout.

He misses his unlikely, and tentative friendship with Steve Harrington, that grew into their love that followed.

He doesn't miss his hometown, except for when he does.

"Since when do you miss this goddamn place?" Gareth asks, leaning over towards the driver's side from the passenger seat of the rental car. Stretching, trying to see Eddie's face as he stands outside the car.

He doesn't miss it. Not really.

"It's just changed. That's all," Eddie says, ducking down to look at Gareth. They've all changed.

"Come on, Eddie, it's fucking cold!" Goodie yells from the backseat, and Eddie hears Jeff shushing him.

Jeff's trying to give him a minute, even if the other two don't understand it. Eddie appreciates it. He doesn't really understand it himself. But driving by this place, and seeing it looking so different, did something to him he hadn't expected.

He escaped this place, and everything, everyone, in it.

That's all he ever wanted, and now…

Now, there's a lump in his throat that's hard to swallow around. He doesn't understand.

They're working in L.A., playing music every night. They aren't big, not really. Eddie sincerely doubts they'll ever be big. But they can afford to make music for a living, and that's not nothing. Not everyone can do that, but they've made it happen.

From living in a one bedroom apartment together, taking turns with who got the bedroom, while the rest of them crashed all over the living room until it was their turn again.

Then being able to afford two apartments. Right across the hall from each other. Jeff and Goodie in one, him and Gareth in the other. Their own separate bedrooms and everything.

To shopping around for single studios in nicer buildings, and just realizing that even though they can afford it, and somehow, they can, that they'd rather just stick together.

"Eddie!" Goodie yells again, and Eddie turns and puts his hands up in surrender, climbing back into the car.

Eddie drops Jeff off at home, then Goodie, and then it's just him and Gareth left in the car. Driving through the snow-packed streets of Hawkins.

"You could just talk to him, you know?" Gareth says, looking at Eddie, knowingly.

Eddie could try to deny it, but yeah, that's where his head has been since their plane touched down in Indiana. Where his head often is, always. But it's easier to push it to the back of his mind when there's some distance between him and his hometown. Between him and Steve.

"Yeah, well, last I heard he was getting married," Eddie says.

"That fell apart," Gareth says, "a long time ago. And you already know that."

Yeah, Eddie knows that. He just doesn't want to talk about it. He never wants to talk about, or hear about, what Steve's been up to since he's been gone. If he did, he'd ask. But it's none of his business, and it's not like Steve has been checking up on him, either. He's never flown out to L.A. and he definitely never asked Eddie to stay.

He let Eddie go, let him escape this place, and that was that.

"It's just easier not to," Eddie finally says.

"Sure it is," Gareth says, and Eddie cuts him a look.

"Since when are you on Team Steve?" Eddie asks. Gareth liked Steve just fine, but he was also the first in line to get out of this town, the minute he graduated high school and turned eighteen. He was definitely not at all concerned at the time that their skipping town meant Eddie's relationship with Steve would come to an end.

Gareth looks over at him, "What? I'm not. I'm Team Eddie. Always. But Team Eddie is kind of a sad sack team these days. We've got a losing record going, big time."

Eddie laughs, "Fair enough. But what do you know about sports? Nothing, last I checked."

"I played as a kid. Baseball. Soccer. You know, the usual suspects. Before I found the drums."

Eddie isn't sure he knew that. This is his best friend, and he's still learning things about him, all these years later.

"Just. Talk to him. Either finish it for good, or…"

"Just pick open some old scabs?" Eddie says, sarcastically.

"Sure, do that. We've got a first aid kit. We can bandage you up again. We did it the last time," Gareth says, and they did. They have. Over and over, for ten years. Without his friends, without his band, he doesn't know where he'd be. Aimless. Shiftless. A wanderer.

Just…lost.

"If I see him, I see him," Eddie finally concedes.

But he has no plans to see Steve Harrington. Not this trip. Not any trip.

He's snuck in and out of town a few times over the years, and hasn't ran into Steve yet. He's pretty sure they're on the same page about making sure they don't cross paths. And that's okay. Easier.

Finally alone, he pulls into Wayne's driveway in front of the comfortable little house. Eddie doesn't have a lot of money. But he worked his ass off while waiting for Gareth to finish high school. And every spare dime he had that wasn't earmarked for the band's move out west, went towards a house for Wayne.

It's not paid off, not by a long shot. But it's theirs. Their home. The trailer was starting to cost more to upkeep than a down payment on a house would be, so Eddie made that his goal. The last thing he'd do before he left town.

He did it. They'd moved Wayne in. Him and Gareth, Jeff and Goodie. Steve. The kids.

And then Steve had watched him go. It wasn't dramatic, their parting. The lore of it, between their friends, is far more interesting than the actual break-up ever was.

It was just quiet recognition that it was over. Eddie was going, and Steve was staying.

And he has stayed, all these years, as far as Eddie knows.

Steve opened an ice cream shop, selling artisan ice cream. Dustin has said Steve took some classes to learn how to make ice cream. Real ice cream. Fancy ice cream. And he took others to figure out how to run the business side. Ice cream, though. That's kind of a hilarious choice, after his stint at Scoops Ahoy when they were teens.

Less hilarious, was that Steve fell in love again, and almost married someone else. A woman Eddie never met, and he's glad. He couldn't have handled it. Not a chance in hell. But, it didn't matter, Eddie heard through the grapevine a year or two ago that the relationship had ended, just as quietly as theirs had.

At least Eddie had nothing to do with it. He would have, if all their mutual friends had gotten their way. Everybody had reached out, making sure he knew. Like it was his place to object. He left. Steve was bound to find someone else, eventually.

Eddie's never bothered with love again. He doesn't have the time or the energy. His heart was broken, by his own doing, a decade ago. And he's just never felt like sweeping up the shattered pieces of his heart, to try to give them to someone else.

It's broken, pretty much beyond repair, and he's used to it by now. He has one-night stands, he fucks around when the itch arises, but his heart? That's not in play. Not anymore. Been there, done that.

He gave that away a long time ago.

Steve never gave it back, and Eddie never asked him to, so, here they are.

Wayne opens the front door, and that's Eddie's cue. He steps out of the car and Wayne smiles.

Eddie jogs up the drive, careful of the ice, but he can't resist rushing into his arms, barreling into his chest, squeezing him tight.

"There's my boy," Wayne says quietly, and Eddie just holds on longer. He might be over thirty years old, but he's still Wayne's boy. Always has been, always will be. "Merry Christmas, Eddie. I'm glad you came home."

"Me too, old man."

Hawkins might be a place he's avoided, but he's missed Uncle Wayne like crazy.

He's thirty-two, but he suddenly feels much older, for some reason.

Wayne cooks them dinner, just like he always did, and Eddie sits down in the recliner next to him, plate in hand, right in front of the television.

The television is new since the last time Eddie was here, and large. Very large. Not at all in Wayne's usual style. Or budget.

"What possessed you to get a TV this big?" Eddie asks.

"Oh, a friend was getting a new one. Asked if I wanted this one. I said okay," Wayne says, not expanding on it. Like that's a full story.

"You finally got some rich friends I don't know about?" Eddie teases.

"You don't know everything about me, kid," Wayne teases back.

That's true. Wayne doesn't know everything about him either. Just most things. The things that matter the most.

"So, what are your plans while you're home?" Wayne asks.

And Eddie shrugs. They're only here for a few days. He just assumed he'd hang out around the house.

"Carolyn Jones called last week. She's expecting us all for dinner the day after Christmas," Wayne says.

And Eddie expected nothing less. Mama Jones will want to gather them all, now that they're home. Gareth didn't warn him, but Gareth probably didn't know about it either. His mom is always gonna do what she wants, anyway.

And she'll want all of her boys under her roof again, around her dining room table, for at least one meal.

So, they'll all go, parents included, and update them all on their lives in California. It'll be loud and a big production.

Not like tonight, just here with Wayne.

Eddie sits around and Wayne comes up behind his chair and hands him a bowl of ice cream. Eddie digs his spoon into it, and this definitely isn't from the cheap, plastic party buckets they used to buy while he was growing up.

This is pistachio. Good pistachio, his favorite flavor.

"Is this from…you know?"

He can't even say his name. He definitely can't eat his ice cream.

"No," Wayne says, and Eddie nods. Of course not. Eddie laughs just trying to picture Uncle Wayne buying fancy containers of Steve's ice cream. It's a ridiculous thought.

The next day, they have a quiet Christmas day at home, just the two of them. And they play the guitar together, and Eddie has fun like he hasn't in a long time. They should have made this trip longer. Only a couple days won't be enough.

They take turns picking songs to play, and it's just like it was when he was growing up. Before he got an attitude. He's missed Uncle Wayne, and this is the best Christmas Eddie's had in a long time.

The next morning, they're hanging around in Gareth's living room, like they don't see each other the other fifty-one weeks of the year.

"I'll make anything you boys want, you just have to go to the store and pick up the ingredients," Mama Jones says, and they start squabbling amongst themselves. All having different ideas.

"She's my mom. I should get to pick," Gareth whines, and the rest of them grumble, but concede. They've never had a bad meal in this house, and they expect tonight will be no different. No matter what Gareth chooses.

They all nod, and look at him, expectantly.

"Lasagna?" Gareth suggests, and that works. That definitely works.

In the store, they've split the list in half, Gareth taking one half, and Eddie taking the other. It's not even on the list, but Eddie stands in the freezer section for a long time, just staring at a small shelf of pints of ice cream. Dairy King Creamery. There's a locally made sticker on the glass, and these are Steve's, for sure.

Eddie reaches for the handle, and stops before he grasps it. That's not what they're here for. Not today. Maybe later, maybe before he goes back to L.A.

He wanders to an aisle he actually needs to be in, and he's squatted down, looking at all the different lasagna noodle choices. He doesn't know what the best option is. The cheapest? His instinct is always to go for the cheapest. But he consults his half of the list again.

Mama Jones has actually specified. That makes this much easier. So, he picks up three of the red boxes, and puts them in his basket, and pushes himself back upright.

"Eddie?"

Eddie hears the soft, familiar voice, and freezes.

Steve.

He turns and looks, and sure enough Steve is standing in the aisle of the Big Buy, right behind him. Pushing a cart full of groceries. Eddie wants to paw through them. Wants to learn something new about him.

He doesn't.

"Hi," Eddie says, just as soft.

Steve smiles at him, and Eddie smiles back. There's no bad blood here, not really, just distance. And time.

And then Steve is coming at him, clearly going to hug him, so Eddie just opens his arms. Wraps them around Steve, banging his basket against Steve's back, and holds on. He still smells like Steve, and Eddie leans into it for longer than he should, he's sure of it.

"Eddie, hurry up!" Gareth shouts, rounding the corner of the aisle.

Eddie turns his head, and Gareth has frozen like a deer in headlights. And Eddie steps back from Steve, reluctantly.

"Hey, Gareth," Steve says, crossing the distance, and offering him his hand.

Gareth takes it, and Eddie watches them shake.

"You all home this year?" Steve asks, looking between them, and they both nod.

"Yeah, all of us," Gareth says, once he realizes Eddie's not going to answer. He can't. His mouth is dry.

"Well, maybe I'll see you around town? I'm going to the Christmas parade tomorrow night, if either of you want to grab a hot chocolate and catch up or anything," Steve says, like it's an offer for the both of them.

It's not. It's an offer for Eddie. Eddie knows that. He's sure Gareth knows it, too.

Eddie nods, against his own will, but it makes Steve smile. So he doesn't regret it, too much. He doesn't have to go. Steve will understand if he doesn't show up.

And at that, Steve walks back towards his cart, grasping Eddie's shoulder and squeezing it on the way by.

Eddie watches him go, watches him walk away.

It is his turn to do that, after all.

When he turns the other way, Gareth's eyes are huge. Bugging out. Eddie just points at him, willing him to swallow all that down, at least until they're in the car.

Gareth seems to understand, and keeps quiet. Which is a Christmas miracle, for real.

It's only as he's bagging his groceries that he realizes the Christmas parade is after Christmas? What sense does that make?

"Is the Christmas parade really tomorrow? After Christmas?" Eddie asks the cashier, and she nods.

"They wanted it on Saturday, and well, you know Hawkins," she says.

Yeah, Eddie knows Hawkins.

They load the groceries into the rental car, and Eddie watches as Steve does the same across the parking lot, putting his stuff in the back seat of his pickup. Steve Harrington has a pickup now. Eddie would have never guessed that.

As soon as they're in the car, Gareth is vibrating.

"Okay, just let it out," Eddie says, resigned.

"You were fucking hugging him!" Gareth yells, and Eddie just looks at him, waiting to see if he's finished. Surely, this mouthy little shit has more to say than just that. But he just looks at Eddie.

"Was I supposed to dodge it? He hugged me first, I'll have you know."

"And you hated that, I'm sure," Gareth says, rolling his eyes.

"I never said that," Eddie answers.

"Well?"

"Well, what? I saw him. It was fine. We both lived."

"Are you going to the parade tomorrow?" Gareth asks.

"Probably not," Eddie says, and Gareth laughs as Eddie's putting the car into reverse. Gareth clearly isn't believing him. That's okay.

He shouldn't believe him.

Of course he's going.

And the next night, Eddie stands on the street, looking like he's waiting for the parade to start. But he's only waiting on Steve. Maybe Steve won't show up? Maybe it wasn't a real offer? Maybe he was just being nice?

But those thoughts, those fears, all melt away when he sees Steve pushing his way through the crowded sidewalk, stopping in front of Eddie, smiling.

"You want that hot chocolate?" Steve asks, and Eddie rubs his hands together. It's cold out here, so yeah, that sounds pretty damn good, right about now. At least it'll give him something to do with his hands.

Steve leads him down the street, and Eddie follows. He's not sure where they're going, but Steve pauses in front of a darkened storefront. Eddie looks up. It's Steve's store, and Eddie watches as Steve pushes the key into the lock, and turns it, pushing the door open.

The little bell on the door, ringing out in the silence.

Once they're inside the warmth of the shop, Steve locks the door behind them again, and nods for Eddie to follow him to the back. Eddie does, looking around as he goes. The wall is decorated with old pictures. The kids. Robin. Lots of Steve and Robin, together. Several of them in their Scoops Ahoy uniforms as teens.

He wonders where Robin is. This ice cream shop is half her baby, too, he's pretty sure. They don't do anything without each other. It's impossible.

There's a larger one of a teenage Steve, armed with an ice cream scoop, his other hand on his hip, looking very serious. He wasn't. Couldn't be, not in that little sailor suit. It makes Eddie smile. He remembers those days, with a hazy fondness. It's been so long now, but he can still picture Steve Harrington behind that brightly lit counter, just glowing.

Eddie keeps looking at the pictures, and there's one of him, too. With the band, when they were young, and still playing The Hideout every week.

Eddie runs his finger over the glass, and feels an ache in his chest. This was so long ago. A lifetime, really. He hasn't felt that young in a very long time. Gareth was a baby. They all were.

"You comin'?" Steve asks, and Eddie follows the sound of his voice. Steve's standing behind the counter, holding up the divider for Eddie, just like he did all those years ago in Scoops Ahoy. He looks even better now, in a warm sweater instead of dumb sailor hat.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Eddie says, and he shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the rack at the front of the store before he follows Steve to the back, where he watches Steve make two mugs of hot chocolate.

"From packets, Harrington? I thought this was an artisan shop?" Eddie teases.

"Artisan ice cream, I said nothing about artisan hot chocolate," Steve banters back.

Eddie had expected a cup of hot chocolate from some sort of street vendor anyway, not one Steve made in the office of his store. His private space, that Eddie's been invited into. To look around, to spend some time with his first love.

His only love, honestly.

Eddie sits down on the couch, and soon enough he's being handed a steaming mug, and Steve is sitting down next to him, knees bumping against each other.

It's nothing. But it's also everything.

He's missed him so goddamn much. They can't go ten years without seeing each other again. No matter how painful it might be to look and not touch. Steve's too important. He's always been too important.

"Your shop is perfect, Steve," Eddie finally says, waiting on his mug to cool.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, "it's been pretty good. Even in the winter, surprisingly."

"That's great, I'm happy for you," Eddie says, smiling at him. "Why ice cream? Didn't you get enough of slinging it during high school?"

Steve smiles, "You know I make a mean scoop."

And he does. Long, steady strokes with precision. Perfect balls.

Eddie laughs, that sounds dirtier in his head than he meant it to. Years ago, he could have shared that thought out loud, but they aren't in that place together, not anymore.

Steve keeps talking, "I just thought, I can do this better. Better quality, better flavors. Just…better."

"It looks like you definitely did," Eddie says, and he means that.

Steve just shrugs, non-committal. But this is great. If he's been able to package it for retail sale, even just locally, that's really something.

"How's the band doing?" Steve asks, changing the subject. Or not, maybe. Maybe this is just pleasantries. All they have to say to each other, after all these years.

"Good. Good, we've got some great long-standing gigs. Guaranteed slots. We play most nights, somewhere or the other, and don't have to travel to do it," Eddie explains.

"That's great," Steve says.

They both just keep saying how great things are. Things aren't great. Not really.

"I'm happy you guys have made it," Steve adds.

Eddie laughs, "Made it might be a bit of a stretch, but we're working. We all do a lot of session work, Gareth especially. Session drummers are always needed, here or there."

"Do you have another job?" Steve asks, and Eddie knows exactly where this is going.

"No," Eddie still answers.

"Then you've made it, I say. You are a professional musician. Maybe not a famous one-"

"Hey!" Eddie interrupts, just ribbing him. He's right. But Steve often is. He was right to encourage them to take a chance on it. To see if they could make it work. And they have. They are professional musicians. Together, and apart.

"Goodie's got a girlfriend he's getting serious with. I think he's gonna move in with her, soon," Eddie says. "Maybe get married."

Eddie regrets saying it, as soon as it leaves his big mouth.

"I heard you were going to get married. I'm sorry that didn't work out," Eddie says, looking at his hands.

"Thanks, it just wasn't meant to be, you know?" Steve asks.

And, yeah, Eddie knows.

"Do you still live with Gareth?" Steve asks, and Eddie watches as his face tightens, like he regrets asking. Eddie gets it. He'd be too scared to ask, too.

So, Eddie answers fast, putting him out of his misery.

"Yep, I'll never be able to shake that kid," Eddie says, and Steve chuckles.

"You wouldn't want to if you could," Steve says, and that's the truth. He wouldn't. He likes living with Gareth. He isn't lonely. And he's with someone he loves. That's a comfort Eddie wouldn't want to give up even if he could.

It might not be a love like he once shared with Steve, but it's still a love. Platonic with a capital P, as Robin would say.

"Where's Robin?" Eddie asks, once she's popped into his head. Seeing Steve once without Robin might be normal, but twice? No way.

"She's on a Christmas cruise," Steve says, with a grin.

"No fucking way. The Robin I knew would never."

"The Robin you knew wasn't ass over teakettle in love," Steve says, smiling. "I'm happy for her. Even if she left me alone for Christmas. She invited me to come, of course, and I thought third-wheeling it on a ship to Mexico might be fun. And warm, at least. So, I considered it, but one of us needed to stay with the shop."

Eddie thinks he was thisclose to missing Steve on this trip, too. If he'd decided to just close up the shop and go with her.

"Well, good for her. Tell her I said hi," Eddie says.

"I definitely will," Steve says with a smile. "I'm sure she'll say hi back."

Eddie isn't so sure about that. Robin was very against Eddie leaving back then, and wasn't scared to let them all know. She was the only one fighting for them to stay, and she lost, all her protests drowned out by Eddie's need to run.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, it was quiet. A day off, though, so that was nice," Steve says. "You?"

"Yeah, it was just Wayne and me at the house. But that was good."

"I'm sure he's missed you," Steve says.

"I've definitely missed him," Eddie answers, because he has. More than he realized, maybe.

This is getting too serious, too sad, so Eddie needs to fix that.

"Am I gonna get to try any of this famous ice cream?" Eddie asks, changing the subject to something lighter, and Steve laughs, but jerks his head towards the front of the store.

He picks up one of the little sample spoons, and dips it into a tub, and hands it to Eddie.

"What is it?" Eddie asks.

"Just try it, Munson," Steve says, and Eddie does as he was told.

It's sweet, and chocolate based, but with a depth Eddie can't put his finger on.

"Chocolate Cherry Bourbon," Steve says, and Eddie smiles.

"It's good. Really good," Eddie says. And it is. It's very smooth on the tongue, like the best ice creams all are.

"It's Wayne's favorite, I think," Steve says, and Eddie looks over at him. He never considered that Wayne would still be in contact with Steve on any sort of regular basis. But they still live in the same town, and Wayne didn't break up with Steve. Eddie did.

"But he also likes this one," Steve adds, getting a new little spoonful and offering it up to Eddie.

Eddie puts that one in his mouth, too.

"Oh, shit, that's good," Eddie says, closing his eyes to savor it.

"Butterscotch-Infused Whiskey and Pecans," Steve says.

"An ocean of flavor," Eddie teases, and Steve hip-checks him.

And then Steve gets him another sample, and this one isn't spiked, Eddie doesn't think, anyway. But it's bright red with black and white swirls.

It's a punch of chocolate, deep and rich. And maybe cream cheese? Eddie isn't a professional taste tester. But it's very good.

"Hellfire," Steve says, with a smirk, "hope you don't mind."

Eddie swallows. Of course he doesn't mind. That Steve would even want to name it after something Eddie loved so deeply, is really something.

"Of course I don't mind," Eddie says, handing the used spoon back to Steve and watching as he tosses it in the trash along with the others. "I'm honored. That you'd, you know, think of me. Of Hellfire."

Steve's whole face softens, "Eddie. I think about you all the time."

And Eddie is moving before he's even decided to do it. Pressing his cold lips against Steve's warm ones. Steve catches him and kisses him back, tangling his hand in Eddie's hair. It's desperate, this kiss. Demanding, and pent up, with years of wanting.

Years of waiting.

Eddie clings to him, desperate to be closer to him. Because he is desperate for Steve, there's no denying that.

He always has been.

When they finally, finally break apart, both breathing hard. Chests heaving with the intensity of it all, Eddie smiles. He's embarrassed. But not that embarrassed.

"Wanna get out of here?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. "You want an ice cream for the road?"

And you know, Eddie does, so he nods again.

So, Steve grabs a waffle cone, and piles it high with a fourth untested flavor, handing it over.

Eddie licks it, and it's pistachio. Eddie's favorite.

"My favorite," Eddie says, and Steve smiles.

"Yeah, I remember," Steve says, and that settles right into Eddie's chest.

Steve reaches into the freezer and turns the little sign that's stuck into the ice cream around, so Eddie can read it: Eddie's Pistachio.

He grins at Steve, and takes another lick. This one with a promise behind it.

Steve helps him put on his coat, trying to help him juggle it and the cone. And when they step onto the street, Steve looks at him, "You drive here?"

Eddie shakes his head. Wayne only lives a couple blocks away, and he figured finding parking would be a bigger hassle than just walking.

Steve puts his hand on the small of Eddie's back, and leads him around the block, and then into the alley. His pickup is parked back there. There's a perk, Eddie supposes. Dedicated parking.

Eddie climbs up in it, and settles in, still licking his ice cream cone. And Steve pulls them onto the street, and away from the parade. Since most of the town is there, the streets are dead. And Eddie looks around, taking in the lights.

Steve knows what he's doing, of course he does, so he steers them into Loch Nora, and lets him look at the rich houses, decorated to the nines. At least that's never changed.

They pass Harrington House, and Eddie wonders if Steve lives there. Or, if his parents still do. Steve reads his mind.

"My mom and dad flew south a few years ago," Steve says, "and by that time I had my own house, so they sold it."

Eddie nods. He knows it's hard to leave your childhood home, permanently. He's done it twice. He's an expert, and it hurts in a way you never expect, and you never really get over. That the place you grew up, isn't yours to call home anymore.

"I'm sorry," Eddie says, and Steve smiles.

"It's okay. I like my house," Steve says. "You want to see it?"

And Eddie swallows. He knows what that offer entails, if he wants it to, and he nods, "Yeah. I do."

"Finish that cone, and we'll do that," Steve says, and it's husky and full of promise.

Eddie licks faster.

They pull up in front of a house in one of the nicer neighborhoods, but not Loch Nora. And Eddie follows Steve up the path, and onto the porch. Once they're inside, Steve pushes his front door closed behind them, grappling for Eddie's coat, trying to strip it off his shoulders, but they're too close to each other. Too tangled, and Eddie laughs.

He helps the process along, shedding it, finally.

And then he's attached to Steve, again. It's desperate, and he should probably be embarrassed, but he's not. He needs this. He needs Steve. He's always needed Steve.

And he lets Steve lead him to his bedroom.

Steve's walking him backwards, kissing him, hands roaming all over Eddie's body.

"Where have you been all my life?" Eddie asks, pressing his face into Steve's neck.

"Right here where you left me," Steve answers, but there's no heat behind it, only the truth.

And Eddie presses his lips to Steve's neck, and smiles when Steve moans under his touch. Eddie loves to know that he can still play him like a goddamn fiddle, it makes him endlessly happy.

Steve kicks open his bedroom door, and pulls his shirt over his head. Eddie follows his lead, and watches as Steve digs in his nightstand, producing a bottle of lube and a row of condoms.

He throws them on the bed, and starts pulling his jeans down.

Fuck, yes.

After, Steve is stroking the back of his hand, legs tangled together, the sheet pooled around their waists. Eddie hasn't been this warm in years. This comfortable. Not since Steve, the first time.

"I know you have a whole life there, and I have a whole life here," Steve says, "but if you want to pretend things are the same, just for a while. Just while you're here. We could. We can, you know. I've missed you."

And Eddie wants.

Wants that more than anything, but he's scared that blundering down the road not taken is just going to hurt more than ever before once they reach that fork at the end, again. That dead end that separates them off, again.

But he's already in this. The damage has been done. So, he turns and smiles. Nodding.

"I've missed you, too."

And the grin Steve gives him is blinding.

"I could be your sweetheart, again, just for the weekend. While you're home," Steve says, like that isn't something that's going to break Eddie's fucking heart.

Eddie gathers up Steve's hand, and pulls it to his chest, his heart.

Steve's been his sweetheart for a long time, together or not.

"You've always been my sweetheart," Eddie says, and it might sound like bullshit, but it's the truth. It's always been the truth.

Steve burrows closer, resting his head on Eddie's chest. Over his heart. He runs his fingers over Eddie's bare stomach, touching the tattoos there. He's gotten a lot more ink since he's seen Steve last, and Steve is touching them all, getting acquainted.

Eddie runs his hand down Steve's arm, pausing at a raised scar under his elbow.

"Oven rack. Decided right then and there that cookies in the shop were a no go," Steve says, laughing a little into Eddie's skin.

"Sounds wise," Eddie says, and he'd kiss the scar if he could reach it. Later. He'll do it later.

The door that was cracked open, pushes open wider, and Eddie just about jumps out of his skin.

"That's just Pudding," Steve says, as a big, fluffy cream colored cat jumps up onto the bed. Then stopping at the foot, looking at Eddie.

Steve laughs, "It's fine, Puddy. C'mere, boy. It's just Eddie."

Like the cat is going to understand that, Eddie thinks, but the cat stomps up Steve's legs, and then steps a tentative paw onto Eddie's bare chest. Eddie reaches out and pets him on head, and the big cat leans into Eddie's touch.

"See? You're already friends," Steve says, and he isn't sure if Steve is talking to him or the cat.

The cat meows, and then hops down, before walking back out the door he'd opened.

Steve curls back up against Eddie, wrapping his arm over his chest.

"You'll still be here in the morning, right?" Steve asks.

"I'll still be here," Eddie promises, and closes his eyes.

And he is, and they sleep in, just lazing in bed all morning. Trading kisses, and blow jobs, and just touching each other all over before Steve has to get up and open the shop. He drops Eddie back off at Wayne's with a goodbye kiss, and Wayne steps out on the porch, and waves. Steve waves back, and Eddie trudges through the snow towards the house. It snowed more overnight, leaving a fresh layer of white all over town.

It looks brand new.

It feels brand new.

Eddie slips past Wayne at the door, "Don't say a word, old man."

"I wouldn't dare," Wayne answers, holding the door open for him.

When the doorbell rings, Eddie's hopeful, for just a second, that it's Steve. But Steve's at work, and Robin's out of the country.

So, it's not Steve, it's just Gareth.

"I tried to call you this morning. Wayne said you didn't come home last night," Gareth says, slightly snippy.

He pushes past Eddie, already hanging up his coat. Eddie guesses he's staying.

"So, I take it you two talked," Gareth says, finally looking at Eddie.

"Yeah, we talked," Eddie says.

"And fucked?" Gareth asks, and Eddie isn't going to be shamed by this kid.

"And fucked. What of it?"

"Was just trying to gauge how bad the cleanup from this was gonna be. So, bad, right?"

Eddie shrugs. He doesn't think so. It doesn't feel bad right now, but maybe it will when the weekend ends, and he's back in L.A., without Steve, again.

"We were just two old friends, having some casual sex," Eddie says, knowing it's a lie even as it rolls off his tongue.

Gareth laughs, "You and I are old friends. And we don't have casual sex with each other."

"Did you want to? You never said," Eddie teases, and Gareth shoves his shoulder.

Eddie smiles at him, then decides to be honest, "You know what I mean. It's comfortable, with Steve. With someone you know that well, even if a lot of time has passed. It was just like riding a bike."

"Eddie…"

"Gareth…" Eddie mocks, then softens, "I'm a big boy. I know what I've done."

"I hope so," Gareth says, digging around in Wayne's fridge, then moving to the freezer.

"And you're already buying his fancy-ass ice cream, you're just asking to suffer," Gareth says, plucking a tub out of the freezer.

"Those aren't mine, and Wayne's a dirty liar," Eddie laughs. "He gave me some the other night, and I asked if it was Steve's, and he said no."

"Well, it is from the Dairy King himself," Gareth says, popping off the lid of a bright purple container, peeling back the foil seal, and getting a spoon. "You want?"

Eddie lets Gareth feed him a spoonful, and it's good. They've all been good so far, but Eddie's not really surprised.

He turns the container in Gareth's hand so he can read the label: Lavender Berry.

"Are you gonna give me shit about this?" Eddie asks, and Gareth just looks at him. Shoving another spoonful in his mouth.

Then, Gareth looks away, and that's not the reaction Eddie was expecting.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"You are coming home with us, right? Back to L.A.?" Gareth asks, not looking at him.

Eddie reaches forward and squeezes both of his shoulders, "Yes, I'm going home with you. I promise."

Gareth nods, but doesn't really look like he believes him, and Eddie understands why.

Wayne comes in later and nods at them.

"I owe you some ice cream," Gareth says, and Wayne just nods again.

Wayne just doesn't get too worked up about things like that. He knew Eddie was home. Anything in house would be fair game to eat, as far as Wayne would remember.

"So, I thought that ice cream the other night wasn't Steve's?" Eddie asks, eyeing Wayne as he stands by his edge of the couch.

"Steve's? You never asked if it was Steve's, you asked if it was you know's and it sure wasn't," Wayne says, with just a hint of a smirk.

"You're an asshole, old man."

"Learned it from you," Wayne says back, and pops Eddie on the head with the newspaper he has in his hand.

Eddie grins up at him

Steve turns up again, after his shop has closed for the evening, and while they didn't have plans, Eddie was waiting on him. Steve has a brown paper sack, and opens the freezer and starts refilling it.

"Gareth stopped by earlier, said he owed Wayne some ice cream," Steve says, replacing a purple pint container just like the one Gareth had eaten, and then several others.

Eddie picks up a green one: Eddie's Pistacho.

It's a love letter, and one Steve probably assumed Eddie would never read.

"He didn't owe him that much ice cream," Eddie teases, and Steve laughs.

"Some are from me. I try to keep him stocked up," Steve says, and Eddie loves him for that. He loves him for lots of things, but especially that he's still stayed in contact with Wayne while Eddie was gone.

Wayne's out at his usual bar with his friends, and Steve settles onto the couch with Eddie, draping arm over Eddie's shoulders. It looks casual, but it's not. Eddie knows better, but he doesn't care, and he leans into Steve's side.

They hadn't made plans, but Eddie had still expected him. He thinks they're gonna just gonna act like nothing has changed, for these couple days. He's okay with that, okay with anything he can get.

Steve is scratching his blunt nails against Eddie's jeans, and it's driving Eddie a little crazy.

"Want to go out and eat, or…" Steve trails off.

"Anything is good with me," Eddie answers, and that's true.

Steve gets up and starts going through Wayne's cabinets, and watching him, Eddie is certain it's not the first time he's been in this house, in that kitchen. Wayne has never mentioned that, but Eddie understands why he didn't.

"We could make pancakes?" Steve offers, and Eddie nods.

It's just a box mix, but they stand together, and watch each pancake brown and bubble in the old cast iron pan. Steve's putting butter down to melt before spooning each one into the hot skillet. They're thick and fluffy, and when they sit down at the bar to eat them, they are pretty damn good for being from a box.

Eddie doesn't cook all that much with their weird, late hours, and Gareth doesn't either, so they rely on delivery and take-out a lot more than they should. They could make pancakes from a box. Maybe they should, more often. Get his own cast iron pan, and grow up, maybe.

After they've eaten, they do the dishes, side-by-side, and one thing leads to another, and they push and pull each other into Eddie's bedroom, not stopping until they're sprawled out on the bed, Steve on top of him.

Eddie cups Steve's face, and Steve leans into his touch, turning his face until he can press a kiss into Eddie's palm.

And that's…everything. The dam between has not only sprung a leak, it's now rushing out full speed, wide open.

"Sweetheart," Eddie says, and Steve closes his eyes, just leaning into Eddie's touch.

"I still love you, Eddie," Steve says, eyes still closed.

And Eddie grips his hip with his other hand, "I still love you, too."

Then Steve presses down, grinding their bodies together, and it's like no time has passed. Like he's still twenty-two, and madly in love with his boy.

No, now he's thirty-two, and madly in love with this man.

They're cuddled up on the couch, watching television, when Wayne comes home.

"Night, boys," Wayne says as he passes through, heading on to bed.

"Well, I should go," Steve says, standing.

Eddie stands with him.

"You can stay, you know," Eddie says, and Steve nods. They fly out tomorrow. He wants Steve to stay. Or he'll go home with Steve. Whatever Steve wants. He wants one more night with him, however he can get it.

And Steve walks to the guest room, so Eddie follows. The sheets are still a tangled mess from earlier, and he's sure Wayne noticed as he walked by. Eddie doesn't care, and he knows that Wayne doesn't either.

Eddie didn't pack a lot of clothes, but he rummages through what he has, and throws Steve a t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

Steve holds them, and smiles back at him.

They get ready for bed, and then curl up together under the quilt. Hands and mouths wandering, as they whisper promises to each other in the dark that Eddie hopes they can keep.

When the sun peeks through the curtains, Eddie groans. He's not ready. He wasn't ready the first time, and he's definitely not ready now. They eat breakfast with Wayne, sitting around the kitchen table, drinking coffee, just talking. After Wayne goes to work, hugging Eddie goodbye until next time, they take a shower together, and Eddie memorizes every inch of Steve's body. Every new mole, every new scar. The fact that he has even thicker chest hair than he had, before.

Eddie wants to remember it all.

There's a horn honking out front, and it's the band, ready to go. Eddie's not ready. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He hugs Steve a little longer, before the honking becomes too much to ignore. Wayne's neighbors are gonna get pissed.

Eddie opens the front door to acknowledge them, and none of them seem surprised to see Steve following him out of the house. He supposes Gareth told them, or Steve's truck in the drive gave it away.

Steve leans in, hugging Eddie again, pressing their lips together, before breaking apart. Steve leans his face close to Eddie's, "It was nice to be your sweetheart again."

And Eddie wants to cry, might just do it.

He cups Steve's cheek, "You're always gonna be my sweetheart."

"Can we-"

"Eddie, c'mon! We're gonna miss our flight!" Goodie screams from the backseat, interrupting Steve. A broken record, that one.

Steve has him pressed against the side of the car, but Eddie manages to get his hand behind him, flipping Goodie off through the window. He feels the window coming down, and he snatches his hand back before Goodie crushes his hand, or bites his fingers. Something unpleasant, for sure.

Eddie pushes off the car, still kissing Steve, still pressed close together.

When they finally break apart, Eddie rests his forehead on Steve's.

"We're gonna make this work, right?" Eddie asks. "For longer than the weekend?"

And Steve nods.

"I gotta go now," Eddie says, even if he doesn't want to. Not at all. "But I'd rather stay with you. You know that, right? I'm not running from you. Not again."

"I know. Call me when you get home," Steve says.

"I will," Eddie promises.

"I'll come see you next month," Steve promises, and Eddie squeezes him harder.

"Eddie!" Jeff yells, and Eddie knows that's his actual cue. If Jeff's getting involved, they actually are running late.

"I love you, sweetheart," Eddie says, "I've always loved you."

"I've always loved you, too," Steve echoes, and Eddie kisses him one more time.

And then they're driving away, Steve in the rearview mirror, just like he was a decade ago.

Only, this time, he's smiling and waving.

Eddie leans out of the passenger window, and winter air is freezing, but he looks back, waves, and blows Steve a kiss.

He can't see the details of Steve's face, not from this far, but he sees his hands in his pockets, and how he rocks backwards on his heels. And Eddie can read that body language, perfectly, even all these years later.

He's laughing.

Eddie slides back into his seat, and he smiles, pulling his hair over his mouth.

"Jesus Christ," Goodie mumbles, and Eddie tosses his head back and laughs. Gareth reaches over and pats him on the thigh, and Eddie turns and smiles at him, and Gareth is smiling back.

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie says, wedging the phone against his ear as he's unpacking his suitcase.

"Hey, honey," Steve says, and Eddie can hear the smile on his face. "Your flight okay?"

"Uneventful. Except Goodie acting like a big ol' baby. He's thirty years old and still scared to fly. He's ridiculous. We haven't crashed yet," Eddie teases and Steve laughs.

"Be nice," Steve tells him, and Eddie laughs. Impossible. If they weren't making fun of each other, something would really be wrong. "Robin's home. She's mad she missed the big reunion."

"Well, she should haven't decided to go on a Christmas cruise," Eddie says.

"That's what I said!" Steve hollers, and Eddie can hear Robin in the background scrabbling for the phone.

"Hey, dingus número dos" she says.

"Hey, Buckley," Eddie says, "sorry I missed you."

"Yeah, yeah, I bet you are," she says, like she's threatening. She's not threatening. Well, not too threatening. "You better listen to me, Munson. If you hurt him-"

"I know, I know," Eddie says, "I'm in to win it, Buckley."

"You better be," she says, and then she lowers her voice to a whisper, "I've missed you, too, you know."

"Back at you, Robbie," he says.

"Do I get to come visit with Steve?" she asks, and Eddie smiles.

"Any time you want to," he promises.

"I'll hold you to that," she assures, "I'll just want until you've got all the fucking out of your system."

"That's never gonna happen," Eddie says, and she laughs.

"I'm happy for him, and for you, too. Took you long enough," she says.

He laughs.

They've been in this thing, alone and apart. Now, they're gonna be in it, together and apart. Hopefully not forever, but this is an improvement, that's for goddamn sure.

"How was your cruise with your lady love?" Eddie asks, and Robin laughs.

"It was great," she says, and tells him all about it, and then she pauses for a long few seconds, and Eddie wonders if the call has dropped, but then she's speaking again, softly, "We should all go together, next year."

"Count me in," Eddie says easily, "now, put my sweetheart back on."

And Robin says bye and does just that.

"Hi, it's me again," Steve says, and Eddie couldn't be happier.

Him again is the dream.

And Eddie listens as Steve talks about his newest flavor idea, and Eddie can't wait to try it the next time he's back home. He doesn't know what their long-term plan looks like, just that they're gonna do this life thing together for a while. See what happens.

They didn't do so hot flying solo, so he's definitely ready to try it as partners again. Now that they're both older. Now that they both know what they want, and who they love.

It's gonna work out this time, Eddie can feel it.

And he smiles, Steve's voice in his ear.

Notes: I know this song has been done roughly a million times in every fandom. But it was on the song list for a reason. Because it's a damn good fic prompt. So, more cake? I hope.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along! 🍨

If you want to see more of my entries from this challenge, they are in my Steddiemas tag right here!

#steddiemas #winter-themed songs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiemas #gareth (stranger things)#jeff stranger things #goodie (unnamed freak)#corroded coffin boys #gareth & eddie #steddie fic #christmas fic #'tis the damn season

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thisapplepielife · 1 year ago

Text

Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

Let the Boy Be Merry

Prompt Day 5: Grinch vs. Holiday Cheer | Word Count: 3333 | Rating: M | CW: Language, Brief Talk of Kids (They Didn't Have) | Tags: Future Fic, Long-Term Relationship, Middle-Age Steddie, Christmas, He's a Grinch, But His Heart Grew Three Sizes That Day, Eddie POV

This one is also available right here on AO3.

"This is ridiculous!" Eddie screams as loud as he can, from the bottom of the ladder. Which is pretty loud. Eddie's not exactly known for his timid demeanor. Especially when he's offended, and this really offends him.

"Yes, Eddie, I heard you the first hundred times!" Steve screams back, from the top of the ladder. Stapling another string of lights to the house.

He's been doing it for hours. Literal hours. It's cold, snow on the ground, and Eddie is fucking tired of holding the ladder, his fingers are frozen, even in his gloves. But he can't just walk off and let Steve fall to his death.

"That's enough! You're gonna kill the power to the whole neighborhood!" Eddie yells, trying anything to get him off that fucking ladder.

Steve scoffs. Eddie hears him, even from all the way up there.

"I'm not Clark Griswold!" Steve shouts back.

Eddie sighs. No, he's not. But that's what they are obviously using as an inspiration for this amount of lights. It's too much. A monstrosity, and they'll never be able to afford the electricity bill. They've been together for years, decades, and Steve still struggles with the idea that they have a budget.

It drives Eddie insane.

And about these lights? Eddie's done the math. This is going to cost thousands of dollars to run all month. Thousands of dollars.

For Christmas lights.

Eddie doesn't approve of this, not at all. He's called Wayne to complain, several times, and Wayne just grunts, not as affronted as Eddie thought he'd be. Wayne understands not wasting electricity, he's the one that followed Eddie around the trailer turning off lights, even ones Eddie was sometimes still using.

"I hear you, Scrooge," Wayne had finally said, "but, can you afford it?"

Eddie had sighed, and muttered a begrudgingly quiet, "Yes."

"Then let the boy be merry," Wayne had drawled, and Eddie had wanted to pull his hair out. He could look even more like Wayne, if he did.

There's being merry, and there's…whatever Steve is, right now.

Eddie doesn't even like Christmas, so this is a hard time of the year in their house. Steve is always acting like they are in the middle of Rockefeller Center, all giant Christmas trees and ice skating rinks. And then there's Eddie, just sitting idly by, wishing for January.

He doesn't want to drag a real tree into the house. They're a fire hazard. And Eddie doesn't want to traipse out to the tree farm, cut a damn tree down, and pick up pine needles for a month. No thanks.

So, Steve finally relented, and bought an artificial one. And then Eddie saw how much that motherfucker cost, and nearly had a goddamn stroke. It's a plastic tree. It should have been twenty dollars.

He leans his forehead against the cold metal rung of the ladder.

He's trying. It's just hard. He does the bills. He's going to be the one that has to look at those insane numbers on the electricity bill next month just for running Christmas lights that they can't even see from inside the house, and cut a check.

"Hey, Grinch ass, I need more staples!" Steve yells, and Eddie grumbles, but passes him up another box from the step. Steve puts them in the front pocket of his gray hooded sweatshirt after he's reloaded the staple gun.

"Hate, hate, hate. Double hate. LOATHE ENTIRELY!" Eddie shouts, quoting The Grinch back at him. If Steve wants to call him The Grinch, Eddie'll be the fucking Grinch.

Steve's almost forty, and he's on a ladder like he's twenty. It's stupid. He's going to get hurt.

And, do you know how much a trip to the ER costs? Eddie's pretty certain Steve doesn't.

"You're too old to be up on that ladder!" Eddie yells up at him, and Steve laughs. He laughs so hard he has to hold onto the ladder so he doesn't actually fall off of it.

"How old do you think I am, dickhead?" Steve finally asks, "I'm thirty-nine. Not ninety-three, last I checked. I can still climb a ladder."

And he can. Eddie knows that. Steve's still in shape. Still active. Steve goes to the high school gym here in town almost every weekend and plays in the old timers basketball league with other men his age, or even older. Some of them are much, much older and still running up and down the court. So, Eddie knows forty isn't old. Eddie's forty, and he can still climb a ladder. Well, he could if wanted to. He definitely doesn't want to.

"You're in the senior basketball league!" Eddie yells back, just poking at him a little bit more, just because he can.

"You got me there," Steve just says, smiling. "Give me another string of lights. If you're not too old to bend over. You're older than me, in case you've forgotten."

Eddie grumbles, he hasn't forgotten, and hands Steve another strand of lights.

So, the lights go up, one strand at a time. With Steve getting down and moving the ladder as he needs to, and then all the other decorations go out with them. It's a nightmare. He had to watch Steve and Robin make decorations for weeks. Carrying in sack after sack from the craft store.

They made giant lollipops to line the sidewalk out of foam discs that they covered in colorful cellophane. They look good, even Eddie can see that, but they were a waste of time and money, he's pretty certain.

And they're putting holes in the lawn.

Eddie tried to put his foot down when they came rolling old, used tires up towards the garage. They didn't listen to him, they never do, and he had to watch as they spray painted them green, and stacked them up in tiers until they had fake Christmas trees.

What sucks, is Eddie just knows he's going to be the one trying to dispose of the tires after Christmas is over.

It's overkill, all of it.

And now, with the lights, Eddie just has to act complacent as he's basically hearing the electric meter whirring 'round and 'round, spinning like a faulty compass, all month long.

It's torture. Pure torture.

Christmas morning is the usual tug-of-war. Steve wants to get up at six, and Eddie wants to sleep in. They don't have kids. There's no godforsaken reason for them to get up before dawn. They don't even exchange gifts. That stopped long ago, after Steve slowly realized Eddie is bad at receiving gifts, and even worse at giving them.

So, they've opted out.

Robin always brings Steve something perfect that Eddie could never compete with, anyway.

But Steve likes a big breakfast on Christmas morning, always has. It's too much food. He always tries to get Steve to cut back, but Steve doesn't listen. Steve always makes the full spread, and eventually Eddie will roll out of bed, getting a cup of coffee and eating a huge plate of food that Steve's made. Pancakes, eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, ham steak, biscuits and gravy, hash browns, all of it. It's good. It's always good.

Just too much food, more than they can eat.

Eddie's still shoveling it into his mouth when Steve pushes a box towards him.

"What's this? We don't do gifts," Eddie says around a mouthful of hashbrowns, slathered in ketchup.

"You don't do gifts," Steve corrects with a smile. "I do gifts just fine."

Steve's teasing, and Eddie softens, just a little. He's been a dickhead, all month. He's not sure why Steve puts up with him at all. They are polar opposites, sometimes. Eddie, still loud and brash, and a little rude, and those are all things Steve Harrington outgrew as a teenager.

He's kind, and thoughtful. And yes, he's fucking merry.

"I don't have anything for you," Eddie says, and he's embarrassed for the first time in a long time. Ashamed.

"I know you don't," Steve says. "I want you to have this anyway."

Eddie nods as he pulls the corner of the tape loose, and slides his thumb under it. It's a small kraft paper box, and Eddie pops off the lid, not sure what to expect.

A thick, silver band wasn't something that had crossed his mind.

He looks up, finding Steve's eyes, a question on the tip of his tongue.

And Steve grins, but he looks a little uneasy, finally saying, "If you wanna marry me, we could do that, now."

Wayne was right. Eddie's been a Scrooge. A dickhead, a fucking Grinch, all month, no, for years, and for some reason Steve still wants to marry him. He will never understand why, but you can't explain love, he supposes.

He just looks at the ring, a little stunned.

"I know you've always said," Steve continues quietly, looking down at the table, just for a second, before he looks back at Eddie, "that it didn't matter. So, I know none of this matters to you. Christmas. Marriage. All the unnecessary stuff. The things that cost good money for no good reason. I know that. But if you want to, I want to."

And Steve's chin quivers, just a little, the only thing giving him away before the first tears fill his eyes, and then fall. It's comical, that first tear. It's big, and is immediately chased by a few others. Hitting Steve's chin, and then his shirt. If it wasn't so fucking sad, it'd be funny.

"Steve, Jesus H. Christ," Eddie says, "of course I want to marry you. Yes," he says, picking the ring up out of the box and sliding it on his finger. It fits, but he knew it would. Because Steve doesn't get these things wrong. Not ever.

They've been together for years, nearly twenty of them, and somehow Steve is still unsure that Eddie's all in? That he might not want to marry him? That can't be possible. No, way. Eddie doesn't need to get married. Just like he doesn't need a whole month of Christmas, or to go to Pride, or celebrate Valentine's Day. He isn't built that way. As Wayne would say, it isn't in his nature.

But somehow, somewhere along the way, he decided that what he thought was more important than the fact that all those things are important to Steve.

It stuns him, suddenly. That this is still the case. He thought he'd grown up into a responsible adult. But, in some ways, he must still be that high school kid that was too good to go watch his friend play basketball. The one that'd rather Lucas just miss out on the end of the Hellfire campaign, than move it back a day or two.

Eddie scrubs his hand over his face.

He's really fucked this up, he realizes. For a long, long time. He'll do better, he will.

Eddie gets out of his chair, squatting next to Steve's chair and both of his knees pop and crack. It's funny, Steve laughs, and Eddie does, too.

"Don't say a word," Eddie warns, teasing him. It's clearly his karma for saying Steve was old when they were hanging lights. Now, his goddamn body has betrayed him. He had it coming, he's pretty sure.

He puts his hands on Steve's thighs, squeezing.

"I want to marry you. Of course, I do. I'm sorry if you thought that maybe I didn't," Eddie says, and he is sorry. So sorry. "I love you. So much. More than anything."

Steve smiles, gripping both his shoulders, "I wasn't questioning if you love me, Eddie. I know you love me. I was just unsure about the marriage part. I promise."

"I definitely want to marry you," Eddie says, and he means that. No, he wouldn't have thought about it on his own, probably, because he already feels married to Steve. He didn't need the damn government to finally catch up to make that true. But, yes, of course he wants to marry Steve, legally. He wants to be with him for twenty more years, and after that, forever.

As long as they've got.

"We can do something small. At the courthouse. In and out. Twenty minutes and twenty dollars," Steve promises.

Eddie shakes his head, he's not going to micromanage the cost of this thing Steve wants to do. Not this time, "We'll have the wedding you want, sweetheart. Even if it costs fifty dollars."

He's teasing, and Steve knows that, and Steve laughs as he's leaning down to kiss him. Eddie leans up to meet him, halfway this time. He's going to do that more often, try to meet him in the middle.

Later in the day, Steve is standing by the coat rack, and he says, "I'm gonna take the lights down, before it gets dark."

It's not an unusual statement. It's the compromise they've made over the years. The lights can go up, but as soon as Christmas morning is over, they gotta come down. It's ridiculous, and Eddie feels ashamed. What's a few more days? Honestly.

Eddie shakes his head, "No. Let's leave them up until after the new year."

And Steve smiles, big and bright.

That night, they stand on the curb, bundled up, watching the lights twinkle. Eddie can see the tree in the front window, and it's beautiful, too. Full, and decorated. Not like the sad, little tree he grew up with. It was probably worth the money Steve spent on it, he realizes. It looks real, especially from here.

And he's walked past it a thousand times in the house, never even really looking at it. Not seeing it. Not experiencing this beautiful thing Steve put in their house.

Steve has put a lot of beauty in Eddie's world, and Eddie regrets that he didn't take the time to notice it.

Back inside, Steve brings him a mug of hot chocolate, and it's in the silly Christmas Vacation moose mugs Steve bought a couple years ago, the ones that Eddie didn't think they needed. They have plenty of mugs, but these made Steve smile, so they bought them even after Eddie's protests. Tonight, he takes a hold of the antlers, with thanks.

They make him smile now, too. Because Steve is smiling.

That night, Eddie lays in bed, taking inventory of all the things he's given Steve grief about over the last twenty years. It's a long list, he realizes. Sure, Steve holds his own. Doesn't let Eddie steamroll him, not easily, not at all. Steve hasn't been cowed, Eddie is sure of that. Steve just decided to pick his battles, and has let the rest just roll off his back.

No Christmas presents? Sure, that's fine. No birthday cake unless he buys his own? That's fine, too. Steve always says he'll know best what kind of cake he's hungry for this year, anyway.

When Steve wanted another BMW, and Eddie said they couldn't afford one, Steve picked something else. Something cheaper. When the oven broke, Steve said he wanted double ovens, wanted the extra space, for when they had friends over.

Eddie was on board until he saw the price of them, and then he balked. Not to mention the cost of having them installed, and Steve didn't press the issue. He just picked a new middle of the road, single oven, and went on with life.

They could, though. They could have afforded it. The ovens, for sure. And probably even the BMW with a little creativity. Eddie's made sure they have money squirreled away. It's a response to his childhood, and he knows that. Steve never wanted for anything, and there were times, before Wayne, that Eddie wanted for everything.

Steve never seems to get his feathers ruffled by any of these slights, so Eddie has just kept running their finances exactly how he prefers.

But they can't take it with them, and they don't have kids.

And that suddenly knocks the wind out of Eddie.

Years ago, Steve floated the idea of a kid, of adopting, and Eddie hadn't entertained it as a real suggestion. They didn't need a kid. Couldn't afford one, anyway, and they were good, just the two of them.

He reaches over and shakes Steve awake.

Steve looks at him, half-asleep, "What? What's wrong?"

"Do you want to have a baby?" Eddie asks, slightly unhinged.

"No," Steve says, like Eddie's an idiot, "but we could practice trying to make one, if you want," Steve adds, reaching out, and patting Eddie on the thigh.

It makes Eddie laugh.

"Yeah, some practice sounds good," Eddie says.

And Steve rolls over on top of him, and Eddie forgets, just for a second, why he was worried in the first place. They're happy. He knows that, believes it. Even if they aren't always on exactly the same page.

Eddie will try to be on the same page more often. Even if it's in a book that he's unfamiliar with.

He's pretty sure Steve's too sleepy to follow through, but it's nice to feel the familiar weight of him covering his body, and Eddie just rubs Steve's bare back in soft, delicate strokes until Steve has fallen back asleep.

And Eddie is a man of his word, even if the only person he promised change to was himself. So, he does try. When Valentine's Day rolls around, Eddie brings home roses. And chocolates. And a teddy bear. It's a little bit much, but Steve laughs, and accepts it all. Giving Eddie a kiss, and nothing else, and that's more than fine with Eddie.

He's the one in the hole, here. The ledger is majorly off-balance, and that just won't do. He needs to settle up his debts.

For Pride, Eddie puts on rainbow-colored clothing of Robin's choosing, and follows Steve and Robin to the parade. He walks right beside them, his head held high. Happy, because they're happy.

When Steve comes home on his birthday, the living room is filled with black helium balloons, because while Eddie might be getting on board, it's still Steve's fortieth, and he's not about to miss this opportunity. No way in hell. There's a cake on the counter, shaped like a headstone. Eddie ordered it weeks ago. From an actual bakery, and paid for it, without complaining about the cost. Well, at least not out loud. He's complained in his head aplenty.

Steve has a grocery store cake in his hands. He hasn't realized yet that that's not gonna be necessary anymore. That's okay, Eddie will keep this up until Steve forgets there was ever a time he was responsible for buying his own birthday cake.

And when Christmas rolls around again, Eddie is up on a second ladder, hanging lights next to his husband. He's pretty sure they'll put up more than last year. He helped draft the design, drawing it on a piece of printer paper, in full color.

Steve framed it. Like it was art. Like it was important.

Maybe it is.

Eddie's done trying to tell Steve what's important. He's going to let Steve tell him for a while.

Eddie gets down to get another string of lights, and he did replace the old incandescent C9's with LED Christmas lights, in the same style. Because they use eighty percent less electricity, which is exactly what Eddie, the old Grinch that he is, likes to hear.

Just because his heart grew three sizes that day, doesn't mean he's stopped looking at the electricity bill. He's not crazy.

Sure, the new lights cost more up front, but he's learned his lesson, and just opened his wallet and pulled out his credit card, keeping his mouth shut. They'll save money in the long run, and they'll make Steve happy. That's a win-win.

And really, that's all Eddie's ever wanted. To make Steve happy. He just got a little lost along the way.

Money is important, sure.

But Steve, definitely, means a little bit more.

Notes: I cried while writing this. I cried a little more while editing this. I don't know. Don't look at me like that. It is what it is, and sometimes life pairs you up with someone that doesn't exactly speak your love language. And you still love them anyway.

Several people have done the math on Clark Griswold's lights, and while none of them have the same end figure, it seems, at a minimum, he spent about $3700 to run his lights during the month of December.

And does that header image not look like it could actually be an older Steve Harrington, or what? I don't know if it's the jeans, or the watch, but as soon as I saw it, I was like, yep, that's the one for this day. (Credit: It's an Adobe stock image.)

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along! 🎄

#steddiemas #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiemas #steddie christmas fic #grinch vs holiday cheer

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thisapplepielife · 1 year ago

Text

Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

Surviving the Flood

Prompt Day 6: Baking & Cookie Decorating | Word Count: 1200 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Future Fic, Long-Term Relationship, Fluff, Christmas, Baking Cookies, Eddie POV

"Eddie, no, don't…" Steve trails off, "...touch those yet."

Well, his warning came a little too late, and now his thumb has made a crack right into the icing he thought was dry, but now his thumb is sitting in a pool of green Christmas tree icing.

"Well, shit, sorry," Eddie says, putting the cookie down and reaching for a paper towel to wipe his hand. "I thought these were supposed to dry hard as a rock?"

Eddie definitely got that impression from the tutorials Steve has been watching on royal icing. Even Eddie's algorithm on his phone thinks he's obsessed with cookie making videos, now that Steve's decided to do this.

"They do. They will. It just takes hours. The ones over there are ready for their second layer," Steve says, picking the damaged cookie up and holding it up to Eddie's mouth.

Eddie bites down, and chews. It's fine. But a little cuter than it is tasty, that's for damn sure.

This isn't how his mom made Christmas cookies, not at all. Those were frosted with thick, soft, sweet icing, and he was welcome to decorate them in any haphazard fashion he desired.

These, here in their kitchen today, have a blueprint. A very specific and planned out order of operations to achieve the finished look that Steve has in mind. So, Eddie's following the plans, today. Steve's the boss. This is his rodeo.

Steve goes back to his stand mixer, adding water about three drops at a time, and beating it, and repeating the process, until his flood icing is the right consistency.

Eddie doesn't really understand. Is there not a recipe? Why do they have to baby it along?

A few more drops later, and Steve runs his silicone spatula through it, looking at it intently in the mixing bowl. Watching. FInally, his hand goes down, "There. Perfect."

If he says so.

Steve pours some of it into a pastry bag, and the oven beeps. Steve leans back and looks and nods to Eddie, indicating that they look done. So, Eddie takes them out and puts them on a cooling rack. Then, he walks out into the garage, lifts the lid of the chest freezer, and pulls out the next cookie sheet. Apparently freezing them for a few minutes after cutting out the shapes stops them from spreading as they bake. Eddie never would have guessed.

But Eddie takes the sheet, the last one, thank god, and heads back inside to put it in the oven. He sets the timer for another ten minutes. And as soon as he's done doing that, Steve is handing him a piping bag of icing, and Eddie fills, no floods, the already outlined cookies and then slides them to Steve. In an assembly line fashion.

He feels like Lucy and Ethel in the chocolate factory, just a little, while trying to keep up with Steve and not quite hitting the mark. Steve doesn't say anything, though, just lets Eddie do it at his own pace.

At least Eddie hasn't resorted to stuffing them in his shirt quite yet.

One more flooded, Eddie pushes the cookie at Steve.

Steve is gently tapping each one on the counter after Eddie floods them, bringing any little air bubbles to the surface, and then he uses a toothpick to pop any stubborn bubbles that didn't burst on their own.

Now these cookies will have to dry for hours, if not overnight, before they can do the next layer of stiffer, not flood, icing on top, to give them that 3D effect.

It's a lot of work. A lot.

The quick little videos all made it seem like it all happens in less than a minute. No, this is a two-day project. Minimum.

There are bowls all over their kitchen with wet paper towels on top, so the royal icing inside doesn't start to harden and develop a crust before they can use it.

Every drinking glass from their cabinet has a different colored piping bag of icing resting in it, leaving a crusty little mess in the bottom of every cup.

It's all very time consuming, and messy, and Eddie doesn't really have this kind of patience.

Luckily, his husband does.

Steve clips his magnetic reading glasses over his eyes from around his neck, and Eddie smiles. They're a little dorky, but Eddie wouldn't have Steve any other way. Growing older, still together, is a gift Eddie would never take for granted. Not after everything they've survived. That they can stand around in their fifties, worried about nothing but the cookies on the counter in front of them, is really something.

They've survived way worse, so they can definitely survive making these cookies.

Eddie watches as Steve is concentrating hard. His hand shakes just a little as he tries to stay steady. This is harder than it seemed, for sure, but Steve is forging ahead, pushing past any mishaps and problems they've had. They aren't gonna be perfect cookies, not for a first try, but they still look damn good, Eddie thinks. Cute. Just like Steve.

Eddie would never say it out loud, but he does think they could have just bought cookies, fancy cookies, the fanciest, but Steve wanted to make these himself for their annual Christmas Party.

So, Eddie was roped into helping.

He's not sure he's actually been all that helpful, but he's trying.

He carefully carries trays of finished cookies to the dining room table, so they can fully dry.

He does up the dishes, over and over, as Steve works, to keep ahead of the mess.

And it's long past dark outside now, and they've been at this all day long. Steve stands up, and stretches.

"My back is fucking broken," Steve says, hanging his head backwards.

Eddie walks over and runs his hand up and down Steve's back.

"High or low?" Eddie asks.

"Both. All of it. But mainly across my shoulders," Steve says, trying to roll them, and loosen himself up.

Eddie moves his hand up, bracing his other against Steve's bicep, and rubs. Hard. Back and forth.

Steve moans at the touch, "That's good."

"Are you about done? I'll give you a full rub down when we go to bed," Eddie offers.

Steve laughs, "Oh, I'm sure you would."

Eddie smiles, he didn't mean it that way. But yeah, he'd do that, too. If Steve wanted him to. But Eddie knows better. Steve's gonna be asleep the minute his head hits the pillow tonight.

And he's not wrong. Mess cleaned up, Steve showers, takes as many pain relievers as he can, and crawls in bed.

Eddie lays beside him.

"Your cookies look great, sweetheart," Eddie tells him, because they do. They were made with so much love. Everything Steve does is filled with it.

Steve says thanks around a yawn, and minutes later, is asleep. Snoring softly in the darkened room.

Two nights later, Eddie stands back and watches as all their friends ooh and ahh over the trays of Steve's cookies. Steve brushes them all off, acting like it was no big deal, but Eddie knows better, and he smiles, so in love with Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along!

#steddiemas #baking & cookie decorating #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiemas #steddie christmas fic

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thisapplepielife · 11 months ago

Text

Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

Permanent 99

Prompt Day 30: Smut Themed Sentence Starters | Word Count: 2811 | Rating: E | CW: Sexual Content, 18+ Only | Tags: Sports AU, Swimming AU, Modern Setting, Eddie & Gareth are BFFs, Olympic Swimmers, Heat Wave, Outdoor Fooling Around, Blowjob, Eddie POV

This follows my Sports AU drabble from @steddieholidaydrabbles where they were Olympic Swimmers, but can be read standalone.

This one is also available right here on AO3.

we're hot and sticky as we can get, don't need to go swimming to be soakin' wet, you lean in and you bite my lip, it's hard to be cool in heat like this, sweat drop at the end of your nose, makes you lose your mind and lose your clothes Christian Kane, Permanent 99

Eddie rests his forearm over his eyes, attempting to block out the way too bright sun and wipe the sweat away from his forehead at the same time.

The strips of cheap vinyl from the PVC lounger are sticking to his bare back and he can't seem to shift in any way to get comfortable with the feeling. Steve is worth millions, but he's dragged out some old as shit, tri-fold lounge chairs from last century. They had to have been stashed in his parents' pool house, left over from the eighties, faded from sun and years of disuse. If Eddie's going to be subjected to the summer sun, he's definitely gonna need a newer chair, because this is really not working for him.

He's sticking to it in ways that feel really gross.

That has a lot to do with the fact that it's so humid it's almost insufferable. The glare off of the water isn't helping matters. It's blinding him, even through his sunglasses. They've spent a lifetime looking at pool water, so Eddie's not entirely sure why they're still doing it now, on their own time.

“It’s hot as shit,” Eddie finally announces, moving his arm just enough to catch a glimpse of Steve next to him.

Steve smiles, seemingly unconcerned by the unrelenting heat.

He's tanned, and glistening in the sun, looking every bit of a Greek god. That bastard.

Eddie's actually seen Steve in Athens, at the fucking Olympiad itself, and he damn well didn't look anything like he does right now. Steve was only nineteen then, still just a kid chasing a dream. And, now he's a man. A gorgeous man.

Eddie is pretty sure he looks like an overheated, wet cat in comparison. A pitiful thing that probably just needs put down.

But Eddie grins, because retirement looks good on Steve Harrington. Damn good. Retired before thirty. That's quite the thing to wrap his head around.

But that's not going to stop Eddie's complaining.

“From now on, summer months will be spent strictly indoors. It's too hot, and I’m too pale for this,” Eddie declares, as if that is the final decision on the subject matter.

It isn't. Not if his perpetually sun-kissed boyfriend has a say in the matter.

Steve just rolls his eyes, and doesn’t look away from his magazine, "You made the worst dressed list, again," Steve offers, flashing the glossy pages in his direction. "They put you on the fug list."

Well, Eddie doesn't give a flying fug what that rag thinks. He's gonna wear what he's gonna wear.

"And let me guess, you're in the other column?" Eddie asks, but he already knows it. Ever since they went public with their relationship after retirement, they've been tabloid fodder. Everyone has been speculating on how long this has been going on (since Athens) and how long it will last (hopefully forever) and they've picked apart every last detail of their lives they can get their hands on. And their very different style choices have been a popular topic of conversation.

Steve retired, Eddie didn't. Until he did. And now, they're both out of the meat grinder, free at last to do whatever they want to with all this brand new free time. Eddie's had fun running swim clinics for kids, and Steve has been funneling his time and money into his charitable foundation.

The rest of the time, they spend lazing together, just like this. Finally getting to really build this relationship of theirs into something even deeper, and stronger, than ever before.

They can't leave swimming, not totally. It's in their blood. But it's nice to be away from the early practices and constant sacrifices you have to make to be an Olympian, not just once, but several Games in a row.

Their not-so-secret love went public at Eddie's last Games, when Steve showed up, but kept out of the announcer's booth, and refused to be interviewed. He wasn't there for his own promo. Everybody was pissy about it, wanting a piece of him, wanting the ratings boost his voice, his face, would bring in. But Steve was only there to see Eddie, Gareth and the rest of his friends on Team USA swim, that's it.

So, it didn't take long for rumors to reach a fever pitch, and instead of denying them. They just admitted they were together, and had been, for a very long time. And now, they were looking forward to retirement, together.

And that was that.

They've been holed up at Steve's house ever since, trying to keep away from prying eyes, to just be together. With no other commitments. No early practices. No strict diets.

They're just Eddie and Steve. No longer Harrington and Munson.

But, Eddie's getting a little stir crazy and a lot hot. He needs to be anywhere but beside a pool right now.

“I haven’t even set foot in the goddamn pool and I’m sweating through my trunks,” Eddie whines, just making sure his opinion on the subject has been heard by Steve, loud and clear.

“Shoulda rocked the banana hammock, bro,” Steve supplies with a shrug of his shoulders, laughing loudly, totally unbothered by Eddie’s constant bitching.

Eddie smiles, "Don't call me bro, dude."

Steve giggles, and it's the best sound. So carefree. All that weight of expectation just…gone. It was amazing to see. Retired from professional swimming, Steve doesn’t sweat the small stuff, not anymore. And Eddie is one hundred percent down for that.

"Speedos aren’t exactly casual pool wear, regardless of what you might think, Harrington,” Eddie adds.

“Sure they are,” Steve answers, waving his hand over his lap.

Eddie looks over at Steve, and lowers his sunglasses down his nose. Steve's wearing a tiny, all-white Speedo that Eddie can't look away from. It was a purposeful choice, Eddie is well aware.

Steve's baiting him.

And the white makes it basically see through. It’s nearly obscene and Eddie knows damn good and well Steve wore it on purpose, knowing he’d either sweat through it, and make it see through, or end up in the pool…and make it see through.

Eddie knows this game well and it sadly always, always works on him. He's an easy mark. Always has been when it comes to Steve Harrington.

Eddie pushes his glasses back up on his face.

“You're right, the Federation should have forgotten all about the tech suits and went back to those," Eddie says, licking his lips, wetting them. Two can play at this game.

There’s a sweat drop clinging to the end of Steve’s nose and Eddie reaches over to catch it with his thumb. Raking his eyes all over Steve.

"Is this seriously turning you on?" Steve asks, lifting an eyebrow. "I'm basically wearing an old work uniform."

Eddie just nods, looking at every inch of Steve's body. Still toned, but already going slightly softer in places. Not to mention all the body hair. Steve's hairy, when the fuck did that happen? After only knowing him as the shaved and waxed swimmer, this has been a fucking revelation of a magnitude Eddie can't even put into words.

Steve's a man. No longer the kid he was when they met, a million years and a million miles away from here.

"You're staring," Steve says, teasing him, and Eddie just nods. He's definitely staring and he'll do it some more.

Steve smiles and sets his magazine down and crawls over onto Eddie’s lounger, straddling Eddie’s thighs. It creaks and shifts under them, and Eddie holds his breath, and prepares for the little metal legs to collapse. It doesn't, miraculously, and Steve takes Eddie's stillness for an opportunity to lean in and bite at Eddie’s bottom lip before Eddie can, well, give him any more lip. Eddie groans a little at the feeling, hands settling on Steve’s hips. Steve deepens the kiss and runs his fingers through Eddie’s sweat-damp hair.

When they finally break apart, Steve is even slicker with sweat than he was before, but he just grins down at Eddie.

“Let’s go in,” Eddie urges, thumbs tracing lazy circles on Steve’s exposed hip bones. Running his thumb over Steve's Olympic rings tattoo that's just barely peeking over the top of the tiny Speedo.

Steve took Eddie to get his own rings tattoo after his first Olympics, and Eddie took Gareth after his. It's a sacred tradition.

Eddie presses his thumb into the slightly faded ink, then dips it lower, stroking until he feels coarse hair under his thumb. Then, he's sliding his other hand up and down Steve's hairy thigh. More hair. Hair for days.

In fact, Steve’s chest hair is damp and right in Eddie’s face. It’s driving him a little wild. Steve spent so many years shaved, that this has been a goddamn turn on. Eddie leans forward and buries his face in Steve's chest.

Steve just laughs, and pushes Eddie back down, nipping at Eddie’s neck playfully, “S’good out here.”

“Think of the air conditioning. And the big, big bed.”

“This is bed-like,” Steve insists, reaching over and hitting the lever sending the chaise flat. The unsteady metal legs wobble comically and Eddie laughs as Steve topples over on top of him ungracefully. It's a nice change of pace, since Eddie often feels like he's the ungraceful one nearly everywhere but in the water. Always one wrong move from a trip to the E.R., while Steve stands by, shaking his head.

Eddie’s fairly certain this flimsy-ass chair can't hold their combined weight indefinitely, even without Steve trying to fuck him through it. But he still runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, pulling him closer, encouraging him.

He'll ride this train into the ground, without question.

Steve closes his eyes, and grinds down against him.

Eddie grips Steve’s hips, resting his fingers against Steve’s ass, cupping him through the Speedo. When he squeezes his fingers underneath the tight material, Steve opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s, and Eddie just raises an eyebrow, questioning.

“By all means,” Steve answers, lifting up enough for them to work together to get it shimmed off his ass.

It isn’t easy. Removing a wet Speedo never is, and Steve’s wallering him in the process. Eddie almost takes a knee to the nuts, but they finally get it peeled off Steve's hips and tossed onto the ground.

Steve unties Eddie’s trunks and pulls the Velcro closure apart loudly. He snakes his hand inside and closes his fist around him, and Eddie can’t help but buck up into the tight grip.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie pants, leaning back further, enjoying the feeling.

Steve smiles and leans forward, chasing him, licking a path of sweat off of Eddie’s chest. It makes Eddie shiver unexpectedly and he can’t stop himself from tangling his hand in Steve’s hair. Urging him lower. Steve takes the hint. He always does.

He pushes apart Eddie's trunks, getting himself better access, and Eddie lifts up, to let him tug them down a little further, but not all the way off.

Eddie groans when Steve’s mouth makes contact with his dick.

He rests his hand on Steve's head, feeling every movement from above and below. Steve's a gold medal cocksucker, that's for goddamn sure.

"That's good, sweetheart," Eddie says, and Steve hums in acknowledgement, head moving up and down, hand doing the rest of the work in tandem.

Eddie slides his hand down to Steve's face, pressing his palm to his stubbly cheek, and Steve changes the angle, so the head of Eddie's dick now hits the inside of his cheek with every bob of his head, bumping against Eddie's palm.

Steve's teasing him, playing with him, but it's fucking hot.

So hot, and it's all Eddie can take, honestly, and he arches his hips off the chair, coming.

Steve pulls off, and makes eye contact as he swipes his tongue around his mouth, gathering up Eddie's come on his tongue, which he shows Eddie, before swallowing.

"You're gonna kill me," Eddie says, as he moves to wrap his hand around Steve's hard dick, but Steve holds up one finger, wagging it at him.

And then he slides fully on top of Eddie, and ruts into his hip. Using Eddie to get himself off.

Jesus H. Christ.

Retired Steve is his favorite version, so far. Even more than top of the podium Steve. Or secret locker room blowjob Steve.

This version? His to keep? This is the one.

Steve's breathing heavy into Eddie's ear, hot puffs of air and soft moans that make Eddie wish he could get hard again right now. Eddie digs his fingers into Steve's slick back, just along for the ride. Getting to enjoy the sights and sounds of Steve working hard. Breath catching with exertion.

It's so familiar, and yet, brand new.

Steve lets out a groan in Eddie's ear, and then comes inside Eddie's shorts, and that's a new feat, for sure.

Steve clearly doesn't give a fuck if he glues himself to Eddie's pubic hair, as he lays down on Eddie fully. Naked, sated and happy. This is the kind of hot Eddie isn't going to complain about.

He almost says so, when he feels the whoosh of air blow past his arm before there’s a splash in the pool. He freezes. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, even if he’s certain it’s only Gareth. Maybe Robin, if he's really unlucky.

Steve's house has a revolving door. You never know who's gonna show up, unannounced.

And Eddie can't help it, he flushes even further, cheeks red and hot, totally embarrassed.

When Eddie finally cracks an eye open, he laughs when he sees Gareth standing in the pool, right at the edge. Arms folded, head resting on them. Staring right at Eddie. Gareth has no shame and doesn’t get embarrassed easily, if ever.

Just like Steve, honestly.

How he's surrounded himself with these two, he's not exactly sure.

"Whatcha guys been doin'?" Gareth drawls out, like he can't see Steve's bare ass in his face and know exactly what they were doing.

Gareth's caught them fucking in several countries at this point. This is nothing. It's not even in the top ten most compromising positions he's seen them in. But still. Eddie could do without it, for sure.

Gareth's dog, Bonzo, is prancing around poolside, barking and jumping, just as hyper as his owner.

Steve just shakes his head, leaning over and picking up his discarded Speedo and walks back towards the house, like it’s no big deal to be walking around the backyard, totally naked. It's nothing Gareth hasn't seen before, to be certain. They've all spent far too many years together, in far too many locker rooms.

Still, Eddie lifts his hips, and gets his trunks back up and securely fastened. He’s not about to get caught naked if he can help it. Unlike Steve, he does have some shame, and doesn’t exactly desire his junk getting featured on TMZ.

Some days, Eddie thinks Steve's just daring them to run dick pics of him. Probably because he knows what he's packing, and nobody in their right mind is gonna give his dick bad press.

Definitely not Eddie. No way.

Eddie is about to get up, when Bonzo seizes the opportunity for the freed up premium seating, and jumps up onto Eddie’s lap.

Eddie hears the chair give way before he feels it. Soon enough they’re both falling to the ground. It’s a short fall, but Eddie still scrapes his elbow on the concrete and Bonzo shoots him daggers as if this whole mess was Eddie's fault, as the dog darts away from the scene of the crime, and towards the house, trying to catch up with Steve.

Steve clearly saw it happen, and he’s doubled over laughing near the sliding glass doors, still naked, and Eddie really doesn’t find it all that funny.

“Fuck you, asshole, that hurt!” Eddie yells across the yard as he awkwardly untangles himself from the wreckage. Steve just laughs harder, and as much as Eddie wants to, it’s hard for him to stay mad at Steve.

Eddie gets up and surveys the collapsed heap of vinyl and aluminum. It looks like it's a total loss, and that does make Eddie smile, fully thankful that the chair from hell finally met its overdue end.

He jogs to catch up with Steve, hoping to slide in the shower with him, where Steve will kiss his wounded pride all better, and maybe go for round two.

Notes: Song is Permanent 99 by Christian Kane. It's not on Spotify, or I'd just embed it. Gareth's dog is Bonzo, after John Bonham. Because I still like to think he's a drummer in this world, and that still plays with Eddie here, too. They just took their focus elsewhere.

This is the kind of chair I'm talking about, which they're still making apparently?! I had no idea.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along!

If you want to see more of my entries from this challenge, they are in my tag right here!

#steddiemas #steddiemasnaughtylist #“Is this seriously turning you on?”#steddie #steddie ficlet #olympic au #swimmer steve harrington #swimmer eddie munson #gareth is a little shit #gareth stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiemas

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